St. Ronan's Well

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER II.

  THE GUEST.

  Quis novus hic hospes? _Dido apud Virgilium._

  Ch'am-maid! The Gemman in the front parlour!

  BOOTS'S _free Translation of the AEneid_.

  It was on a fine summer's day that a solitary traveller rode under theold-fashioned archway, and alighted in the court-yard of Meg Dods's inn,and delivered the bridle of his horse to the humpbacked postilion."Bring my saddle-bags," he said, "into the house--or stay--I am abler, Ithink, to carry them than you." He then assisted the poor meagre groomto unbuckle the straps which secured the humble and now despisedconvenience, and meantime gave strict charges that his horse should beunbridled, and put into a clean and comfortable stall, the girthsslacked, and a cloth cast over his loins; but that the saddle should notbe removed until he himself came to see him dressed.

  The companion of his travels seemed in the hostler's eye deserving ofhis care, being a strong active horse, fit either for the road or field,but rather high in bone from a long journey, though from the state ofhis skin it appeared the utmost care had been bestowed to keep him incondition. While the groom obeyed the stranger's directions, the latter,with the saddle-bags laid over his arm, entered the kitchen of the inn.

  Here he found the landlady herself in none of her most blessed humours.The cook-maid was abroad on some errand, and Meg, in a close review ofthe kitchen apparatus, was making the unpleasant discovery, thattrenchers had been broken or cracked, pots and saucepans not soaccurately scoured as her precise notions of cleanliness required,which, joined to other detections of a more petty description, stirredher bile in no small degree; so that while she disarranged and arrangedthe _bink_, she maundered, in an under tone, complaints and menacesagainst the absent delinquent.

  The entrance of a guest did not induce her to suspend this agreeableamusement--she just glanced at him as he entered, then turned her backshort on him, and continued her labour and her soliloquy of lamentation.Truth is, she thought she recognised in the person of the stranger, oneof those useful envoys of the commercial community, called, bythemselves and the waiters, _Travellers_, par excellence--by others,Riders and Bagmen. Now against this class of customers Meg had peculiarprejudices; because, there being no shops in the old village of SaintRonan's, the said commercial emissaries, for the convenience of theirtraffic, always took up their abode at the New Inn, or Hotel, in therising and rival village called Saint Ronan's Well, unless when somestraggler, by chance or dire necessity, was compelled to lodge himselfat the Auld Town, as the place of Meg's residence began to be generallytermed. She had, therefore, no sooner formed the hasty conclusion, thatthe individual in question belonged to this obnoxious class, than sheresumed her former occupation, and continued to soliloquize andapostrophize her absent handmaidens, without even appearing sensible ofhis presence.

  "The huzzy Beenie--the jaud Eppie--the deil's buckie of acallant!--Another plate gane--they'll break me out of house and ha'!"

  The traveller, who, with his saddle-bags rested on the back of a chair,had waited in silence for some note of welcome, now saw that, ghost orno ghost, he must speak first, if he intended to have any notice fromhis landlady.

  "You are my old acquaintance, Mrs. Margaret Dods?" said the stranger.

  "What for no?--and wha are ye that speers?" said Meg, in the samebreath, and began to rub a brass candlestick with more vehemence thanbefore--the dry tone in which she spoke, indicating plainly how littleconcern she took in the conversation.

  "A traveller, good Mistress Dods, who comes to take up his lodgings herefor a day or two."

  "I am thinking ye will be mista'en," said Meg; "there's nae room forbags or jaugs here--ye've mista'en your road, neighbour--ye maun e'enbundle yoursell a bit farther down hill."

  "I see you have not got the letter I sent you, Mistress Dods?" said theguest.

  "How should I, man?" answered the hostess; "they have ta'en awa thepost-office from us--moved it down till the Spa-well yonder, as theyca'd."

  "Why, that is but a step off," observed the guest.

  "Ye will get there the sooner," answered the hostess.

  "Nay, but," said the guest, "if you had sent there for my letter, youwould have learned"----

  "I'm no wanting to learn ony thing at my years," said Meg. "If folk haveony thing to write to me about, they may gie the letter to John Hislop,the carrier, that has used the road these forty years. As for theletters at the post-mistress's, as they ca' her, down by yonder, theymay bide in her shop-window, wi' the snaps and bawbee rows, tillBeltane, or I loose them. I'll never file my fingers with them.Post-mistress, indeed!--Upsetting cutty! I mind her fu' weel when shedree'd penance for ante-nup"----

  Laughing, but interrupting Meg in good time for the character of thepost-mistress, the stranger assured her he had sent his fishing-rod andtrunk to her confidential friend the carrier, and that he sincerelyhoped she would not turn an old acquaintance out of her premises,especially as he believed he could not sleep in a bed within five milesof Saint Ronan's, if he knew that her Blue room was unengaged.

  "Fishing-rod!--Auld acquaintance!--Blue room!" echoed Meg, in somesurprise; and, facing round upon the stranger, and examining him withsome interest and curiosity,--"Ye'll be nae bagman, then, after a'?"

  "No," said the traveller; "not since I have laid the saddle-bags out ofmy hand."

  "Weel, I canna say but I am glad of that--I canna bide their yanking wayof knapping English at every word.--I have kent decent lads amang themtoo--What for no?--But that was when they stopped up here whiles, likeother douce folk; but since they gaed down, the hail flight of them,like a string of wild-geese, to the new-fashioned hottle yonder, I amtold there are as mony hellicate tricks played in the travellers' room,as they behove to call it, as if it were fu' of drunken young lairds."

  "That is because they have not you to keep good order among them,Mistress Margaret."

  "Ay, lad?" replied Meg, "ye are a fine blaw-in-my-lug, to think tocuittle me off sae cleverly!" And, facing about upon her guest, shehonoured him with a more close and curious investigation than she had atfirst designed to bestow upon him.

  All that she remarked was in her opinion rather favourable to thestranger. He was a well-made man, rather above than under the middlesize, and apparently betwixt five-and-twenty and thirty years ofage--for, although he might, at first glance, have passed for one whohad attained the latter period, yet, on a nearer examination, it seemedas if the burning sun of a warmer climate than Scotland, and perhapssome fatigue, both of body and mind, had imprinted the marks of care andof manhood upon his countenance, without abiding the course of years.His eyes and teeth were excellent, and his other features, though theycould scarce be termed handsome, expressed sense and acuteness; he bore,in his aspect, that ease and composure of manner, equally void ofawkwardness and affectation, which is said emphatically to mark thegentleman; and, although neither the plainness of his dress, nor thetotal want of the usual attendants, allowed Meg to suppose him a wealthyman, she had little doubt that he was above the rank of her lodgers ingeneral. Amidst these observations, and while she was in the course ofmaking them, the good landlady was embarrassed with various obscurerecollections of having seen the object of them formerly; but when, oron what occasion, she was quite unable to call to remembrance. She wasparticularly puzzled by the cold and sarcastic expression of acountenance, which she could not by any means reconcile with therecollections which it awakened. At length she said, with as muchcourtesy as she was capable of assuming,--"Either I have seen youbefore, sir, or some ane very like ye?--Ye ken the Blue room, too, andyou a stranger in these parts?"

  "Not so much a stranger as you may suppose, Meg," said the guest,assuming a more intimate tone, "when I call myself Frank Tyrrel."

  "Tirl!" exclaimed Meg, with a tone of wonder--"It's impossible! Youcannot be Francie Tirl, the wild callant that was fishing andbird-nesting here seven or eight years syne--it canna be--Francie wasbut a callant!"

&n
bsp; "But add seven or eight years to that boy's life, Meg," said thestranger gravely, "and you will find you have the man who is now beforeyou."

  "Even sae!" said Meg, with a glance at the reflection of her owncountenance in the copper coffee-pot, which she had scoured so brightlythat it did the office of a mirror--"Just e'en sae--but folk maun growauld or die.--But, Maister Tirl, for I mauna ca' ye Francie now, I amthinking"----

  "Call me what you please, good dame," said the stranger; "it has been solong since I heard any one call me by a name that sounded like formerkindness, that such a one is more agreeable to me than a lord's titlewould be."

  "Weel, then, Maister Francie--if it be no offence to you--I hope ye areno a Nabob?"

  "Not I, I can safely assure you, my old friend;--but what an I were?"

  "Naething--only maybe I might bid ye gang farther, and be waurserved.--Nabobs, indeed! the country's plagued wi' them. They haveraised the price of eggs and pootry for twenty miles round--But what ismy business?--They use amaist a' of them the Well down by--they need it,ye ken, for the clearing of their copper complexions, that need scouringas much as my saucepans, that naebody can clean but mysell."

  "Well, my good friend," said Tyrrel, "the upshot of all this is, I hope,that I am to stay and have dinner here?"

  "What for no?" replied Mrs. Dods.

  "And that I am to have the Blue room for a night or two--perhapslonger?"

  "I dinna ken that," said the dame.--"The Blue room is the best--and theythat get neist best, are no ill aff in this warld."

  "Arrange it as you will," said the stranger, "I leave the whole matterto you, mistress.--Meantime, I will go see after my horse."

  "The merciful man," said Meg, when her guest had left the kitchen, "ismerciful to his beast.--He had aye something about him by ordinar, thatcallant--But eh, sirs! there is a sair change on his cheek-haffit sinceI saw him last!--He sall no want a good dinner for auld lang syne, thatI'se engage for."

  Meg set about the necessary preparations with all the natural energy ofher disposition, which was so much exerted upon her culinary cares, thather two maids, on their return to the house, escaped the bitterreprimand which she had been previously conning over, in reward fortheir alleged slatternly negligence. Nay, so far did she carry hercomplaisance, that when Tyrrel crossed the kitchen to recover hissaddle-bags, she formally rebuked Eppie for an idle taupie, for notcarrying the gentleman's things to his room.

  "I thank you, mistress," said Tyrrel; "but I have some drawings andcolours in these saddle-bags, and I always like to carry them myself."

  "Ay, and are you at the painting trade yet?" said Meg; "an unco slaisterye used to make with it lang syne."

  "I cannot live without it," said Tyrrel; and taking the saddle-bags, wasformally inducted by the maid into a snug apartment, where he soon hadthe satisfaction to behold a capital dish of minced collops, withvegetables, and a jug of excellent ale, placed on the table by thecareful hand of Meg herself. He could do no less, in acknowledgment ofthe honour, than ask Meg for a bottle of the yellow seal, "if there wasany of that excellent claret still left."

  "Left?--ay is there, walth of it," said Meg; "I dinna gie it to everybody--Ah! Maister Tirl, ye have not got ower your auld tricks!--I amsure, if ye are painting for your leeving, as you say, a little rum andwater would come cheaper, and do ye as much good. But ye maun hae yourain way the day, nae doubt, if ye should never have it again."

  Away trudged Meg, her keys clattering as she went, and, after muchrummaging, returned with such a bottle of claret as no fashionabletavern could have produced, were it called for by a duke, or at a duke'sprice; and she seemed not a little gratified when her guest assured herthat he had not yet forgotten its excellent flavour. She retired afterthese acts of hospitality, and left the stranger to enjoy in quiet theexcellent matters which she had placed before him.

  But there was that on Tyrrel's mind which defied the enlivening power ofgood cheer and of wine, which only maketh man's heart glad when thatheart has no secret oppression to counteract its influence. Tyrrel foundhimself on a spot which he had loved in that delightful season, whenyouth and high spirits awaken all those flattering promises which are soill kept to manhood. He drew his chair into the embrasure of theold-fashioned window, and throwing up the sash to enjoy the fresh air,suffered his thoughts to return to former days, while his eyes wanderedover objects which they had not looked upon for several eventful years.He could behold beneath his eye, the lower part of the decayed village,as its ruins peeped from the umbrageous shelter with which they wereshrouded. Still lower down, upon the little holm which formed itschurch-yard, was seen the Kirk of Saint Ronan's; and looking yetfarther, towards the junction of Saint Ronan's burn with the river whichtraversed the larger dale or valley, he could see whitened, by thewestern sun, the rising houses, which were either newly finished, or inthe act of being built, about the medicinal spring.

  "Time changes all around us," such was the course of natural thoughtrite reflection, which flowed upon Tyrrel's mind; "wherefore shouldloves and friendships have a longer date than our dwellings and ourmonuments?" As he indulged these sombre recollections, his officiouslandlady disturbed their tenor by her entrance.

  "I was thinking to offer you a dish of tea, Maister Francie, just forthe sake of auld lang syne, and I'll gar the quean Beenie bring ithere, and mask it mysell.--But ye arena done with your wine yet?"

  "I am indeed, Mrs. Dods," answered Tyrrel; "and I beg you will removethe bottle."

  "Remove the bottle, and the wine no half drank out!" said Meg,displeasure lowering on her brow; "I hope there is nae fault to be foundwi' the wine, Maister Tirl?"

  To this answer, which was put in a tone resembling defiance, Tyrrelsubmissively replied, by declaring "the claret not only unexceptionable,but excellent."

  "And what for dinna ye drink it, then?" said Meg, sharply; "folk shouldnever ask for mair liquor than they can make a gude use of. Maybe yethink we have the fashion of the table-dot, as they ca' their newfangledordinary down-by yonder, where a' the bits of vinegar cruets are put awainto an awmry, as they tell me, and ilk ane wi' the bit dribbles ofsyndings in it, and a paper about the neck o't, to show which of thecustomers is aught it--there they stand like doctor's drogs--and no anhonest Scottish mutchkin will ane o' their viols haud, granting it wereat the fouest."

  "Perhaps," said Tyrrel, willing to indulge the spleen and prejudice ofhis old acquaintance, "perhaps the wine is not so good as to make fullmeasure desirable."

  "Ye may say that, lad--and yet them that sell it might afford a gudepenniworth, for they hae it for the making--maist feck of it ne'er sawFrance or Portugal. But as I was saying--this is no ane of theirnewfangled places, where wine is put by for them that canna drinkit--when the cork's drawn the bottle maun be drank out--and what forno?--unless it be corkit."

  "I agree entirely, Meg," said her guest; "but my ride to-day hassomewhat heated me--and I think the dish of tea you promise me, will dome more good than to finish my bottle."

  "Na, then, the best I can do for you is to put it by, to be sauce forthe wild-duck the morn; for I think ye said ye were to bide here for aday or twa."

  "It is my very purpose, Meg, unquestionably," replied Tyrrel.

  "Sae be it then," said Mrs. Dods; "and then the liquor's no lost--it hasbeen seldom sic claret as that has simmered in a saucepan, let me tellyou that, neighbour;--and I mind the day, when, headache or naeheadache, ye wad hae been at the hinder-end of that bottle, and maybeanither, if ye could have gotten it wiled out of me. But then ye hadyour cousin to help you--Ah! he was a blithe bairn that ValentineBulmer!--Ye were a canty callant too, Maister Francie, and muckle ado Ihad to keep ye baith in order when ye were on the ramble. But ye were athought doucer than Valentine--But O! he was a bonny laddie!--wi' e'enlike diamonds, cheeks like roses, a head like a heather-tap--he was thefirst I ever saw wear a crap, as they ca' it, but a' body cheats thebarber now--and he had a laugh that wad hae raised the dead!--What wi'flyting on him, and what wi
' laughing at him, there was nae minding onyother body when that Valentine was in the house.--And how is your cousinValentine Bulmer, Maister Francie?"

  Tyrrel looked down, and only answered with a sigh.

  "Ay--and is it even sae?" said Meg; "and has the puir bairn been saesoon removed frae this fashious warld?--Ay--ay--we maun a' gang aegate--crackit quart stoups and geisen'd barrels--leaky quaighs are wea', and canna keep in the liquor of life--Ohon, sirs!--Was the puir ladBulmer frae Bu'mer bay, where they land the Hollands, think ye, MaisterFrancie?--They whiles rin in a pickle tea there too--I hope that is goodthat I have made you, Maister Francie?"

  "Excellent, my good dame," said Tyrrel; but it was in a tone of voicewhich intimated that she had pressed upon a subject that awakened someunpleasant reflections.

  "And when did this puir lad die?" continued Meg, who was not without hershare of Eve's qualities, and wished to know something concerning whatseemed to affect her guest so particularly; but he disappointed herpurpose, and at the same time awakened another train of sentiment in hermind, by turning again to the window, and looking upon the distantbuildings of Saint Ronan's Well. As if he had observed for the firsttime these new objects, he said to Mistress Dods in an indifferent tone,"You have got some gay new neighbours yonder, mistress."

  "Neighbours!" said Meg, her wrath beginning to arise, as it always didupon any allusion to this sore subject--"Ye may ca' them neighbours, ifye like--but the deil flee awa wi' the neighbourhood for Meg Dods!"

  "I suppose," said Tyrrel, as if he did not observe her displeasure,"that yonder is the Fox Hotel they told me of?"

  "The Fox!" said Meg: "I am sure it is the fox that has carried off a' mygeese.--I might shut up house, Maister Francie, if it was the thing Ilived by--me, that has seen a' our gentlefolk bairns, and gien themsnaps and sugar-biscuit maist of them wi' my ain hand! They wad hae seenmy father's roof-tree fa' down and smoor me before they wad hae gien aboddle a-piece to have propped it up--but they could a' link out theirfifty pounds ower head to bigg a hottle at the Well yonder. And mucklethey hae made o't--the bankrupt body, Sandie Lawson, hasna paid them abawbee of four terms' rent."

  "Surely, mistress, I think if the Well became so famous for its cures,the least the gentlemen could have done was to make you the priestess."

  "Me priestess! I am nae Quaker, I wot, Maister Francie; and I neverheard of alewife that turned preacher, except Luckie Buchan in thewest.[I-8] And if I were to preach, I think I have mair the spirit of aScottishwoman, than to preach in the very room they hae been dancing inilka night in the week, Saturday itsell not excepted, and that till twalo'clock at night. Na, na, Maister Francie; I leave the like o' that toMr. Simon Chatterly, as they ca' the bit prelatical sprig of divinityfrom the town yonder, that plays at cards, and dances six days in theweek, and on the seventh reads the Common Prayer-book in the ball-room,with Tam Simson, the drunken barber, for his clerk."

  "I think I have heard of Mr. Chatterly," said Tyrrel.

  "Ye'll be thinking o' the sermon he has printed," said the angry dame,"where he compares their nasty puddle of a Well yonder to the pool ofBethseda, like a foul-mouthed, fleeching, feather-headed fule as he is!He should hae kend that the place got a' its fame in the times of blackPopery; and though they pat it in St. Ronan's name, I'll never believefor one that the honest man had ony hand in it; for I hae been tell'd byane that suld ken, that he was nae Roman, but only a Cuddie, orCuldee,[I-C] or such like.--But will ye not take anither dish of tea,Maister Francie? and a wee bit of the diet-loaf, raised wi' my ain freshbutter, Maister Francie? and no wi' greasy kitchen-fee, like theseedcake down at the confectioner's yonder, that has as mony dead fleesas carvy in it. Set him up for a confectioner!--Wi' a penniworth ofrye-meal, and anither of tryacle, and twa or three carvy-seeds, I willmake better confections than ever cam out of his oven."

  "I have no doubt of that, Mrs. Dods," said the guest; "and I only wishto know how these new comers were able to establish themselves against ahouse of such good reputation and old standing as yours?--It was thevirtues of the mineral, I dare say; but how came the waters to recover acharacter all at once, mistress?"

  "I dinna ken, sir--they used to be thought good for naething, but hereand there for a puir body's bairn, that had gotten the cruells,[I-9] andcould not afford a penniworth of salts. But my Leddy Penelope Penfeatherhad fa'an ill, it's like, as nae other body ever fell ill, and sae shewas to be cured some gate naebody was ever cured, which was naethingmair than was reasonable--and my leddy, ye ken, has wit at wull, and hasa' the wise folk out from Edinburgh at her house at Windywa's yonder,which it is her leddyship's wull and pleasure to call Air-castle--andthey have a' their different turns, and some can clink verses, wi' theirtale, as weel as Rob Burns or Allan Ramsay--and some rin up hill anddown dale, knapping the chucky stanes to pieces wi' hammers, like saemony road-makers run daft--they say it is to see how the warld wasmade!--and some that play on all manner of ten-stringed instruments--anda wheen sketching souls, that ye may see perched like craws on everycraig in the country, e'en working at your ain trade, Maister Francie;forby men that had been in foreign parts, or said they had been there,whilk is a' ane, ye ken; and maybe twa or three draggletailed misses,that wear my Leddy Penelope's follies when she has dune wi' them, as herqueans of maids wear her second-hand claithes. So, after her leddyship'shappy recovery, as they ca'd it, down cam the hail tribe of wild-geese,and settled by the Well, to dine thereout on the bare grund, like awheen tinklers; and they had sangs, and tunes, and healths, nae doubt,in praise of the fountain, as they ca'd the Well, and of Leddy PenelopePenfeather; and, lastly, they behoved a' to take a solemn bumper of thespring, which, as I'm tauld, made unco havoc amang them or they wanhame; and this they ca'd picknick, and a plague to them! And sae the jigwas begun after her leddyship's pipe, and mony a mad measure has beendanced sin' syne; for down cam masons and murgeon-makers, and preachersand player-folk, and Episcopalians and Methodists, and fools andfiddlers, and Papists and pie-bakers, and doctors and drugsters; by theshop-folk, that sell trash and trumpery at three prices--and so up gotthe bonny new Well, and down fell the honest auld town of Saint Ronan's,where blithe decent folk had been heartsome eneugh for mony a day beforeony o' them were born, or ony sic vapouring fancies kittled in theircracked brains."

  "What said your landlord, the Laird of Saint Ronan's, to all this?" saidTyrrel.

  "Is't _my_ landlord ye are asking after, Maister Francie?--the Laird ofSaint Ronan's is nae landlord of mine, and I think ye might hae mindedthat.--Na, na, thanks be to Praise! Meg Dods is baith land_lord_ andland_leddy_. Ill eneugh to keep the doors open as it is, let be facingWhitsunday and Martinmas--an auld leather pock there is, MaisterFrancie, in ane of worthy Maister Bindloose the sheriff-clerk'spigeon-holes, in his dowcot of a closet in the burgh; and therein isbaith charter and sasine, and special service to boot; and that will bechapter and verse, speer when ye list."

  "I had quite forgotten," said Tyrrel, "that the inn was your own; thoughI remember you were a considerable landed proprietor."

  "Maybe I am," replied Meg, "maybe I am not: and if I be, what forno?--But as to what the Laird, whose grandfather was my father'slandlord, said to the new doings yonder--he just jumped at the readypenny, like a cock at a grosert, and feu'd the bonny holm beside theWell, that they ca'd the Saint-Well-holm, that was like the best land inhis aught, to be carved, and biggit, and howkit up, just at the pleasureof Jock Ashler the stane-mason, that ca's himsell an arkiteck--there'snae living for new words in this new warld neither, and that is anothervex to auld folk such as me.--It's a shame o' the young Laird, to lethis auld patrimony gang the gate it's like to gang, and my heart is sairto see't, though it has but little cause to care what comes of him orhis."

  "Is it the same Mr. Mowbray," said Mr. Tyrrel, "who still holds theestate?--the old gentleman, you know, whom I had some dispute with"----

  "About hunting moorfowl upon the Spring-well-head muirs?" said Meg. "Ah,lad! honest Mr. Bindloose brought you neatly off th
ere--Na, it's no thathonest man, but his son John Mowbray--the t'other has slept down-by inSaint Ronan's Kirk for these six or seven years."

  "Did he leave," asked Tyrrel, with something of a faltering voice, "noother child than the present Laird?"

  "No other son," said Meg; "and there's e'en eneugh, unless he could haveleft a better ane."

  "He died then," said Tyrrel, "excepting this son, without children?"

  "By your leave, no," said Meg; "there is the lassie Miss Clara, thatkeeps house for the Laird, if it can be ca'd keeping house, for he isalmost aye down at the Well yonder--so a sma' kitchen serves them at theShaws."

  "Miss Clara will have but a dull time of it there during her brother'sabsence?" said the stranger.

  "Out no!--he has her aften jinketing about, and back and forward, wi' a'the fine flichtering fools that come yonder; and clapping palms wi'them, and linking at their dances and daffings. I wuss nae ill come o't,but it's a shame her father's daughter should keep company wi' a' thatscauff and raff of physic-students, and writers' prentices, and bagmen,and siclike trash as are down at the Well yonder."

  "You are severe, Mrs. Dods," replied the guest. "No doubt Miss Clara'sconduct deserves all sort of freedom."

  "I am saying naething against her conduct," said the dame; "and there'snae ground to say onything that I ken of--But I wad hae like draw tolike, Maister Francie. I never quarrelled the ball that the gentry usedto hae at my bit house a gude wheen years bygane--when they came, theauld folk in their coaches, wi' lang-tailed black horses, and a wheengalliard gallants on their hunting horses, and mony a decent leddybehind her ain goodman, and mony a bonny smirking lassie on her pownie,and wha sae happy as they--And what for no? And then there was thefarmers' ball, wi' the tight lads of yeomen with the bran new blues andthe buckskins--These were decent meetings--but then they were a' aeman's bairns that were at them, ilk ane kend ilk other--they dancedfarmers wi' farmers' daughters, at the tane, and gentles wi' gentleblood, at the t'other, unless maybe when some of the gentlemen of theKillnakelty Club would gie me a round of the floor mysell, in the way ofdaffing and fun, and me no able to flyte on them for laughing--I am sureI never grudged these innocent pleasures, although it has cost me maybea week's redding up, before I got the better of the confusion."

  "But, dame," said Tyrrel, "this ceremonial would be a little hard uponstrangers like myself, for how were we to find partners in these familyparties of yours?"

  "Never you fash your thumb about that, Maister Francie," returned thelandlady, with a knowing wink.--"Every Jack will find a Jill, gang theworld as it may--and, at the warst o't, better hae some fashery infinding a partner for the night, than get yoked with ane that you maynot be able to shake off the morn."

  "And does that sometimes happen?" asked the stranger.

  "Happen!--and is't amang the Well folk that ye mean?" exclaimed thehostess. "Was it not the last season, as they ca't, no farther gane,that young Sir Bingo Binks, the English lad wi' the red coat, that keepsa mail-coach, and drives it himsell, gat cleekit with Miss RachelBonnyrigg, the auld Leddy Loupengirth's lang-legged daughter--and theydanced sae lang thegither, that there was mair said than suld hae beensaid about it--and the lad would fain hae louped back, but the auldleddy held him to his tackle, and the Commissary Court and somebody elsemade her Leddy Binks in spite of Sir Bingo's heart--and he has neverdaured take her to his friends in England, but they have just winteredand summered it at the Well ever since--and that is what the Well isgood for!"

  "And does Clara,--I mean does Miss Mowbray, keep company with such womenas these?" said Tyrrel, with a tone of interest which he checked as heproceeded with the question.

  "What can she do, puir thing?" said the dame. "She maun keep the companythat her brother keeps, for she is clearly dependent.--But, speaking ofthat, I ken what I have to do, and that is no little, before it darkens.I have sat clavering with you ower lang, Maister Francie."

  And away she marched with a resolved step, and soon the clear octaves ofher voice were heard in shrill admonition to her handmaidens.

  Tyrrel paused a moment in deep thought, then took his hat, paid a visitto the stable, where his horse saluted him with feathering ears, andthat low amicable neigh, with which that animal acknowledges theapproach of a loving and beloved friend. Having seen that the faithfulcreature was in every respect attended to, Tyrrel availed himself of thecontinued and lingering twilight, to visit the old Castle, which, uponformer occasions, had been his favourite evening walk. He remained whilethe light permitted, admiring the prospect we attempted to describe inthe first chapter, and comparing, as in his former reverie, the fadedhues of the glimmering landscape to those of human life, when earlyyouth and hope have ceased to gild them.

  A brisk walk to the inn, and a light supper on a Welsh rabbit and thedame's home-brewed, were stimulants of livelier, at least more resignedthoughts--and the Blue bedroom, to the honours of which he had beenpromoted, received him a contented, if not a cheerful tenant.

  FOOTNOTES:

  [I-8] The foundress of a sect called Buchanites; a species of JoannaSouthcote, who long after death was expected to return and head herdisciples on the road to Jerusalem.

  [I-9] _Escrouelles_, King's Evil.