by Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, 
 Bart. 
 
 L I B RA FLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 OY ILLINOIS 
 
 e>zt 
 
 L^Gw 
 
 v.\
 
 THE 
 
 WOLFE OF BADENOCH.
 
 EDINBUKGH : 
 PRINTED BY JAMBS BALLANTYNE AND CO.
 
 THE 
 
 WOLFE OF BADENOCH; 
 
 A HISTORICAL ROMANCE OF THE 
 FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " LOCHANDHU." 
 
 De cornada de ansaron 
 Guarde Dios mi corazon. 
 
 Spanish Proverb. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED FOR CADELL & CO. EDINBURGH ; 
 AND SIMPKIN & MARSHALL, LONDON. 
 
 1827.
 
 
 PRELIMINARY NOTICE. 
 
 The Wolfe of Badenoch was adver- 
 tised in June 1825, at which time it was 
 
 I ready for the press. Since then, certain cir- 
 cumstances, easily guessed at, have subjected 
 it, with many a more important Work, to 
 
 £ an embargo, from which Critics may very 
 possibly say it should never have been libe- 
 rated. The Author himself had forgotten 
 
 . it, until now that it has been unexpectedly 
 called for ; and this must be his apology 
 
 - for that want of revision which he fears will 
 be but too apparent. 
 
 The Author has been accused of being an 
 
 imitator of the Great Unknown. In his own 
 vol. i. a
 
 vi PRELIMINARY NOTICE. 
 
 defence, however, he must say, that he is 
 far from being wilfully so. In truth, his 
 greatest anxiety has been to avoid intruding 
 profanely into the sacred haunts of that Mas- 
 ter Enchanter. But let it be remembered, 
 that the mighty spirit of the Magician has 
 already so filled the labyrinth of Romance* 
 that it is not easy to venture within its pre- 
 cincts, without feeling his influence ; and to 
 say, that in exploring the intricacies of these 
 wizard paths, one is to be denounced for un- 
 wittingly treading upon those flowers which 
 have been pressed by his giant foot, amounts 
 to a perfect prohibition of all entrance there. 
 
 In the Wolfe of Badenoch, the 
 Author has adhered strictly to historical 
 fact, as far as history or historical character 
 has been interwoven with his story. He 
 has felt, indeed, that this scrupulosity has 
 considerably fettered his invention ; and 
 had circumstances permitted the Public so
 
 PRELIMINARY NOTICE. vii 
 
 to judge of his former production, some of 
 the remarks thrown out upon it would have 
 been spared.
 
 ERRATA ET CORRIGENDA. 
 
 Page 2, line 16, for day -read gay. 
 
 21, line 2 from the bottom, for vale read nale. 
 
 23, line 5 from the bottom, for foeman read foemen. 
 
 24, line 1, before 'tis insert but. 
 
 . 73, line 8 from the bottom, for coarcted read coarted. 
 
 . . ■ 133, line 2 from the bottom, for butt-horse readhztt -horse. 
 
 ■i 144, line 7, for paukers read pankers. 
 
 ■ 155, line 11, for alunes read alures. 
 
 ■ i. , 169, line 13, for carriers read couriers. 
 
 .- . 173, line 7 from the bottom, for risks for read risks of. 
 ■. , , 188, line 6 from the bottom, for Gad-a-mercy read Gra- 
 
 mercy. 
 — — 216, line 12, for topinage read tapinage. 
 
 - .. . 258, line at the bottom, for hither read thither. 
 
 ■ 261, line 5, before climbed insert they. 
 . ■ 327, line I, for cheerily read charily. 
 — — 332, line 3, for bywoxan read bywoxen. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE 
 
 WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was in the latter part of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury, that Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John 
 Assueton — two young Scottish knights, who had 
 been serving their novitiate of chivalry under 
 the banners of Charles the VI. of France, and 
 who had bled their maiden lances against the 
 Flemings at Rosebarque — were hastening to- 
 wards the Border separating England from their 
 native country. A truce then subsisting betwixt 
 the kingdoms that divided Britain, had enabled 
 the two friends to land in Kent, whence they 
 were permitted to prosecute their journey 
 through the dominions of Richard II., attend- 
 ed by a circumscribed retinue of some ten or a 
 dozen horsemen. 
 
 " These tedious leagues of English ground 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 seem to lengthen under our travel, " said Sir 
 John Assueton, breaking a silence that was 
 stealing upon their march, with the descending 
 shades of evening. " Dost thou not long for 
 one cheering glance of the silver Tweed, ere its 
 stream shall have been forsaken by the last glim- 
 mer of twilight ?" 
 
 " In sooth, I should be well contented to be- 
 hold it," replied Hepborne. " The night droops 
 fast, and our jaded palfreys already lag their 
 ears from weariness. Even our unbacked war- 
 steeds, albeit they have carried no heavier bur- 
 den than their trappings, have nathless lost some 
 deal of their morning's mettle, and judging from 
 their sobered paces, methinks they would glad- 
 ly exchange their day chamfronts for the more 
 vulgar hempen-halters of some well-littered sta- 
 ble." 
 
 " Depardieux, but I have mine own sympa- 
 thy with them," said Assueton. " Said'st thou 
 not that we should lie at Norham to-night ?" 
 
 " Me thought to cast the time and the distance 
 so," replied Hepborne ; " and by those lights 
 that twinkle from yonder dark mass, rising 
 against that yellow streak in the sky, I should 
 judge that I have not greatly missed in meting 
 our day's journey to that of the sun. Look be- 
 tween those groups of trees — nay, mbre to the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 3 
 
 right, over that swelling bank ; — that, if I mis- 
 take not, is the keep of Norham Castle, and those 
 are doubtless the torches of the warders moving 
 along the battlements. The watch must be set- 
 ting ere this. Let us put on." 
 
 " Thou dost not mean to crave hospitality 
 from the captain of the strength, dost thou ?" 
 demanded Assueton. 
 
 " Such was my purpose," replied Hepborne ; 
 " and the rather, that the good old knight, Sir 
 Walter de Selby, hath a fair fame for being no 
 churlish host." 
 
 " Nay, if thou lovest me, Hepborne, let us 
 shun the Castle," said Assueton. " I have, 'tis 
 true, heard of this same Sir Walter de Selby ; 
 and the world lies, if he be not, indeed, as thou 
 say'st, a hospitable old knight. But they say 
 he hath damsels about him ; and thou knowest 
 I love not to doff mine armour only to don the 
 buckram of etiquette ; and to have mine inven- 
 tion put upon the rack to minister to woman's 
 vanity. Let us then to the village hostel, I en- 
 treat thee." 
 
 " This strange unknightly disease of thine 
 doth grow on thee, Assueton," said Hepborne, 
 • laughing. " I have, indeed, heard that the wi- 
 dowed Sir Walter was left with one peerless 
 daughter, who is doubtless the pride of her fa-
 
 4 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ther's hall ; nay, I confess to thee, my friend, 
 that the much-bruited tale of her beauty hath 
 had its own share in begetting my desire to lodge 
 me in Norham ; but since thou wilt have it 
 so, I am content to pleasure thee, trusting that 
 this my ready penance of self-denial may count 
 against the heavy score of my sins. But stay ; 
 —What may this be that lies fluttering here 
 among the gorse ?" 
 
 " Meseems it a wounded hawk," said Assue- 
 ton, stooping from his horse to look at it. 
 
 " In truth, 'tis indeed a fair falcon," said Hep- 
 borne's esquire, Mortimer Sang, as he dismount- 
 ed to pick it up. " He gasps as if he were dy- 
 ing. Ha ! by'r lady, but he hath nommed a plump 
 partridge ; see here, it is dead in his talons." 
 
 " He hath perchance come by some hurt in 
 the swooping," said Hepborne; " Can'st thou 
 discover any wound in him ?" 
 
 " Nay, I can see nothing amiss in him," re- 
 plied Sang. 
 
 " I'll warrant me, a well-reclaimed falcon," 
 said Hepborne, taking him from his esquire ; 
 " ay, and the pet of some fair damsel too, if I 
 may guess from his silken jesses. But hold 
 — he reviveth. I will put him here in the bo- 
 som of my surcoat, and so foster the small spark 
 of life that may yet remain in him."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 5 
 
 At this moment their attention was arrested 
 by the sound of voices ; and by the meagre light 
 that now remained, they could descry two ladies, 
 mounted on palfreys, and followed by two or 
 three male attendants, who came slowly from 
 behind a wooded knoll, a little to the left of the 
 path before them. Their eyes were thrown on 
 the ground, and they seemed to be earnestly 
 engaged in looking for something they had lost. 
 
 " Alas, my poor bird !" said one of the ladies, 
 " I fear I shall never see thee more." 
 
 " Marry, 'tis vain to look for him by this lack 
 of light," said an esquire. 
 
 " Do thou thy duty and seek for him, Master 
 Turnberry," said the second lady, in a haughty 
 tone. 
 
 " A murrain on't !" said the esquire again ; 
 " this comes of casting a hawk at a fowl at sun- 
 down." 
 
 w I tell thee he must be hereabouts," said the 
 second lady again ; " it was over these very trees 
 that I saw him stoop." 
 
 " Stoop ! ay, I'll be sworn I saw him stoop," 
 said the squire. " But an I saw him not dash 
 his brains 'gainst one of those gnarled elms, my 
 name is not Thomas, and I have'no eyes for fal- 
 conry. He's amortised, I promise thee." 
 
 " Silence, Master Turnberry," said the same
 
 6 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 lady again ; " thou givest thy tongue larger li- 
 cense than doth well beseem thee." 
 
 " By the Rood, but 'tis well to call silence," 
 replied the esquire, sulkily, " and to me too who 
 did verily steal these two hours' sport of hawk- 
 ing for thee at mine own proper peril." 
 
 M Ay, stolen indeed were they on thy part, 
 Master Turnberry," replied the same lady; 
 " but forget not that they were honestly bought 
 of thee on ours." 
 
 " Nay, then, bought or not," said the esquire, 
 " the last nail's breadth of thy merchandize hath 
 been unrolled to thee. We must e'en clip short, 
 and haste us to Norham, else will Sir Walter's 
 grey beard become redder than a comet's tail 
 with ire. Thou knowest this hath been but a 
 testy day with him." 
 
 " Peace with thine impudence, sir knave," 
 said the same lady, hotly. " Dost thou dare 
 thus to speak in presence of the Lady Eleanore 
 de Selby ? A greybeard's ire shall never " 
 
 " Nay, talk not so," said the first lady, mild- 
 ly interrupting her. " The honest squire equer- 
 ry hath reason. Though it grieveth me to lose 
 my poor falcon thus, we must e'en give him up, 
 and haste us to the Castle." 
 
 " Stay, stay, fair damsel," cried Hepborne, 
 urging his steed forward from the hollow bushy
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 7 
 
 path where he and his party had hitherto re- 
 mained concealed, from dread of alarming the 
 ladies, a precaution which he now entirely for- 
 got in his eagerness to approach her, whose per- 
 son and manners had already bewitched him. 
 " Stay, stay — fly not, lady — your hawk — your 
 falcon !" 
 
 But the sudden appearance of armed men 
 had so filled the ladies with alarm, that they 
 had fled at his first word ; and he now saw him- 
 self opposed by sturdy Squire Turnberry, who, 
 being too much taken by surprise to catch the 
 knight's meaning, and taking it for granted that 
 his purpose was hostile, wheeled his horse round, 
 and planting himself firmly in the midst of the 
 path, at the head of the grooms, couched his 
 hunting-spear, as if determined to prevent pur- 
 suit. 
 
 " What, ho ! sir stranger knight — what seek 
 ye, in the fiend's name ?" demanded the squire, 
 sternly. 
 
 " Credit me no evil," said Sir Patrick. " It 
 galleth me sore that mine intemperate rudeness 
 should have so frayed these beauteous damsels. 
 Mine intent was but to restore the fair lady's 
 lost falcon, the which we chanced to pick up in 
 this hollow way. He had ta'en some unseen
 
 8 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 hurt in swooping at this partridge, which lie had 
 nommed." 
 
 " Nay, by the mass, but I thought as much," 
 said the squire. 
 
 " Tell the lovely mistress of this fair bird, 
 that Sir Patrick Hepborne willingly submits 
 him to what penance she may enjoin for the 
 alarm he caused her," said the knight ; " and 
 tell her too, that he gave life to her expiring 
 falcon, by cherishing it in his bosom." 
 
 " I give thee thanks in mine own name, and 
 that of the lady who owneth the hawk," said 
 the esquire. " Trust me, thy sin will be for- 
 gotten in the signal service thou hast done her. 
 The bird, methinks, rouseth him as if there were 
 no longer evil in him." 
 
 " Yea, he proyneth and manteleth him as if 
 rejoicing that he shall again embrace his lady's 
 wrist with his sengles," said the knight. " Hap- 
 py bird ! depardieux, but he is to be envied. 
 Tell his fair mistress, that if the small service 
 it hath been my good fortune to render her may 
 merit aught of boon at her hands, let my re- 
 ward be mine enlistment in that host of gallant 
 knights who may have vowed devotion to her 
 will." 
 
 " Sir Knight," said the squire, " I will bear 
 thy courteous message to her who owneth the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 9 
 
 falcon ; and if I tarry not longer to give thee 
 greater store of thanks, 'tis that the Lady Elea- 
 nore de Selby hath spurred away so fast, that 
 I must have a fiend's flight if I can catch her." 
 And turning his horse with these words, he 
 tarried not for further parlance. 
 
 " 'Tis a strange adventure, Assueton," said 
 Hepborne to his friend, as they pursued their 
 journey ; "to meet thus with the peerless Elea- 
 nore de Selby at the very moment she formed 
 the subject of our discourse." 
 
 " 'Tis whimsical enow," said Assueton, drily, 
 " yet it is nothing marvellous." 
 
 " Albeit that the growing darkness left me 
 but to guess at the excellence of her features, 
 from the elegance of her person," continued 
 Hepborne, " yet do I confess myself more than 
 half enamoured of her by very intuition. Dicl'st 
 thou observe that her attendant who talked so 
 forwardly, though not devoid of grace, showed 
 in her superior presence but as a mere mortal 
 beside a goddess ?" 
 
 " Nay," replied Assueton, " though I do rare- 
 ly measure or weigh the points of women, and 
 am more versant in those of a battle-steed, yet 
 methought that the attendant, as thou callest 
 her, had the more noble port of the two." 
 
 " Fie on thy judgment, Assueton," cried 
 a2
 
 10 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Hepborne ; "to prefer the saucy pert demean- 
 our of an over-indulged handmaid, to the dig- 
 nified deportment of gentle birth. The Lady 
 Eleanore de Selby — she, I mean, in the reddish- 
 coloured mantle, she who wept for her hawk — 
 was as far above her companion in the elegance 
 of her air, as heaven is above earth." 
 
 " May be so," replied Assueton, with perfect 
 indifference, " 'tis a question not worth the 
 mooting." 
 
 " To thee, perhaps, it may be of little inte- 
 rest," said Hepborne ; " but I could be well con- 
 tented to be permitted to solve it in Norham 
 Castle. Why wert thou born with feelings so 
 much at war with what beseemeth a knight, as 
 to make thee eschew all converse with those fair 
 beings, the sun of whose beauty shineth but to 
 brace up the otherwise damp and flaccid nerves 
 of chivalrous adventure ?" 
 
 " Nay, thou mightest as well demand of mc 
 why my raven locks arc not as fair as thine," 
 said Assueton, with a smile ; " yea, or bid him 
 who is born blind to will to see." 
 
 " By Saint Baldrid, but I do pity thee as 
 much as if thou wert blind," said Hepborne. 
 " Nay, what is it but to be blind, yea, to want 
 every sense, to be thus unmoved with " 
 
 " Ha ! see where the broad bosom of Tweed
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 11 
 
 at last glads our eyes, glistening yonder with 
 the pale light that still lingers in the west," 
 exclaimed Assueton, overjoyed to avail himself 
 of so happy an opportunity of interrupting his 
 friend's harangue. 
 
 " Yonder farther shadowy hank is Scotland 
 —our country," cried Hephorne, with deep feel- 
 ing. 
 
 " God's blessing on her hardy soil !" said As- 
 sueton, with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Amen !" said Hephorne. " To her shall we 
 henceforth devote our arms, long enow wielded 
 in foreign broils, where, in truth, heart did 
 hardly go with hand." 
 
 " But where lieth the hamlet of Norham ?" 
 inquired Assueton. 
 
 " Seest thou not where a few feeble rays are 
 shed from its scattered tenements on the hither 
 meadow below ?" replied Hephorne. " Nay, 
 thou mayest dimly descry the church yonder, 
 sanctified by the shelter it did of erst yield to 
 the blessed remains of the holy St Cuthbert, 
 what time the impious Danes drove them from 
 Lindisferne." 
 
 " But what, methinks, is most to thy present 
 purpose, Sir Knight," observed Mortimer Sang, 
 " yonder brighter glede proceedeth, if I rightly 
 guess, from the blazing hearth of Master Syl-
 
 12 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 vester Kyle, as thirsty a tapster as ever broach- 
 ed a barrel, and one who, if he be yet alive, 
 hath hardly, I wot, his make on either side the 
 Border, for knavery and sharp wit." 
 
 " Pray heaven his sharp wit may not have 
 soured his ale," muttered Roger Riddel, the 
 laconic esquire of Sir John Assueton. 
 
 They now hastened down the hollow way that 
 led to the village, and soon found themselves 
 in its simple street. 
 
 " Ay," exclaimed Sang, "by St Andrew, 
 but old Kyle's gate is right hospitably open. 
 I promise ye, 'tis a good omen for Border quiet 
 to find it so. So please thee, Sir Knight, shall 
 I advance and give note of thine approach ?" 
 
 " Do so," said Hepborne to the esquire, who 
 immediately cantered forward. 
 
 " Ho ! house there !" cried Sang, halting in 
 the gateway. " Come forth, Monsieur, mine 
 host of the hostel of the Norham Tower. — Where 
 art thou, Master Sylvester Kyle ? — Where be 
 thine hostlers, drawers, and underskinkers ? — 
 Why do not all appear to do themselves honour 
 by waiting on two most puissant knights, for I 
 talk not of their esquires, or of the other gen- 
 tlemen soldiers of pregnant prowess, of the very 
 least of whom it were an honour to undo the 
 spur ?"
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 13 
 
 By the time that Sang had ended his sum- 
 mons, the party were at the gate, and had lei- 
 sure to survey the premises. A rude wall of 
 considerable strength faced the irregular street 
 of the village, having the gateway in the centre. 
 The thatch-roofed buildings within formed the 
 other three sides of the quadrangular court. 
 Those to the right were occupied as stables, and 
 in those to the left were the kitchen, and various 
 other domestic offices ; whilst the middle part 
 was entirely taken up by one large room, from 
 whence gleamed the light of a great fire, that 
 burned on a hearth in the midst, shedding 
 around a common comfort on the motley parties 
 of noisy ale-drinkers seated at different tables. 
 
 " What, ho ! Sylvester, I say — what a mur- 
 rain keeps thee ?" cried Sang, although the port- 
 ly form of the vintner already appeared within 
 the aperture of the doorway, like a goodly por- 
 trait in a frame, his carbuncled face vying in 
 lustre with the red flare of the torch he held 
 high in his hand. " Gramercy, Master Kyle, 
 so thou hast come at last. By the mass, but 
 that paunch of thine is a right fair warrant for 
 the goodness of thine ale, yet will it be well that 
 it do come quicker when it be called for than 
 thou hast." 
 
 " Heyday, what a racket thou dost make,
 
 14 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 gaffer horseman !" cried Kyle. " But the emp- 
 tiest vessel doth ever make the most din." 
 
 " Tut, man, thou hast hit it for once with 
 thy fool's-head," replied Sang. " I am, as thou 
 sayest, at this present, in very sober earnest, an 
 empty vessel ; yea, and for that matter, so are 
 Ave all. But never trust me an we make not a 
 din till we be filled. The sooner thou stoppest 
 our music, then, the better for thine ears, see- 
 ing that if we be forced to pipe thus, and that 
 thou dancest not more quickly to our call, thou 
 mayest perchance lose them." 
 
 " By the mass, but thy music is marvellous- 
 ly out of tune, good fellow," replied the publi- 
 can. " Thy screeching is like that of a cracked 
 rebeck, the neck of which must be hard griped, 
 and most cruelly pinched, ere its tone be soft- 
 ened. But of what strength is thy company ?" 
 continued he, whirling his torch around so as to 
 obtain a general view of the group of horse- 
 men. " By St Cuthbert, I wish there may be 
 stabling for ye all." 
 
 " Stabling for us all, Sir knave ?" cried Sang ; 
 " marry, thou dost speak as if we were a herd 
 of horses." 
 
 " Cry you mercy, noble esquire," rejoined 
 Kyle. " An thou beest an ass, indeed, a halter 
 and a hook at the gate-cheek may serve thy
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 15 
 
 turn, and so peraunter I may find room for the 
 rest." 
 
 A smothered laugh among his comrades pro- 
 claimed Squire Sang's defeat. The triumphant 
 host ran to hold Sir Patrick Hepborne's stirrup. 
 
 " By the Rood," cried the squire, as he dis- 
 mounted, with a good-natured chuckle at his 
 own discomfiture, — "by the Rood, but the rogue 
 hath mastered me for this bout. But verily my 
 wit is fasting, whilst his, I warrant, hath the 
 full spirit of his potent ale in't. Never trust 
 me but I shall be even with him anon." 
 
 " Master Kyle," said Assueton to their host, 
 as he ushered his guests into the common room, 
 " we should be glad to see some food. The 
 rising sun looked upon our last meal ; so bestir 
 thyself, I prithee, goodman, and let us know as 
 soon as may be how we are to fare." 
 
 " Room there, sirs, for two valiant knights," 
 cried Kyle, getting rid of the question by ad- 
 dressing himself to a party seated at a table 
 near the hearth ; " room, I say, gentlemen. — 
 What, are ye stocks, my masters ?" 
 
 " Nay, treat not the good people so rudely," 
 said Hepborne, as some eight or ten persons 
 were hastily vacating their places ; " there is 
 room enow for all. Go not thou, at least, old 
 man," continued he, addressing a minstrel who
 
 16 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 was following the rest, his snowy locks and 
 beard hanging luxuriantly around a counte- 
 nance that showed all the freshness of a green 
 old age ; "sit thee down, I do beseech thee, and 
 vouchsafe us thy winning discourse. Where is 
 the chevalier to whom a bard may not do ho- 
 nour ?" 
 
 The minstrel's heart was touched by Sir Pa- 
 trick's kind words; his full hazel eye beamed 
 on him with gratitude ; he put his hand to his 
 breast, and modestly bowed his head. 
 
 " My time is already spent, most gentle 
 knight," said he. " Ere this I am looked for at 
 the Castle ; yet, ere I go hence, let me drink 
 this cup of thanks for thy courtesy. To thee I 
 wish tender love of fairest lady; and may thy 
 lance, and the lance of thy brave companion, 
 never be couched but to conquer." And so 
 draining the draught to the bottom, he again 
 bowed, and immediately retired. 
 
 " So, Master Kyle," said Assueton to the 
 host, who returned at this moment, after having 
 ascertained the country and quality of his new 
 guests, " what hast thou in thy buttery ?" 
 
 " Of a truth, Sir Knight, we are now but ill 
 provided for sike guests," replied Kyle. " Had 
 it but been thy luck to have sojourned here yes- 
 tere'en, indeed, I wot ye mought ha' been feast-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 17 
 
 ed. But arrives me my Lord Bishop of Dur- 
 ham at the Castle this morning ; — down comes 
 me the seneschal with his huttery-men, and 
 whips me off a whole beeve's carcase ; — then in 
 pour me the people of my Lord Bishop, clerks, 
 lacqueys, and grooms ; — bolt goes me a leg of 
 mutton here — crack goes me a venison pasty 
 there — gobble goes me a salmon in this corner, 
 whilst a whole flock of pullets are riven asunder 
 in that ; — so that there has been nothing from 
 sunrise till sundown but wagging of jaws." 
 
 " Marry, these church-followers are wont to 
 be stout knights of the trencher," said Assue- 
 ton, with a smile. " But let us have a supper 
 from what may be left thee, and that without 
 more ado." 
 
 " Anon, courteous Sir Knight," said Master 
 Kyle, with a grin. " But, as I was a-saying, 
 there hath been such stuffing ; nay, ye may 
 know by the clinking of their cans that the 
 rogues drink not fasting. By the mass, 'tis easy 
 to guess from the seas of ale they are swallow- 
 ing, what mountains of good provender they 
 have to float in their stomachs. Why, yonder 
 lantern-jaws i' the corner, with a mouth that 
 opens as if he would swallow another Jonas, 
 and wangs like the famine-ground fangs of a 
 starving wolf — that same fellow devoured me a
 
 18 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 couple of fat capons single-handed ; and that 
 other churl " 
 
 " Have done with thine impertinence, vil- 
 lain," said Assueton, interrupting him ; " have 
 done with thine impertinence, I say, and let us 
 straightway have such fare as thou canst give, 
 or by St Andrew " 
 
 " Nay, then, sweet sir," replied the host, 
 
 " there be yet reserved some delicate pig's liver 
 
 for myself and Mrs Kyle, but they shall be 
 
 * forthwith cheerfully yielded to thy necessities." 
 
 " Pestilence take thee, knave," cried Assue- 
 ton, " couldst thou not have set them down to 
 us at once, without stirring up our appetites to 
 greater keenness by thine enumeration of the 
 good things that are gone ? Come, come, dis- 
 patch — our hunger is beyond nicety." 
 
 Sir John Assueton now 6at down to put in 
 practice that patience of hunger, the exercise of 
 which was one of the chief virtues of knight- 
 hood. As for Sir Patrick Hepborne, his atten- 
 tion was so entirely absorbed by a conversation 
 that ensued at the adjoining table, to which the 
 Bishop's people had retired, that he altogether 
 forgot his wants. 
 
 " And was it thy luck to see the Lady 
 Eleanore de Selbv, Master Barton ?" demanded
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 19 
 
 one of the persons of the dialogue; " Fame 
 speaketh largely of her perfections/' 
 
 " Yea, Foster, I did indeed behold her," re- 
 plied the other, who seemed to be a person of 
 more consequence than the rest. " When I 
 entered the Castle-hall this morning, to receive 
 the commands of my lord the Bishop, she was 
 6eated between him and her father. They were 
 alone, and the old knight was urging something 
 to her in round soldier-like terms ; but I ga- 
 thered not the purport of his speech, for he 
 broke off abruptly as I appeared." 
 
 w And is she so rare a beauty as folks do call 
 her ?" demanded Foster. 
 
 " Verily so much loveliness did never bless 
 these eyes before," replied Barton. " Yet was 
 the sunshine of her face disturbed by clouds. 
 Tear-drops, too, had dimmed the lustre of her 
 charms. But methought they were more the 
 offspring of a haughty spirit than of an afflicted 
 heart," 
 
 " Nay, of a truth they do say that she lack- 
 eth not haughtiness," observed Foster. " 'Tis 
 whispered that she hath already scorned some 
 noble knights who would fain have wedded the 
 heiress of the rich Sir Walter de Selby." 
 
 " Nay, I warrant me she hath had suitors 
 enow, and those no mean ones," replied Bar-
 
 20 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ton. " What thinkest thou of Sir Rafe Pier- 
 sie, brother to the gallant Hotspur? Marry, 
 they say that he deigns to woo her with right 
 serious intent." 
 
 " Sayest thou so ?" exclaimed Foster ; w then 
 must the old knight's gold have glittered in the 
 young knight's eyes, that a proud-blooded Pier- 
 sie should even him thus to the daughter of him 
 who is but a soldier of fortune." 
 
 " Ay, and welcome, I ween, would the old 
 knight's hard-won wealth be to the empty cof- 
 fers of a younger brother who hath never spared 
 expense," replied Barton. 
 
 " Yea, and high, I wot, mought Sir Walter's 
 hoar head be held with such a gallant for his 
 son-in-law," observed Foster again. 
 
 " Trust me," said Barton, " he would joy- 
 fully part with all the golden fruits he hath 
 gleaned from Scottish fields, to see this solitary 
 scion from his old stock grafted on the goodly 
 and towering tree of Northumberland. But they 
 say that the Lady Eleanore is so hard to win, 
 that she even scorns this high alliance ; and if 
 I might guess at matters the which to know 
 are beyond my reach, I should say, heark ye, 
 that this visit of our Right Reverend Lord Bi- 
 shop to Sir Walter de Selby, hath something in 

 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 21 
 
 it of the nature of an ambassage from the Pier- 
 sie touching this same affair." 
 
 " I do well know our Right Reverend Lord's 
 affection for that house," said Foster. 
 
 " Nay, he doth stand related to the Piersie in 
 no very distant degree," replied Barton. 
 
 " Perchance this marriage treaty then had 
 something to do with the lady's tears," observed 
 Foster. 
 
 " Doubtless," said Barton. " But I mistake 
 if she carrieth not a high brow that will be ill 
 to bend. Her doting father hath been ever too 
 foolishly fond of her to thwart her will, till it 
 hath waxed too strong for his opposing. She 
 will never yield, I promise thee." 
 
 " Then hath our Bishop lost his travel," said 
 Foster. "But when returneth our Reverend 
 Lord homeward ?" 
 
 " His present orders are for to-morrow," re- 
 plied Barton. 
 
 " How say'st thou, Assueton?" said Hepborne, 
 in a whisper to his friend, after the conversation 
 between the two strangers had dropped ; " how 
 sayest thou now ? Did I right, think ye, to yield 
 to thine importunity, to shun the hospitality of 
 Norham Castle, that we might hostel it so vilely 
 here i' the vale of the Norham Tower ? Dost 
 thou not grieve for thy folly?"
 
 22 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Why, faith," replied Assueton, " to thee it 
 may be cause of some regret ; and I may grieve 
 for thee, seeing that thou, an idolater of wo- 
 man's beauty, hast missed worshipping before the 
 footstool of this haughty damsel. Thou mightest 
 have caught a shred of ribbon from her fair hand, 
 perchance, to have been treasured and worn in 
 thy helmet ; but, for mine own particular part, 
 I despise such toys. Rough, unribboned steel, 
 and the joyous neighing of my war-steed, are to 
 me more pleasing than the gaudy paraments and 
 puling parlance of love-sick maidens." 
 
 " Nay, then, I do confess that my desire to 
 behold this rare beauty hath much grown by 
 what I have heard," replied Hepborne. " Would 
 that thou had'st been less indolently disposed, 
 my friend. We might have been even now in 
 the Castle ; and ere we should have left it, who 
 knows but we might have rescued this distress- 
 ed damosel from an alliance she detesteth ? Even 
 after all these protestations to the contrary, thine 
 icy heart mought have been thawed by the fire 
 of her eyes, and the adventure mought have born 
 thine own." 
 
 " St Andrew forbid !" replied Assueton. " I 
 covet no such emprise. I trust my heart is 
 love-proof. Have I not stood before the light- 
 ning-glances of the demoiselles of Paris, and
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 23 
 
 may I not hold my breastplate to be good ar- 
 mour against all else ?" 
 
 " Nay, boast not of this unknightly duresse of 
 thine, Assueton," replied Hepborne. " Trust 
 me, thou wilt fall when thine hour cometh. But, 
 by St Baldrid, I would give this golden chain 
 from my neck — nay, I would give ten times its 
 worth, to be blessed with but a sight of her." 
 
 " Ay," said Assueton, " thou art like the moth, 
 and would'st hover round the lamp-fire till thy 
 wings were singed." 
 
 " Pshaw, Sir Adamant," said Hepborne, 
 " thou knowest I have skimmed through many 
 a festal hall, blazing with bright eyes, and yet 
 are my pinions as whole as thine. But I am not 
 insensible to woman's charms as thou art ; and 
 to behold so bright a star, perdie, I should care 
 little to risk being scorched by coming within 
 the range of its rays." 
 
 " Nay, then, I do almost repent me that I 
 hindered thee from thy design of quartering in 
 the Castle," said Assueton. " Thou mightest 
 have levied new war on our ancient and natural 
 foeman, by snatching an affianced bride from 
 the big house of Northumberland." 
 
 " Depardieux, but it were indeed a triumph, 
 and worthy of a Scottish knight, to carry off 
 the Lady Eleanore de Selby by her own consent
 
 24 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 from the proud Piersie," said Hepborne. " 'Tis 
 well enow to jest of." 
 
 Whilst this dialogue was going on between 
 the two friends, their esquires entered the place. 
 Mortimer Sang, after reconnoitring the differ- 
 ent tables, and perceiving that there were no 
 convenient places vacant, except at that occu- 
 pied by the attendants of the Bishop, went to- 
 wards it, followed by his comrade Roger Rid- 
 del. 
 
 " By your good leave, courteous gentlemen," 
 said Sang, with a bow, at the same time filling 
 up an empty space with his person ;,"I hope 
 no objection to our joining your good company ? 
 — Here, tapster," cried he, at the same time 
 throwing money on the table, " bring in a fla- 
 gon of Rhenish, that we may wash away the 
 dryness of new acquaintance." 
 
 This cheering introduction of the two esquires 
 was received with a smiling welcome on the 
 part of those to whom it was addressed. 
 
 " Come ye from the south, Sir Squire ?" de- 
 manded Barton, after the wine had silently cir- 
 culated, to the great inward satisfaction of the 
 partakers. 
 
 "Ay, truly, from the south, indeed," replied 
 Sang, lifting the flagon to his head. 
 
 " Then was I right, Richard, after all," said
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 25 
 
 Barton, addressing one of his fellows. " Did 
 I not tell thee that these strangers had none of 
 the loutish Scot in their gait ?" 
 
 " Loutish Scot I" cried Sang, taking the 
 flagon from his lips, and starting up fiercely ; 
 " What mean ye hy loutish Scot ?" 
 
 Barton eyed the tall figure, hroad chest, and 
 sinewy arms of the Scottish esquire. 
 
 " Nay, I meant thee not offence, Sir Squire," 
 replied he. 
 
 " Ha!" said Sang, regaining his good-hu- 
 mour ; " then I take no offence where none is 
 meant. Your Scot and your Southern are horn 
 foes to fight in fair field ; yet I see no just cause 
 against their drinking together in good fellow- 
 ship when the times be fitting, albeit they may 
 be called upon anon to crack each other's sconces 
 in battle broil. — Thine hand," said he, stretch- 
 ing his right across the table to the Bishop's 
 man, whilst he poised the flagon with his left. 
 " Peraunter thou be'st a soldier, though of a 
 truth that garb of thine would speak thee to be 
 as much of a clerk as an esquire ; but indeed, an 
 thy trade be arms, I am bold to say, that Scot- 
 land doth not hold a man who will do thee the 
 petites politesses of the skirmish more hand- 
 somely than I shall, should chance ever throw 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 26 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 us against each other. Meanwhile my hearty 
 service to thee." 
 
 " Spoke like a true man," said Roger Riddel, 
 taking the flagon from his friend. " Here, tap- 
 ster, we lack wine." 
 
 " Nay, Roger," said Sang, " but we cannot 
 drink thus fasting. What a murrain keeps 
 
 that knave with the Ha ! he comes. Why, 
 
 holy St Andrew, what meanest thou, villain, 
 by putting down this flinty skim-milk ? Caitiff, 
 dost take us for ostriches, to digest iron ? Saw 
 I not hogs' livers a-frying for our supper ?" 
 
 " Nay, good master Sir Squire," said the 
 flaxen-polled lad of a tapster, " sure mistress 
 says, that the livers be meat for your masters." 
 
 " Meat for our masters, sirrah !" replied 
 Sang ; " and can the hostel of Master Sylvester 
 Kyle, famed from the Borders to the Calais 
 Straits — can this far-famed house, I say, afford 
 nothing better for a brace of Scottish knights, 
 whose renown hath filled the world from Catti- 
 ness to the land of Egypt, than a fried hog's 
 liver ? Avoid, sinner, avoid ; out of my way, 
 and let me go talk to this same hostess." 
 
 So saying, he strode over the bench, and 
 kicking the rushes before him in his progress 
 towards the door, made directly for the kitchen.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 27 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 On entering the kitchen, Master Mortimer 
 Sang found the hostess, a buxom dame with 
 rosy cheeks, raven hair, and jet black eyes, bu- 
 sily employed in cooking the food intended for 
 the two knights. Having already had a glimpse 
 of her, he remarked her to be of an age much 
 too green for so wintry a husband as Sylvester 
 Kyle ; so checking his haste, he approached her 
 with his best Parisian obeisance. 
 
 " Can it be," said he, assuming an astonish- 
 ed air — " can it possibly be, that the cruel Mas- 
 ter Sylvester Kyle doth permit so much loveli- 
 ness to be melted over the vile fire of a kitchen, 
 an 'twere a piece of butter, and that to fry a 
 paltry pig's liver withal ?" 
 
 The dame turned round, looked pleased, smi- 
 led, flirted her head, and then went on frying. 
 Sighing as if he were expiring his soul, Sang 
 continued,— 
 
 " Ah, had it been my happy fate to have
 
 28 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 owned thee, what would not I have done to pre- 
 serve the lustre of those charms unsullied !" 
 
 Mrs Sylvester Kyle again looked round, 
 again she smiled, again she flirted her head, and 
 leaving the frying-pan to fry in its own way, 
 she dropped a curtsey, and called Master Sang 
 a right civil and fair-spoken gentleman. 
 
 " Would that thou hadst been mine," conti- 
 nued Sang, throwing yet more tenderness into 
 his expression : " locked in these fond arms, 
 thy beauty should have been shielded from every 
 chance of injury." So saying, he suited the ac- 
 tion to the word, and embracing Mrs Kyle, he 
 imprinted on her cheeks kisses, which, though 
 burning enough in themselves, were cold com- 
 pared to the red heat of the face that received 
 them. Having thus paved the way to his pur- 
 pose — 
 
 " What could possess thee, beauteous Mrs 
 Kyle," said he, " to marry that gorbellied glut- 
 ton of thine, a fellow who, to fill his own rapa- 
 cious bowke, and fatten his own scoundrel car- 
 case, starveth thee to death? I see it in thy sweet 
 face, my fair hostess ; 'tis vain to conceal it ; 
 the wretch is miserably poor ; he feedeth thee 
 not. The absolute famine that reigneth in his 
 beggarly buttery, nay, rather flintery, (for but- 
 tery it were sacrilege to call it,) cannot suffice
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 29 
 
 to afford one meal a-day to that insatiable maw 
 of his, far less can it supply those cates and 
 niceties befitting the stomach of an angel like 
 thyself." 
 
 Mrs Kyle was whirled up to the skies by this 
 rhapsody ; Master Sylvester had never said 
 anything half so fine. But her pride could not 
 stand the hits the squire had given against the 
 poverty of her larder. 
 
 M Nay thee now, but, kind sir," said she, 
 ■" we be's not so bad off as all that ; Master my 
 goodman Kyle hath as fat a buttery, I warrant 
 thee, as e'er a publican in all the Borders." 
 
 " Nay, nay, 'tis impossible, beautiful Mrs 
 Kyle," said Mortimer again — "'tis impossible; 
 else why these wretched pigs' entrails for a 
 couple of knights, of condition so high, that 
 they may be emperors before they die, if God 
 give them good luck ?" 
 
 " La, now there," exclaimed Mrs Kyle ; " and 
 did not Sylvester say that they were nought but 
 two lousy Scots, and that any fare would do for 
 sike loons. Well, who could ha' thought, after all, 
 that they could be emperors ? An we had known 
 that, indeed, we might ha' gi'en them emperors' 
 tare. Come thee this way, kind sir, and I'll let 
 thee see our spense." 
 
 This was the very point which the wily Mas-
 
 30 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ter Sang had been aiming at. Seizing up a 
 lamp, she led the way along a dark passage. 
 As they reached the end of it, their feet sound- 
 ed hollow on a part of the floor. Mrs Kyle 
 stopped, set down her lamp, slipped a small 
 sliding plank into a groove in the side wall 
 made to receive it, and exposed a ring and bolt 
 attached to an iron lever. Applying her hand 
 to this, she lifted a trap-door, and disclosed a 
 flight of a dozen steps or more, down which 
 she immediately tripped, and Sang hesitated 
 not a moment to follow her. But what a sight 
 met his eyes when he reached the bottom ! He 
 found himself in a pretty large vault, hung 
 round with juicy barons and sirloins of beef, 
 delicate carcases of mutton, venison, hams, 
 flitches, tongues, with all manner of fowls and 
 game, dangling in most inviting profusion from 
 the roof. It was here that Master Kyle pre- 
 served his stock in trade, in troublesome times, 
 from the rapacity of the Border depredators. 
 Mortimer Sang feasted his eyes for some mo- 
 ments in silence, but they were allowed small 
 time for their banquet. 
 
 A distant foot was heard at the farther ex- 
 tremity of the passage, and then the angry 
 voice of Kyle calling his wife. Mortimer Sang
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 31 
 
 sprang to the top of the steps, just as mine host 
 had reached the trap-door. 
 
 " Eh ! what !" exclaimed Kyle, with horror 
 and surprise — " A man in the spense with my 
 wife ! Thieves ! Murder !" 
 
 He had time to say no more, for Sang grap- 
 pled him hy the throat, as he was in the very 
 act of stooping to shut the trap-door on him, 
 and down he tugged the hulky host, like a huge 
 sack ; but overpowered by the descent of such 
 a mountain upon his head, he rolled over the 
 steps with his burden into the very middle of 
 the vault. More afraid of her husband's wrath 
 than anxious for his safety, Mrs Kyle put her 
 lamp on the ground, jumped nimbly over the 
 prostrate strugglers, and escaped. The active 
 and herculean Sang, rising to his knees, with 
 his left hand pressed down the half-stunned pub- 
 lican, who lay on his back gasping for breath ; 
 then seizing the lamp with his right, he rose 
 suddenly to his legs, and regaining the trap- 
 door in the twinkling of an eye, sat him down 
 quietly on the floor to recover his own breath ; 
 and taking the end of the lever in his hand, and 
 half closing the aperture, he waited patiently 
 till his adversary had so far recovered himself 
 as to be able to come to a parley.
 
 32 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " So, Master Sylvester Kyle," said the squire 
 " thou art there, art thou — caught in thine 
 own trap ? So much for treating noble Scots, 
 the flower of chivalry, with stinking hog's en- 
 trails. By'r lady, 'tis well for thee thou hast 
 such good store of food there. Let me see ; — 
 methinks thou mayest hold out well some week 
 or twain ere it may begin to putrify. Thou 
 hadst better fall to, then, whiles it be fresh ; 
 time enow to begin starving when it growetli 
 distasteful. So wishing thee some merry meals 
 ere thou diest, I shall now shut down the trap- 
 door — bolt it fast — nail up the sliding plank — 
 and as no one knoweth on't but thy wife, who, 
 kind soul, hath agreed to go off with me to Scot- 
 land to-night, thou mayest reckon on quiet slum- 
 bers for the next century." 
 
 " Oh, good Sir Squire," cried Kyle, wring- 
 ing his hands like a maniac, " let me out, I be- 
 seech thee ; leave me not to so dreadful a death. 
 Thou and thy knights and all shall feast like 
 princes ; thou shalt float in sack and canary ; 
 thou shalt drink Rhinwyn in barrelfuls, and 
 Malvoisy in hogsheads, to the very lowest lac- 
 quey of ye. No, merciful Sir Squire, thou canst 
 not be so cruel — Oh, oh !" 
 
 " Hand me up," said Sang, with a stern 
 voice, " hand me up, I say, that venison, and
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 33 
 
 these pullets there, that neat's tongue, and a 
 brace of the fattest of these ducks ; I shall then 
 consider whether thou art worthy of my most 
 royal clemency." 
 
 Mine host had no alternative but to obey. 
 One by one the various articles enumerated by 
 Sang were handed up to him, and deposited 
 beside him on the floor of the passage. 
 
 " Take these flagons, there," said he, " and 
 draw from each of these buts, that I may taste. 
 — Ha ! excellent, i'faith, excellent. — Now, Sir 
 knave, others of thy kidney mount up a ladder 
 to finish their career of villainy, but thy fate 
 lieth downwards ; so down, descend, and mingle 
 with thy kindred dirt." 
 
 He slapped down the trap-door with tremen- 
 dous force, bolted it firmly, and replaced the 
 sliding plank, so that the wretch's shrieks of 
 horrible despair came so deafened through the 
 immense thickness of the solid oak, as to sound 
 but as the moaning of some deep subterranean 
 stream. 
 
 Master Sang had some difficulty in piling up 
 the provender he had acquired, and carrying 
 it with the flagons to the kitchen. There he 
 found Mrs Kyle, who, in the apprehension of a 
 terrible storm from her lord, was sitting in a 
 corner drowned in tears. 
 b 2
 
 34 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Cheer up, fair dame," said Sang to the dis- 
 consolate Mrs Kyle ; " thou needest be under no 
 fear of him to-night. I have left him in prison, 
 and thou mayest relieve him thyself when thou 
 mayest, and on thine own terms of capitulation. 
 Meanwhile, hash up some of that venison, and 
 dress these capons, and this neat's tongue, for 
 the knights, our masters, and make out a sup- 
 per for my comrade and me and the rest as 
 fast as may be. I'll bear in the wine myself." 
 
 Mrs Kyle felt a small smack of disappoint- 
 ment to find that the so lately gallant esquire, 
 after all he had said, should himself put such an 
 office upon her; but she dried her eyes, and 
 quickly begirding herself for her duty, went to 
 work with alacrity.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 35 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 On the return of Mortimer Sang to the com- 
 mon room, he found that a new event had taken 
 place in his absence. An esquire had arrived 
 from the Castle, bearing a courteous message 
 from Sir Walter de Selby, its captain, setting 
 forth, that it pained him to learn that Sir Pa- 
 trick Hepborne and Sir John Assueton had 
 not made experiment of his poor hospitality; 
 that their names were already too renowned 
 not to be well known to him ; and that he 
 trusted they would not refuse him the gratifi- 
 cation of doing his best to entertain them, but 
 would condescend to come and partake of such 
 cheer and accommodation as Norham Castle 
 could yield. An invitation so kind it was im- 
 possible to resist. Indeed, whatever Sir John 
 Assueton might have felt, Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne's curiosity to see the fair maid of the 
 Castle was too great to be withstood. The dis- 
 tance was but short, and Sir Walter's messen-
 
 36 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ger was to be their guide. Leaving their es- 
 quires and the rest of their retinue, therefore, 
 to enjoy the feast so ingeniously provided for 
 them by Sang, their horses were ordered out, 
 and they departed. 
 
 The night was soft and tranquil. The moon 
 was up, and her silvery light poured itself on 
 the broad walls of the keep, and the extensive 
 fortifications of Norham Castle, rising on the 
 height before them, and was partially reflected 
 from the water of the farther side of the Tweed, 
 here sweeping widely under the rocky eminence, 
 that threw its shadow half way across it. They 
 climbed up the hollow way leading to the outer 
 ditch, and were immediately challenged by the 
 watch upon the walls. The pass-word was 
 given by their guide, the massive gate was un- 
 barred, the portcullis lifted, and the clanging 
 draw-bridge lowered at the signal, and they 
 passed under a dark archway to the door of the 
 outer court of guard. There they were sur- 
 rounded by pikemen and billmen, and narrow- 
 ly examined by the light of torches; but the 
 officer of the guard appeared, and the squire's 
 mission being known to him, they were for- 
 mally saluted, and permitted to pass on. Cross- 
 ing a broad area, they came to the inner gate, 
 where they underwent a similar scrutiny.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 37 
 
 They had now reached that part of the fort- 
 ress where stood the barracks, the stables, and 
 various other buildings necessarily belonging to 
 so important a place ; while in the centre arose 
 the keep, huge in bulk, and adamant in strength, 
 defended by a broad ditch, where not naturally 
 rendered inaccessible by the precipitous steep, 
 and approachable from one point only by a nar- 
 row bridge. Lights appeared from some of its 
 windows, and sounds of life came faintly from 
 within ; but all was still in the buildings around 
 them, the measured step of the sentinel on the 
 wall above them forming the only interruption 
 to the silence that prevailed. 
 
 The esquire proceeded to try the door of a 
 stable, but it was locked. 
 
 " A pestilence take the fellow," said he; 
 " how shall I get the horses bestowed? — What, 
 ho ! — Turnberry — Tom Equerry, I say." 
 
 " Why, what art thou ?" cried the gruff voice 
 of the sentinel on the wall ; " what art thou, I 
 say, to look for Tom Turnberry at this hour ? 
 By'r lackins, his toes, I'll warrant me, are 
 warm by the embers of Mother Rowlandson's 
 suttling fire. He's at his ale, I promise thee." 
 
 " The plague ride him then," muttered the 
 squire; " how the fiend shall I find him? I 
 crave pardon, Sirs Knights, but I must go look
 
 38 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 for this same varlet, or some of his grooms, for 
 horses may not pass to the keep ; and who 
 knoweth but I may have to rummage half the 
 Castle over ere I find him ?" So saying he left 
 the two knights to their meditations. 
 
 He was hardly gone when they heard the 
 sound of a harp, which came from a part of the 
 walls a little way to the left of where they were 
 then standing. The performer struck the chords, 
 as if in the act of tuning the instrument, and the 
 sound was interrupted from time to time. At 
 last, after a short prelude, a Scottish air was 
 played with great feeling. 
 
 u By the Rood of St Andrew," exclaimed 
 Assueton, after listening for some time, " these 
 notes grapple my heart, like the well-remem- 
 bered voice of some friend of boyhood. May 
 we not go nearer ?" 
 
 " Let us tie our horses to these palisadoes, 
 and approach silently, so as not to disturb the 
 musician," said Hepborne. 
 
 Having fastened the reins of their steeds, they 
 moved silently in the direction whence the mu- 
 sic proceeded, and soon came in sight of the 
 performer. 
 
 On a part of the rampart, at some twenty 
 yards distance, where the wall on the outside 
 rose continuous with the rock overhanging the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 39 
 
 stream of the Tweed, they beheld two figures ; 
 and creeping silently for two or three paces 
 farther, they sheltered themselves from obser- 
 vation under the shadow of a tower, where they 
 took their stand, in the hope of the music being 
 renewed. The moonlight was powerful, and 
 they easily recognized the garb of the harper 
 whom they had so lately seen at the hostel. 
 He was seated on the horizontal ropes of one 
 of those destructive implements of war, called 
 an onager or balista, which were still in use at 
 that period, when guns were but rare in Europe. 
 His harp was between his knees, his large and 
 expressive features were turned upwards, and 
 his long white locks swept backwards over his 
 shoulders, as he was in the act of speaking to 
 a woman who stood by him. The lady, for 
 her very mien indicated that she was no com- 
 mon person, stood by the old man in a listen- 
 ing posture. She was enveloped in a mantle, 
 that flowed easily over her youthful person, 
 giving to it roundness of outline, without ob- 
 scuring its perfections. 
 
 *' By St Dennis, Assueton," whispered 
 Hepborne to his friend, " 'tis the Lady Elea- 
 nor e de Selby. The world lies not ; she is beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " Nay, then thine eyes must be like those of
 
 40 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 an owl, if thou canst tell that by this light," re- 
 plied Assueton. 
 
 " I tell thee I caught one glance of her face 
 but now, as the moonbeam fell on it," said 
 Hepborne ; " 'twas beauteous as that of an angel. 
 But hold, they come this way." 
 
 The minstrel arose, and the lady and he came 
 slowly along the wall in the direction where 
 the two knights were standing. 
 
 " Tush, Adam of Gordon," said the lady, in a 
 playful manner, as if in reply to something the 
 harper had urged, " thou shalt never per- 
 suade me ; I have not yet seen the knight, — 
 nay I doubt me whether the knight has yet 
 been born who can touch this heart. I would 
 not lose its freedom for a world." 
 
 " So, so," whispered Assueton, " thou wert 
 right, Master Barton ; a haughty spirit enow, 
 I'll warrant me." 
 
 V.< Hush," said Hepborne, somewhat peevish- 
 ly ; " the minstrel prepares to give us music." 
 
 The minstrel who had again seated himself, 
 ran his fingers in wild prelude over his chords, 
 and graduating into a soft and tender strain, he 
 broke suddenly forth in the following verses, 
 adapted to its measure.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 41 
 
 " Oh think not, lady, to despise 
 The all-consuming Are of Love, 
 For she who most his power defies 
 Is sure his direst rage to prove. 
 Was never maid, who dared to scorn 
 The subtile god's tyrannic sway, 
 Whose heart was not more rudely torn 
 By his relentless archery. 
 
 Do what thou canst, that destined hour 
 Will come, when thou must feel Love's dart ; 
 Then war not thus against his power, 
 His fire will melt thine icy heart. 
 Oh, let his glowing influence then 
 Within thy bosom gently steal ; 
 For sooth, sweet maid, I say again, 
 That all are doom'd Love's power to feel." 
 
 " Why, Adam," exclaimed the lady, as the 
 minstrel concluded, " this is like a prophecy. 
 What, dost thou really say that I must one day 
 feel this fire thou talkest of? Trust me, old man, 
 I am in love with thy sweet music, and thy 
 sweet song; but for other love, I have never 
 thought of any such, and thou art naughty, old 
 man, to fill mine ears with that I would fain 
 keep from having entrance there." 
 
 " Nay, lady, say not so," cried Adam of Gor- 
 don, earnestly ; " thou knowest that love and 
 war are my themes, and I cannot ope my lips, 
 or touch my harp, but one or other must have 
 way with me. How the subject came, I know 
 not ; but the verses were the extemporaneous 
 effusion of my minstrel spirit."
 
 42 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Come, Hepborne," whispered Assueton, 
 " let us away ; we may hear more of the lady's 
 secrets than consists with the honour of knights 
 wilfully to listen to." 
 
 " Nay, I could stay here for ever, Assueton," 
 replied Hepborne ; "I am spell-bound. That 
 ethereal creature, that enchantress, has chain- 
 ed me to the spot : and would' st thou not wish 
 to have more of that old man's melody? Me- 
 thought his verses might have gone home to 
 thee as well as to the lady." 
 
 " Pshaw," said Assueton, turning away, 
 " dost think that I may be affected by the dri- 
 velling song of an old dotard ? Trust me, I laugh 
 at these silly matters." 
 
 " Laugh while thou may'st, then," replied 
 Hepborne ; " thou may'st weep anon. Yet, as 
 thou say'st, we do but ill to stand listening here. 
 Let us away then." 
 
 When they had reached the spot where their 
 horses were tied, they found that the esquire 
 who guided them to the castle had but just re- 
 turned with Master Turnberry, the equerry, 
 whose state sufficiently betrayed the manner in 
 which he had been spending his evening, and 
 showed that the sentinel had not guessed amiss 
 regarding him. He came staggering and grum- 
 bling along.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 43 
 
 " Is't not hard, think ye, that an honest man 
 cannot he left to enjoy his evening's ease un- 
 disturbed? I was hut drinking a draught of 
 ale, Master Harhuttle." 
 
 " A draught of ale," replied Harhuttle ; 
 " ay, something more than one draught, I take 
 it, Master Thomas. But what makest thou with 
 a torch in such a moonshiny night as this ?" 
 
 " Moonshiny," cried Turnherry, hiccuping; 
 " moonshiny, indeed, why, 'tis as dark as a pit 
 well. Fye, fye, Master Harhuttle, thou must 
 have been drinking — thou must have been 
 drinking, I say, since thou hast so much fire in 
 thine eyes ; for, to a sober, quiet, cool-headed 
 man like myself, Master Harhuttle, the moon 
 is not yet up. Fye, fye, thou hast been taking 
 a cup of Master Sylvester Kyle's tipple. 'Tis 
 an abominable vice that thou hast fallen into ; 
 drink will be the ruin of thee." 
 
 " Thou drunken sot thou," exclaimed Har- 
 huttle, laughing, " dost not see the moon there, 
 over the top of the keep ?" 
 
 " That the moon !" cried Turnherry, holding 
 up his torch, as if to look for it ; " well, well, to 
 see now what drink will do — what an ass it 
 will make of a sensible man ; for, to give the 
 devil his due, thou art no gnoffe when thou art 
 sober, Master Harhuttle. That the moon ! Why,
 
 44 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 that's the lamp burning in Ancient Fen wick's 
 loophole window. Thou knowest he is always 
 at his books — always at the black art. St Cuth- 
 bert defend us from his incantations !" 
 
 " Amen !" said the squire usher, fervently 
 crossing himself. 
 
 " But what a fiend's this ?" cried Turnberry ; 
 " here are two horses, one black and t'other 
 white. I see that well enow, though thou mayn't, 
 yet thou wouldst persuade me I don't know 
 the Wizzard Ancient's lamp from the moon. 
 Give me hold of the reins." 
 
 But as he stretched forth his hand to take 
 them, he toppled over, and fell sprawling among 
 the horses' feet, whence he was opportunely re- 
 lieved by two of his own grooms, who arrived 
 at that moment. 
 
 " Where hast thou been idling, varlets ?" de- 
 manded Turnberry, as he endeavoured to steady 
 himself, and assume the proper importance of 
 authority; " drinking, varlets, drinking, I'll 
 be sworn — John Barleycorn will be the over- 
 throw of Norham Castle. See, villains, that ye 
 bestow these steeds in good litters, and that oats 
 are not awanting. I'll e'en return to my even- 
 ing's repose." 
 
 At this moment the lady, followed by Adam 
 of Gordon, came suddenly upon the group from
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 45 
 
 a narrow gateway, at the bottom of a flight of 
 steps, that led from the rampart, and were close 
 upon Hepborne and his friend before they per- 
 ceived the two knights. The lady drew back at 
 first from surprise, and seemed to hesitate for 
 an instant whether she should advance or not. 
 She pulled her hood so far over her face as to 
 render it only partially visible ; but the flame 
 of Master Turnberry's torch had flashed on it 
 ere she did so, and Hepborne was ravished by 
 the momentary glance he had of her beauty. 
 The lady, on the other hand, had a full view of 
 Sir Patrick's features, for his vizor was up. 
 The minstrel immediately recognized him. 
 
 " Lady," said the old man, " these are the 
 courteous stranger knights who come hither as 
 the guests of Sir Walter de Selby." 
 
 " In the name of Sir Walter de Selby, do I 
 welcome them then," said the lady, with a mo- 
 dest air : " welcome, brave knights, to the Cas- 
 tle. But," added she, hesitatingly, " in espe- 
 cial am I bound to greet with mine own guerdon 
 of good thanks him who is called Sir Patrick 
 Hepborne, to whose gentle care I am so much 
 beholden for the safety of my favourite hawk." 
 
 " Proudly do I claim these precious thanks 
 as mine own rich treasure, most peerless lady," 
 exclaimed Sir Patrick, stepping forward with
 
 46 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ardour. " Blessed be my good stars, which 
 have thus so felicitously brought me, when least 
 expecting such bliss, into the very presence of 
 a demoiselle whose perfections have already 
 been so largely rung in mine ears, short as hath 
 yet been my time in Norham." 
 
 " Me thinks, Sir Knight," replied the lady, in 
 some confusion, " methinks that thy time, al- 
 beit short, might have been better spent in Nor- 
 ham than in listening to idle tales of me. Will 
 it please thee to take this way ? Sir Walter, ere 
 this, doth look for thee in the banquet-hall." 
 
 " Lady, the tale of thy charms was music to 
 me," said Sir Patrick ; " yet hath it been but 
 as some few notes of symphony to lure me to a 
 richer banquet. Would that the gentle zephyrs, 
 which do now chase the fleecy cloud from yon- 
 der moon, might unveil that face. Yet, alas, 
 I have already seen but too much of its charms 
 for my future peace." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," replied the lady, " this 
 fustian is but thrown away on me. Thy friend, 
 perhaps, may talk more soberly — Shall I be 
 thy guide, chevalier ?" added she, addressing 
 Assueton. 
 
 " No, no, no," interrupted Hepborne, spring- 
 ing to her side, " I'll go with thee, lady, though 
 thou should'st condemn me to eternal silence."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 47 
 
 " Here, then, lieth thy way," said the lady, 
 hurrying towards the bridge communicating 
 with the entrance to the keep ; " and there 
 come the lacqueys with lights." 
 
 The squire, who had gone in before, now ap- 
 peared at the door with attendants and torches. 
 Hepborne anxiously hoped to be blessed with 
 a more satisfactory view of the lady's face than 
 accident had before given him ; but as she ap- 
 proached the lights, she shrouded up her head 
 more closely in her hood, yet not so entirely as 
 to prevent her eyes from enjoying some stolen 
 glances at the noble figure of Sir Patrick. She 
 had no sooner got within the archway of the 
 great door, however, than she took a lamp from 
 an attendant, and making a graceful obeisance 
 to the two friends, disappeared in a moment, 
 leaving Sir Patrick petrified with vexation and 
 disappointment.
 
 4-8 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Sir Patrick Hepborxe was roused from 
 the astonishment the sudden disappearance of 
 the lady had thrown him into, by the voice of 
 the Squire Usher, who now came to receive 
 them. 
 
 < fc This way, Sirs Knights," cried he, showing 
 them forwards, and up a staircase that led them 
 at once into a large vaulted hall, lighted by three 
 brazen lamps, hanging by massive chains from 
 the dark wainscot roof, and heated by one 
 great projecting chimney. A long oaken-table, 
 covered with pewter and wooden trenchers, 
 with innumerable flagons and drinking ves- 
 sels of the same materials, occupied the centre 
 of the floor. About a third of its length, at 
 the upper end, was covered with a piece of 
 tapestry or carpet, and there the utensils were 
 of silver. The upper portion of the table had 
 massive high-backed carved chairs set around it, 
 
 and these were furnished with cushions of red 
 6
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 49 
 
 cloth, whilst long benches were set against it 
 in other parts. The rest of the movables in 
 the hall consisted of various kinds of arms, such 
 as helmets, burgonets, and bacinets — breast- 
 plates and back pieces — pouldrons, vambraces, 
 cuisses, and greaves — gauntlets, iron-shoes, and 
 spurs — cross-bows and long-bows, hanging in 
 irregular profusion on the walls, — whilst spears, 
 pikes, battle-axes, truncheons, and maces, rest- 
 ed everywhere in numbers against them. The 
 floor was strewed with clean rushes ; and a 
 dozen or twenty people, some of whom were 
 warlike, and some clerical in their garb, were 
 divided into conversational groups of two or 
 three together. 
 
 Sir Walter de Selby, an elderly man, with a 
 rosy countenance, and a person rather approach- 
 ing to corpulency, clad in a vest and cloak of 
 scarlet cloth, sat in tete-a-tete with a sedate and 
 dignified personage, whose dress at once decla- 
 red him to be of the religious profession and 
 episcopal rank. 
 
 " Welcome, brave knights," said Sir Walter, 
 rising to meet them as the Squire Usher an- 
 nounced them ; " welcome, brave knights. But, 
 by St George," added he, with a jocular air, as 
 lie shook each of them cordially by the hand, 
 " I should have weened that ye looked not to 
 
 VOL. i. c
 
 50 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 be welcomed here, seeing ye could prefer be- 
 stowing yourselves in the paltry hostelry of the 
 village, rather than demanding from old Sir 
 Walter de Selby that hospitality never refused 
 by him to knights of good fame, such as thine. 
 But ye do see I can welcome, ay, and welcome 
 heartily too. — My Lord Bishop of Durham, 
 this is Sir Patrick Hepborne, and this, Sir 
 John Assueton, Scottish knights, of no mean 
 degree or renown." Sir Walter then made 
 them acquainted with the chief personages of 
 the company, some of whom were knights, and 
 some churchmen of high rank. 
 
 After the usual compliments had passed, the 
 Scottish knights were shown to apartments, 
 where they unarmed, and were supplied with 
 fitting robes and vestments. Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne was happy in the expectation of being 
 speedily introduced to the Lady Eleanore ; but 
 on returning to the hall, he found that she had 
 not yet appeared, and he was mortified to hear 
 Sir Walter de Selby give immediate orders for 
 the banquet. 
 
 " These gallant knights," said he, " would, 
 if I mistake not, rather eat than talk, after a 
 long day's fast. We shall have enow of con- 
 verse anon. Bring in, — bring in, I say." And 
 seating himself at the head of the table, he pla-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 51 
 
 ced the Lord Bishop on his right hand, and the 
 two stranger knights on his left, while the other 
 personages took their places of themselves, ac- 
 cording to their acknowledged rank. Imme- 
 diately after them came a crowd of guests of 
 lesser note, who filled up the table to the far- 
 ther extremity. 
 
 The entertainment consisted of enormous 
 joints of meat, and trenchers full of game and 
 poultry, borne in by numerous lacqueys, who 
 panted under the loads they carried ; and the 
 dishes were arranged by the sewer, whose office 
 it was to do so. 
 
 When the solid part of the feast had been 
 discussed, and the mutilated fragments remo- 
 ved, Sir Walter called for a mazer of malvoi- 
 sie. The wine was brought him in a silver cup 
 of no despicable manufacture, and he drank a 
 health to the stranger knights ; which was pass- 
 ed round successively to the Bishop and others, 
 who sat at the upper end, and echoed from the 
 lower part of the table by those who drank it in 
 deep draughts of ale. Numerous pledges suc- 
 ceeded, with hearty carouse. 
 
 " Sir Walter," said Hepborne, taking ad- 
 vantage of a pause in the conversation, " the 
 fame of thy peerless daughter the Lady Elea- 
 nor e de Selby hath reached our ears : Shall our 
 eyes not be blessed with the sight of so much
 
 52 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 beauty? May we not look to see thy board 
 graced with her presence ere the night passeth 
 away ?" 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," replied Sir Walter, his 
 countenance undergoing a remarkable change 
 from gay to grave, " my daughter appeareth 
 not to-night. But why is not the minstrel 
 here ?" exclaimed he aloud, as if wishing to get 
 rid of Hepborne's farther questioning; " why 
 is not Adam of Gordon introduced ? Let him 
 come in ; I love the old man's music too well 
 to leave him neglected. Yea, and of a truth, he 
 doth to-night merit a double share of our re- 
 gard, seeing that it is to him we do owe the 
 honour of these distinguished Scottish guests. 
 A chair for the minstrel, I say." 
 
 A chair was accordingly set in a conspicuous 
 place near the end of the hall. Adam entered, 
 with his harp hanging on his arm, and making 
 an obeisance to the company, advanced towards 
 the top of the table. 
 
 " Ay, ay, come away, old man ; no music 
 without wine ; generous wine will breed new 
 inspiration in thee : Here, drink," said Sir Wal- 
 ter, presenting him with the mantling cup. 
 
 The minstrel bowed, and drinking health to 
 the good company, he quaffed it off. His tardy 
 blood seemed quickened by the draught ; he
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 53 
 
 hastened to seat himself in the place appointed 
 for him ; and striking two or three chords to 
 ascertain the state of his instrument, he pro- 
 ceeded to play several airs of a martial charac- 
 ter. 
 
 " Come, come, good Adam, that is very well," 
 said Sir Walter, as the harper paused to rest his 
 fingers awhile — " so far thou hast done well ; 
 but my good wine must not all ooze out at 
 the points of thy fingers in unmeaning sounds. 
 Come, we must have it mount to thy brain, and 
 fill thee with inspiration. Allons. Come, drink 
 again, and let the contents of this cup evaporate 
 from thee in verse. Here, bear this brimming 
 goblet to him : And then, dost thou hear, some 
 tale of hardy dints of arms ; 'tis that we look 
 for. Nay, fear not for my Lord Bishop ; I wot 
 he hath worn the cuirass ere now." 
 
 " Thou say est truly, Sir Walter," said the 
 Bishop, rearing himself up to his full height, as 
 if gratified by the remark ; "on these our East- 
 ern Marches there are few who have not tasted 
 of war, however peaceful may have been their 
 profession ; and I cannot say but I have done 
 my part, thanks be to Him who hath given me 
 strength and courage." 
 
 Adam quaffed off the contents of the cup 
 that had been given him, and seizing his harp
 
 54 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 again, he flourished a prelude, during which he 
 kept his eyes thrown upwards as if wrapt in 
 consideration of his subject, and then dashed 
 the chords from his fingers in a powerful ac- 
 companiment to the following verses : — 
 
 STije Cmtvneg oi $ogon. 
 
 Proud was the bearing of fair Noyon's chivalry* 
 Brave in the lists did her gallants appear ; 
 Gay were their damosels, deck'd out in rivalry, 
 Breathing soft sighs from the balconies near. 
 
 Each to her knight, 
 
 His bright helm to dight, 
 Flung her love-knot, with vows for his prowess and might ; 
 
 And warm were the words 
 
 Of their love-sick young lords, 
 Mingling sweet with the tender harp's heart-thrilling chords. 
 
 But long ere the trumpet's shrill clamour alarming 
 Told each stark chevalier to horse for the strife ; 
 Ere yet their hot steeds, in their panoply arming, 
 Were led forth, their nostrils wide breathing with life ; 
 
 Ere the lists had been clear'd, 
 
 The barve Knoll is appear'd 
 With his heroes, the standards of England who rear'd : 
 
 But nor billman nor bowman 
 
 Came there as a foeman, 
 For peace had made friends of these stout English yeomen. 
 
 As afar o'er the meadows, with soldiers' gear laden, 
 They merrily march'd for their dear native land ; 
 Their banners took sighs from full many a maiden, 
 And trembled, as love-lorn each waved her white hand. 
 
 But see from the troops 
 
 Where a warrior swoops, 
 From the speed of his courser his plume backward droops ; 
 
 'Tis a bold Scottish Knight, 
 
 Whose joy and delight 
 Is to joust it in sport — or at outrance to fight.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 55 
 
 His steed at the barrier's limit he halted, 
 And toss'd to his Squire the rich gold-emboss'd rein ; 
 Cased in steel as he was, o'er the high pales he vaulted, 
 And, bowing, cried, " Messieurs Chevaliers, pray deign 
 
 To lend me an ear — 
 
 Lo, I'm singly come here, 
 Since none of you dared against me to appear. 
 
 One and all I defy, 
 
 Nor fear I shall ny, 
 Win me then, if you can — for my knighthood I try." 
 
 Then a huge massive mace round his head quickly whirling, 
 He charged their bright phalanx with furious haste, 
 And some he laid prostrate, with heads sorely dirling, 
 And some round the barrier swiftly he chased. 
 
 Where'er he attacked, 
 
 The French knighthood backed, 
 Preux Chevalier le brave Jean de Roy he thwacked, 
 
 Till his helmet rang well, 
 
 Like the couvre-feu bell, — 
 By the Rood, but 'twas nearly his last passing knell. 
 
 Then Picardy's pride, Le Chevalier de Lorris, 
 He soon stretch'd on the sand in most pitiful case, 
 And he rain'd on the rest, till they all danced a morris 
 To the music he play'd on their mails with his mace. 
 
 Till tired with his toil, 
 
 He breathed him a while, 
 And bowing again, with a most courteous smile, 
 
 " Adieu, Messieurs !" said he, 
 
 " Je vous rend graces, Perdie ! 
 For the noble diversion you've yielded to me." 
 
 Then some kind parting-blows round him willingly dealing, 
 That on breastplates, and corslets, and helmets clang'd loud, 
 Sending some ten or dozen to right and left reeling, 
 He soon clear'd his way through the terrified crowd. 
 
 O'er the pales then he bounded 
 
 As all stood confounded, 
 To the saddle he leap'd — and his horse's heels sounded 
 
 As he spurr'd out of sight, 
 
 Leaving proofs of his might, 
 That had marr'd the bold jousting of many a knight.
 
 56 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Loud applauses followed the minstrel's merry 
 performance, and Sir Walter de Selby called 
 Adam towards him, to reward him with an- 
 other cup of wine. 
 
 "But thou hast not told us the name of thy 
 mettlesome knight, old bard," said he. 
 
 Adam looked over his shoulder with a wag- 
 gish smile, towards Sir John Assueton. 
 
 " 'Twas a certain Scottish knight," said he, 
 " one whose heart was as easily wounded as his 
 frame was invulnerable — one who was as re- 
 markable for his devotion to the fair as for his 
 prowess in the field. It was whispered at Noyon, 
 that the feat was done to give jovisaunce to a 
 pair of bright eyes which looked that day from 
 the balcony." 
 
 " By St Andrew, but thou art out there, 
 goodman harper," cried Assueton, caught in 
 the trap so cunningly laid for him by the min- 
 strel ; " trust me thou wert never more out in 
 thy life. My heart was then, as it is now, as 
 sound, entire, firm, and hard as my cuirass. 
 By'r Lady, I am not the man to be moved by 
 a pair of eyes. No pair of eyes that ever lighted 
 up a face could touch me ; and as to that mat- 
 ter, a — a — " But observing a smile playing 
 over the countenances of the guests, he recol- 
 ected that he had betrayed himself, and stop-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 57 
 
 ped in some confusion. The harper turned 
 round to the host, — 
 
 " Sir Walter," said he, " there never sat 
 within this hall two more doughty or puissant 
 knights than these. Both did feats of valour 
 abroad that made Europe ring again. Sir John 
 Assueton was indeed the true hero of my verses. 
 As to his love I did but jest, for I wot 'tis well 
 known that he hath steeled himself against the 
 passion, and hath never owned it. I but feigned, 
 to draw him into a confession of the truth of 
 my tale, the which his consummate modesty 
 would else have never permitted him to avow." 
 
 Sir Walter called for a goblet of wine — 
 
 " To the health of the brave knight of Noy- 
 on !" cried he. " Well did we all know to whom 
 the merry minstrel alluded." 
 
 The health was received with loud applause, 
 and compliments came so thick upon Assueton, 
 that he blushed to receive them. 
 
 " Load me not thus, courteous knights, load 
 me not thus, I beseech you, with your applause 
 for a silly frolic. Here sits one," said he, wish- 
 ing to turn the tide from himself, and tapping 
 Hepborne on the shoulder, — " here sits one, I 
 say, who hath done feats of arms, compared to 
 which, my boyish pranks are but as idle pas- 
 time. This is the Scottish knight, who, at the 
 e2
 
 58 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 fight of Rosebarque, did twice recover the flag 
 of France from the Flemings, and of whom 
 the whole army admitted, that the success of 
 that day belonged to the prowess of his single 
 arm." 
 
 This speech of Assueton's had all the effect 
 he desired. Sir Walter was well aware of the 
 renown acquired by Hepborne upon that occa- 
 sion, and there were even some at table who 
 had witnessed his glorious feats of arms on that 
 day. His modesty was now put to a severe trial 
 in its turn, and goblets were quaffed in honour 
 of him. He looked with a reproachful eye at his 
 friend for having thus saved himself at his ex- 
 pense ; and at last, to get rid of praises he felt 
 to be oppressive, he signified to his host a wish 
 to retire for the night. Accordingly the Squire 
 Usher was called, and the two knights were 
 shown to their apartments ; soon after which 
 the banquet broke up, leaving the Lord Bishop 
 and Sir Walter in deep conference. 
 
 As Hepborne and Assueton passed up the 
 narrow stair that led to the apartments appro- 
 priated to them, they were interrupted in their 
 progress by a pair of limbs of unusual length, 
 that were slowly descending. The confined and 
 spiral nature of the stair kept the head and body 
 belonging to them entirely out of view ; and the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 59 
 
 huge feet were almost in Hepborne's stomach 
 before he was aware. He called out, and the 
 limbs halting for an instant, seemed to receive 
 tardy instructions to retire from the invisible 
 head they were commanded by, which, judging 
 of the extent of the whole person by the parts 
 they saw, must have been, at that moment at 
 least, in the second story above them. The way 
 being at last cleared, the two friends climbed to 
 the passage leading to their apartments. Irre- 
 sistible curiosity, however, induced them to lin- 
 ger for a moment on the landing-place to watch 
 the descent of a figure so extraordinary. It came 
 as if measured out by yards at a time. In the 
 right hand was a lamp, carried as high as the 
 roof of the stair would permit, to enable the 
 bearer to steer his head under it without injury, 
 and the light being thus thrown strongly upon 
 the face, displayed a set of features hardly hu- 
 man. 
 
 The complexion was deadly pale, the forehead 
 unusually low and broad, and the head was hung 
 round with lank tangles of black hair. A pair 
 of small fiery eyes smouldered, each within the 
 profound of a deep cavity on either side of the 
 nose, that, projecting a good inch or two nearly 
 in a right angle from the forehead, dropped a 
 perpendicular over the mouth almost conceal-
 
 60 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ing the central part of that orifice, in which it 
 was assisted by the enormous length of chin 
 thrust out in a curve from below. The cheek- 
 bones were peculiarly enlarged, and the cheeks 
 drawn lankly in ; but the corners of the mouth, 
 stretching far backwards, were preter naturally 
 expanded, and, by a convulsive kind of twist, 
 each was alternately opened wide, so that, in 
 turn, they partially exhibited the tremendous 
 grinders that filled the jaws. It is not to be sup- 
 posed that Hepborne and Assueton could ex- 
 actly note these particulars so circumstantially 
 as we have done ; but the uncouth figure moved 
 with so much difficulty downwards, in a ser- 
 pentine sort of course, that they had leisure to 
 remark quite enough to fill them with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The apparition, clad in a close black jerkin 
 and culottes, had no sooner wormed itself down, 
 than both knights eagerly demanded of the 
 Squire Usher who and what it was. 
 
 " 'Tis Master Haggerstone Fen wick, the An- 
 cient," replied he, with a mysterious air. 
 
 " Nay," said Assueton, " he surely is fitter 
 for hoisting the broad banner of the Castle upon, 
 than for carrying the colours in the field." 
 
 " Why, as to that, Sir Knight," said the 
 Usher, " he might i'faith do well enough for
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 61 
 
 the banner ; and he would be always at hand 
 too when wanted, seeing that he rarely or ever 
 quitteth the top of the keep. He liveth in the 
 small cap-room, where he must lig from corner 
 to corner, to be able to stretch himself; yet 
 there he sitteth night and day, reading books of 
 the black art, and never leaveth it, except when 
 he cometh down as now, driven by hunger, 
 the which he will sometimes defy for a day or 
 two, and then he descendeth upon the buttery, 
 like a wolf from the mountains, and at one 
 meal will devour thee as much provender as 
 would victual the garrison for a day, and then 
 mounteth he again to his den. He is thought 
 to possess terrible powers ; and strange sights 
 and horrible spectres have been seen to dance 
 about the battlements near his dwelling.'' 1 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! and is all this believed by 
 Sir Walter de Selby ?" inquired Hepborne. 
 
 " Ay, truly," said the Usher gravely; " most 
 seriously believed (as why should it not?) by 
 him, and all in the Castle. But I beseech thee, 
 Sir Knight, let us not talk so freely of him. 
 Holy St Mary defend us ! I wish he may not 
 take offence at our stopping him in his way to 
 his meal. Let us not talk more of him. I bid 
 thee good night." 
 
 " But tell me ere thou goest why we saw not
 
 62 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 that star of female beauty, the Lady Eleanore 
 de Selby at the banquet this evening ?" de- 
 manded Hepborne. 
 
 " Tis a fancy of her father's, Sir Knight," 
 replied the Squire Usher, smiling ; " and if it 
 may not offend thee, 'tis because he willeth not 
 that the lady may marry her with a Scottish 
 chevalier, that he ever doth forbid her entrance 
 when any of thy nation are feasted in his hall." 
 
 " It irketh me to think that we should have 
 caused her banishment," said Hepborne. "What, 
 is she always wont to keep her chamber on like 
 occasions ?" 
 
 " Yea," replied the Squire Usher, " ever save 
 when the evening air is so bland as to suffer her 
 to breathe it upon the rampart. She is often 
 wont to listen to the minstrel's notes there. — 
 But there are your chambers, Sirs Knights. 
 The squires of your own bodies will be with 
 you in the morning. Sir Walter hath issued 
 orders for the admission of your retinue into 
 the Castle, and he hopes you will sojourn with 
 him as long as your affairs may give you suffer- 
 ance. Good night, and may St Andrew be 
 with you." 
 
 The two friends separated, and quickly laid 
 themselves down to repose. The hardy and 
 heart-whole Assueton slept soundly under the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 63 
 
 protection of his national saint, to whom he 
 /ailed not to recommend himself, as a security 
 'against the incantations of the wizard. Nor 
 did Sir Patrick Hepborne neglect to do the 
 same ; for these were times when the strongest 
 minds were subject to such superstitions. But 
 his thoughts soon wandered to a more agree- 
 able subject. He recalled the lovely face he 
 had seen, and he sighed to think that he had 
 not been blessed with a somewhat less transi- 
 tory glance of features, which he would have 
 wished to imprint for ever upon his mind. 
 
 " Why should her father thus banish her from 
 the eyes of all Scotchmen ? By the Rood, but 
 it can and must be only from the paltry fear of 
 his wealth going to fatten our northern soil. 
 But I can tell him, that there be Scots who 
 would cheerfully take her for her individual 
 merit alone, and leave her dross to those sordid 
 minds who covet it." 
 
 Such was Sir Patrick's soliloquy, and imper- 
 fect as his view of the lady had been, it was 
 sufficient to conjure up a vision that hovered 
 over his pillow, and disturbed his rest, in de- 
 fiance of the good St Andrew. Having lain 
 some time awake, he heard the laborious ascent 
 of the Ancient Fen wick to his dwelling in the
 
 64 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 clouds; but fatigue at length vanquished his 
 restlessness, and he had been for some hours 
 in a deep sleep, ere another and a much lighter 
 footstep passed up in the same direction.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 65 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Ancient Fen wick was sitting drawn to- 
 gether into a farther corner of his den. His 
 everlasting lamp was raised on a pile of manu- 
 script volumes near him, that it might throw 
 more light on a large parchment roll that lay 
 unfolded on the floor before him. His right 
 elbow rested on the ground, and the enormous 
 fingers of his hand embraced and supported his 
 head ; while his eyes, burning without meaning, 
 like two small red fragments of ignited char- 
 coal, could have been supposed to be occupied 
 with the characters before them, only from the 
 position of his face, which was so much turned 
 down that the tangled hair, usually drooping 
 from behind, was thrown forwards over his 
 ears. He was so absorbed, that he heard not 
 the soft barefooted tread of the step on the stair, 
 or as it approached his den along the vaulted 
 roof of the keep. - 
 
 The person who came thus to have midnight 
 converse with him, stooped his head and body
 
 66 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 to enter the low and narrow doorway, and 
 halted with his head thrust forward within it 
 to contemplate the object he was about to ad- 
 dress. 
 
 " Ancient Fenwick," said he, after a pause 
 of some moments. 
 
 Fenwick started at the sound of the voice, and 
 looked towards the little doorway. A pair of 
 keen eyes glared upon him from beneath a dark 
 cowl ; and, plunged as he had been in the mys- 
 teries of conjuration, it is not wonderful that he 
 should have believed that the Devil himself had 
 appeared to further his studies. 
 
 " Avaunt thee, Sathanas !" exclaimed he, 
 speaking with the alternate sides of his mouth, 
 and drawing himself yet more up into the cor- 
 ner — " I say unto thee, Sathanas, avaunt !" 
 
 " What !" said the figure, creeping into the 
 place, and seating himself on the floor opposite 
 to him, " what ! Master Ancient Fenwick, dost 
 thou wish to conjure up the Devil, and yet art 
 afraid to look on him ? I weened that thou had'st 
 been a man of more courage than to be afraid of 
 a friar coming to thee at midnight." 
 
 Fenwick made an exertion to compose him- 
 self, seeing his visitor bore all the externals of a 
 mortal about him. 
 
 " And what dost thou see in me," said he, in
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 67 
 
 his usual harsh, discordant, and sepulchral ut- 
 terance, " that may lead thee to think different- 
 ly?" 
 
 " Umph, why, nothing — nothing now," said 
 the monk, bending his brows, and throwing a 
 penetrating glance from under them into the 
 Ancient's face ; " nothing now, but methought, 
 for a conjuror, thou wert rather taken una- 
 wares." 
 
 " And who art thou, who thus darest to dis- 
 turb my privacy ?" demanded Fenwick, some- 
 what sternly, and advancing his body at the 
 same time, from the more than ordinarily con- 
 strained attitude he had assumed. 
 
 The monk drew up his lips so as to display a 
 set of long, white teeth, and raising his eyelids so 
 as to show the white of his eye-balls, he glared 
 at the Ancient for some time, and then slowly 
 pronounced in a deep voice, " The Devil ! what 
 wouldst thou with me now ?" 
 
 In a paroxysm of terror, Fenwick again drew 
 himself up in his corner, with a force as if he 
 would have pressed himself through the very 
 wall; his teeth chattered in his head, and he 
 sputtered so vehemently with the alternate cor- 
 ners of his mouth, that his words were unintel- 
 ligible, except that of " Sathanas," frequently 
 repeated. The monk relaxed his features, and
 
 68 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 with a laugh, and a look of the most sovereign 
 contempt — 
 
 " So," said he, " thou must confess now that 
 I proved thy courage to he in my power. I ba- 
 nished it with a look and a word. But 'tis not 
 with thy courage I have to do at present ; 'tis 
 thy cunning I want." 
 
 " Art thou then verily no devil ?" demanded 
 the Ancient, doubtingly. 
 
 " Tush, fool, I am a poor monk of the order 
 of St Francis ; so calm thy craven fears and lis- 
 ten to me." He paused for some moments, to 
 give Fen wick time to recollect himself, and when 
 he saw that the latter had in some degree re- 
 gained his composure : " Now listen to me, I 
 say. Thou knowest doubtless that the Bishop 
 of Durham came to Norham Castle this morn- 
 ing ?" He waited for areply. 
 
 " I did hear so," answered the Ancient, "when 
 I went down to take food." 
 
 " Knowest thou what he came about ?" de- 
 manded the Franciscan. 
 
 " I know not, I inquired not," replied the 
 Ancient. 
 
 " Then I will tell thee," proceeded the Fran- 
 ciscan. — " Sir Rafe Piersie, brother to the noble 
 Hotspur, has stooped to fix his affection on the 
 Lady Eleanore de Selby; he has deigned to
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 69 
 
 court her for his bride, and has met with ready 
 acceptance from her father. Not sufficiently sen- 
 sible of this his great condescension, the lady 
 has treated his high offer with neglect, — with 
 indifference. Her father, a weak man, though 
 eager for so splendid an alliance, hath allowed 
 himself to be trifled with by the silly girl, who 
 hath done all she could to oppose it, though to 
 the sacrifice of her own happiness. But Sir 
 Rafe Piersie, being too much love-stricken, 
 abandoneth not the demoiselle so easily. He 
 therefore availeth himself of his ally the Bi- 
 shop of Durham, to urge, through him, his suit 
 with the lady, and to endeavour to stir up Sir 
 Walter to a more determined bearing with his 
 daughter, should she continue in her obstina- 
 cy. I shall not tell how I know, yet I do 
 know, that the lady treated the proposals of the 
 Bishop, as well as the name and person of the 
 renowned Piersie, with contempt. His efforts 
 to rouse Sir Walter de Selby to the assertion 
 of his rights as a father, have, however, been 
 more successful. The old man, who passionate- 
 ly desireth great connexion, even became irri- 
 tated against her obstinacy. But Sir Rafe Pier- 
 sie, wisely considering that a peaceful religious 
 pastor was not the fittest instrument for his pur- 
 pose, judge th it right to put other hotter and 
 more efficient irons in the work. Unknown to
 
 70 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the Bishop, and unknown to every one, there- 
 fore, he hath deputed me to seek thee and to 
 urge thee to aid his plans. Now, Master An- 
 cient Fenwick, thou hast the whole intricacies 
 of the aifair ; thou understandest me, dost thou 
 not ?" 
 
 The Franciscan paused for a reply, and tried 
 to read the face of him he was addressing ; but 
 it was in vain he tried it, for, except when very 
 strongly excited by the passion of fear, or some- 
 thing equally forcible, the features of the An- 
 cient were at all times illegible. After twisting 
 and smacking the alternate corners of his mouth, 
 which was always his prelude to speaking, and 
 which even his actual utterance did not always 
 go much beyond, — 
 
 " Well," said he, " and what can I do in this 
 matter ? — What can magic do in it ?" 
 
 " Magic!" exclaimed the Franciscan; "pshaw, 
 fool that thou art, thinkest thou that thou can'st 
 impose upon me as thou dost on the common 
 herd of mankind ? — on one who hath dh'ed into 
 the arcana of nature as I have done ? — Think- 
 est thou that an active mind like mine hath not 
 searched through all the books of these divinals, 
 — hath not toiled by the midnight lamp, and 
 worked with their uncouth and horrible charms 
 and incantations ? — Thinkest thou "
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 71 
 
 - " Hast thou so, brother ?" exclaimed the An- 
 cient, eagerly interrupting him; " hast thou 
 in truth studied so deeply?'* Then throwing his 
 body earnestly forward, " Perhaps thou wilt 
 clear up some small difficulties that have arisen 
 in my path towards perfection in the invaluable 
 art." 
 
 The Franciscan paused. He saw at once that 
 he had so far mistaken his man. The Ancient, 
 whilst engaged in deceiving others, had also suc- 
 ceeded in deceiving himself, and was in truth a 
 believer in the art he professed. To undertake 
 the barren task of convincing him of his error, 
 was foreign to the Franciscan's present purpose ; 
 and seeing that Fenwick, in his eagerness for 
 an accession to his knowledge of magic, had 
 mistaken the contemptuous expressions he had 
 thrown out against it for the approbation and 
 eulogy of an adept, he deemed it best to permit 
 him to continue in his mistake, nay rather to 
 foster it. He therefore commenced a long and 
 very mystical disquisition on necromancy, an- 
 swering all his questions, and solving all his 
 doubts, but in such a manner, that although 
 Fenwick, at the moment, firmly believed they 
 were solved, yet, when he afterwards came to 
 look back into his mind, he could find nothing 
 there but a vast chaos of smoke and ashes, from
 
 72 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 which he in vain tried to extract anything tan- 
 gible or systematic. 
 
 But this is not to our point. The Franciscan 
 gained all he wanted, in acquiring a certain 
 ascendancy over his mind by pretended supe- 
 riority of knowledge, — an ascendency which he 
 afterwards hoped to bring to bear towards the 
 object of his mission ; and to this object he gra- 
 dually led the Ancient back from the wide waste 
 of enchantment he had been wandering over. 
 
 " Thou art indeed much more learned in the 
 sublime art than I did at first suppose thee," 
 said the Franciscan at length, gravely; " thy 
 study hath been well directed ; and now that I 
 have poured the mere drop of knowledge I pos- 
 sessed into the vast ocean flowing in thy capa- 
 cious head, thou art well fit to be my master. 
 Some of those ingredients I talked of are of higli 
 price ; thou must buy them with gold." 
 
 " Ah!" exclaimed Fenwick, " but where shall 
 I find gold to buy them withal ?" 
 
 The Franciscan groped in the canvass pouch 
 that hung at his girdle of ropes, and drawing 
 forth a leathern bag, with a weight of broad 
 gold pieces in it, he threw it down on the floor 
 between the Ancient's knees. 
 
 M There !" said he ; " Sir Rafe Piersie sends 
 
 thee that ; 'tis to secure thee as his friend. Use 
 5
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 73 
 
 thine art magic in his favour, to incline the 
 haughty damosel to his wishes. Thou may'st 
 do much with her father. 'Tis well known that 
 the old Knight looketh with awe upon thy 
 powers. Thou art thyself aware, that thou 
 canst bend him as thou wilt ; he doth hold thee 
 as his oracle. Work upon his fears, then ; work 
 upon him, I say, to compel this marriage,— 
 a marriage, the which is so well calculated to 
 gratify his desire of high family alliance. He 
 is ignorant that thou knowest of the negotia- 
 tion ; to find that thou dost, when he supposes 
 that it is only known to the chief parties, will 
 increase his veneration for thy skill. Exert 
 thy power over him ; he is weak, and thou 
 may'st easily make him thy slave. Stimulate 
 him to firmness, to severity, nay, if necessary, 
 to harshness, with his daughter. Thou know- 
 est 'tis for his happiness, as well as for the 
 happiness of the silly damosel, that she should 
 be coarcted. Then do thy best to screw him 
 up to that pitch of determination that may se- 
 cure her yielding. I leave it to thyself to find 
 out what schemes and arguments thou must 
 employ. The world lies if thou canst not in- 
 vent enow to make him do as thou would'st 
 have. Remember, the Piersie is thy friend, as 
 thou may'st do him proper service. There are 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 74 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 more bags of broad pieces in the same treasury 
 that came from. And now I leave thee to the 
 hatching of thy plans. Let them be quickly 
 concerted and speedily put in execution, for 
 your Piersie never was famous for patience. 
 Farewell, and may powerful spirits aid thee P J 
 
 The Franciscan gathered up his grey gown, 
 drew his cowl over his face, and creeping on 
 hands and knees to the door, disappeared in a 
 moment. 
 
 The Ancient remained for some minutes in 
 a state of stupid astonishment, with his back 
 against his corner, and his vast length of limbs 
 stretched across the floor. He almost doubted 
 the reality of the vision that had appeared to 
 him. He drew up his knees to his mouth, and 
 the leathern bag appeared. He thought of the 
 Devil as he seized it ; and as he poured the glit- 
 tering gold into his broad palm, he almost ex- 
 pected to see the pieces change into dried leaves, 
 cinders, slates, or some such rubbish. Twice or 
 thrice the thought recurred that it might have 
 been the Great Tempter himself who had visit- 
 ed him. The hour — the place — the difficulty of 
 anything mortal reaching him there, through 
 all the intricacies of a well-watched garrison — 
 the great knowledge displayed by the unknown 
 — all contributed to support the idea that his
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 75 
 
 visitor was something more than man. Then, 
 on the other hand, he remembered the friar's 
 bare feet, that were certainly human. He again 
 looked at the broad pieces of gold ; they were 
 bright, and fresh, and heavy as he poised them. 
 His confidence that they were genuine became 
 stronger, and he slipped them into the bag, and 
 the bag into an inner pocket of his black jerkin, 
 resolving that they should be the test of the real- 
 ity of the seeming friar. 
 
 The Ancient had been for many years plunged 
 in the study of necromancy. His uncouth ap- 
 pearance, and awkward ungainly port, rendered 
 him so unfit for the gay parade of war, that Sir 
 Walter de Selby had more than once refused 
 him that promotion to which he was entitled in 
 the natural course of things, and of which he 
 had been very ambitious. This rankled at his 
 heart, and made him shun his fellows, slight the 
 profession of arms, and take to those studies 
 that, in so superstitious a period, met with the 
 readiest belief and reverence, and from which he 
 hoped to discover the means of gratifying both 
 his ambition and his avarice. His necromantic 
 fame, increased by tales hatched or embellished 
 by the fertile imaginations of weak and super- 
 stitious minds, rapidly grew among all ranks ; 
 and Sir Walter de Selby was as firm a believer
 
 76 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 in his powers as the meanest soldier under his 
 command. He readily excused the Ancient from 
 all duty ; so that, being thus left to the full and 
 undisturbed possession of the solitary cap-house 
 he had himself selected for his habitation, he be- 
 came so immersed in his work that he rarely left 
 it, except when driven by hunger to seek food. 
 Living so entirely secluded as he did, it is not 
 to be wondered at that he had hardly seen a 
 female face. As for the Lady Eleanore, he had 
 never beheld her since her childhood, until a few 
 days previous to the time we are now speaking 
 of, when, having been led by some extraordinary 
 accident beyond the walls of the keep, he had 
 met her by chance in the court-yard ; and the 
 young lady was so alarmed by the appearance of 
 the strange monster, who blocked up her way 
 to the bridge, and stood surveying her with his 
 horrible eyes, that she fled from him precipi- 
 tately. It must be admitted, then, that he was 
 but little calculated to produce any favourable 
 change on her mind in behalf of Sir Rafe Pier- 
 sie, unless indeed it were by the art magic. 
 With that brave old soldier of fortune, Sir 
 Walter de Selby, he was much more likely to 
 be successful, since the chief wish of his heart 
 was, that his daughter and his wealth should be 
 the means of allying him with some family emi-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 77 
 
 nent for the grandeur of its name, as well as for 
 its power and influence. It was a grievous dis- 
 appointment to him that he had had no son; 
 but as he had been denied this blessing, he now 
 looked forward to having a grandson, who might 
 give him good cause to be proud, from the high 
 rank he would be entitled to hold in the splen- 
 did galaxy of English chivalry. He was far 
 from being without affection for his daughter ; 
 yet his affection was in a great measure bot- 
 tomed upon these his most earnest wishes and 
 hopes ; and of all this the Ancient Mr Hagger- 
 stone Fenwick was very sufficiently aware.
 
 78 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 When Sir Patrick Hepborne and Sir John 
 Assueton arose in the morning, they found their 
 own squires and lacqueys in attendance. The 
 busy note of preparation was in the Castle-yard, 
 and they were told that the Bishop of Durham 
 was just taking his departure. 
 
 The mitred ecclesiastic went off on an am- 
 bling jennet, accompanied by the knights and 
 churchmen who had come with him, and fol- 
 lowed by a long cavalcade of richly-attired at- 
 tendants ; and he was saluted by the garrison 
 drawn up in array, and by the guards, as he 
 passed outwards. He was, moreover, attended 
 by Sir Walter and his principal officers, who 
 rode half a day's journey with him. The two 
 friends were thus left to entertain themselves 
 until the evening. Assueton occupied himself 
 in studying the defences of the place, whilst 
 Hepborne loitered about the exterior of the 
 keep, and the walls commanding a view of its
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 79 
 
 various sides, in the hope of being again blessed 
 with a sight of the Lady Eleanore. 
 
 As he was surveying the huge mass of ma- 
 sonry, so intently that a bystander might have 
 supposed he was taking account of the number 
 of stones it was composed of, the lady appeared 
 at one of the high windows on the side facing 
 the Tweed. The knight had his eyes turned in 
 a different direction at the moment, so that she 
 had a full and undisturbed view of him, as he 
 stood nearly opposite to her on the rampart, for 
 some time ere he perceived her. He turned sud- 
 denly round, and she instantly withdrew; but 
 not before he had enjoyed another transient 
 glimpse of that face, which had already created 
 so strong a sensation in his breast. 
 
 " Provoking!" thought Hepborne; " yet 
 doth the very modesty of this angelic lady lead 
 me the more to admire her. — Unbending spi- 
 rit, said that knave at the hostel? She is as 
 gentle as the dove. Would I could behold her 
 again." 
 
 Sir Patrick stepped back upon the rampart 
 so as to have a better view inwards, and he was 
 gratified by observing that her figure was still 
 within the deep window, though her face was 
 obscured by its shade. He recognized the rose- 
 coloured mantle she had formerly appeared in.
 
 80 THE WOLFE OF BADEXOCH. 
 
 He kissed his hand, and bowed. He saw her 
 alabaster arm relieve itself from the mantle, 
 and beheld the falcon he had rescued seated on 
 her glove. She stepped forward in such a man- 
 ner to return his salute, that he enjoyed a suf- 
 ficient view of her face to make him certain that 
 he was not mistaken in the person. The lady 
 pointed with a smile to her falcon, kissed it, 
 waived an acknowledgment of his courtesy, and 
 again retreating, disappeared. 
 
 As Sir Patrick was standing vainly hoping 
 for her reappearance, the old minstrel, Adam of 
 Gordon, chanced to come by. Hepborne saluted 
 him courteously. 
 
 M Canst thou tell me whose be those apart- 
 ments that do look so cheerily over the Tweed 
 into Scotland ?" demanded he. 
 
 " Ay," said the old man, " 'tis, as thou sayest, 
 a cheering prospect; 'tis the country of my 
 birth, and the country of my heart ; I love it as 
 lover never loved mistress." 
 
 " But whose apartments be those ?" demand- 
 ed Hepborne, bringing him back to the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " Those are the apartments of the Lady Elea- 
 nore de Selby," replied the minstrel. 
 
 " Is it thy custom to play thy minstrelsy tin-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEXOCH. 
 
 tier the moonlight on the rampart, as thou didst 
 yestere'en ?" demanded Hepborne. 
 
 " Yea, I have pleasure in it," said Adam, 
 with a shrewd look. 
 
 " And art thou always so attended ?" demand- 
 ed Hepborne ; " is thy music always wont to 
 call that angel to thy side whom I last night, 
 beheld there ?" 
 
 " So thou dost think her an angel, Sir 
 Knight ?" cried Adam, with pleasure glancing 
 in his eyes. 
 
 " I do," said Sir Patrick. " Already hath 
 my heart been wounded by the mere momen- 
 tary glances to which chance hath subjected me, 
 and eagerly do I look for a cure from those eyes 
 whence my hurt hath come. She is beautiful." 
 
 " Yea," said old Adam, " and she is an an- 
 gel in soul as well as in form. — But St Andrew 
 keep thee, Sir Knight, I must be gone ;" and 
 he hurried aw r ay without giving Hepborne time 
 to reply. 
 
 i\.ssueton now came up, and Sir Patrick de- 
 tailed to him the occurrences we have just nar- 
 rated, after which he walked about, looking 
 every now and then impatiently towards the 
 window. 
 
 " Would I could have but one more sight of 
 the Lady Eleanore," cried he ; " her features 
 d 2
 
 82 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 have already become faint in my mind's eye ; 
 would I might refresh the picture by one other 
 gaze." But the lady appeared not ; and he be- 
 came vexed, and even fretful, notwithstanding 
 all his resolution to the contrary. 
 
 " Hepborne, my friend," said Sir John As- 
 sueton, " why should'st thou afflict thyself, and 
 peak and pine for a silly girl ? A knight of thy 
 prowess in the field may have a thousand bau- 
 bles as fair for the mere picking up ; let it not 
 irk thee that this trifle is beyond thy reach. 
 Trust me, women are dangerous flowers to 
 pluck, and have less of the rose about them 
 than of the thorn/' 
 
 " Pshaw !" replied Hepborne, " thou know- 
 est not what it is to love." 
 
 " No, thank my good stars," answered As- 
 sueton, " I do not, and I hope I shall never be 
 so besotted; it makes a very fool of a man. 
 There, for instance, thou art raving about a 
 damosel, of whose face thou hast seen so little 
 that wert thou to meet her elsewhere thou 
 could'st never tell her from another." 
 
 " It is indeed true, Assueton," replied Hep- 
 borne, " that I have seen but too little of her 
 face ; but I have seen enough of it to know that 
 it is the face of an angel." 
 
 In such converse as this did they spend the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 83 
 
 day until the evening's banquet. Then Sir Wal- 
 ter exhibited the same hospitality towards his 
 guests that had characterized him the night be- 
 fore ; but he seemed to be less in spirits, nay, 
 he was sometimes peevish. Hepborne, too, being 
 restless and unhappy, mirth and hilarity were 
 altogether less prevalent at the upper end of the 
 festal board than they had been the previous 
 evening. The minstrel, however, was not for- 
 gotten, and was treated with the same personal 
 attention as formerly ; but he sang and played 
 without eliciting more than an ordinary meed 
 of applause. At last he struck some peculiarly 
 powerful chords on the instrument, and as Hep- 
 borne turned his head towards him, in common 
 with others, at the sound, old Adam caught his 
 eye, and looking significantly, began to pour 
 forth the following irregular and unpremedita- 
 ted verse : 
 
 'Twas thus that a minstrel address'd a young knight, 
 Who was love-lorn, despairing, and wan with despite, 
 What, Sir Knight, canst thou gain by these heart-rending sighs ? 
 The hero ne'er pines, but his destiny tries, 
 And pushes his fate with his lance in the rest, 
 Whether love or renown be his glorious quest. 
 
 Let not those who droop for Love, 
 
 'Ply in grief to wild Despair, 
 
 She, wither'd witch, can ne'er remove 
 
 The cruel unkindness of the fair. 
 Then with the gladd'ning ray 
 Of Hope's bright star to cheer thee,
 
 81 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Do tbou still press thy way, 
 Nor let obstructions fear thee. 
 True Love will even bear 
 A hasty moment's slighting, 
 And boldly will it dare, 
 Nor ever fear benighting. 
 'Twill often and again 
 Return, though ill entreated ; 
 'Twill blaze beneath the rain ; 
 Though frozen, 'twill be heated. 
 When least thy thoughts are turn'd on joy, 
 
 The smiling bliss is nigh ; 
 Xo happiness without alloy 
 Beneath the radiant sky. 
 But haste to-night, to meet thy love 
 
 Upon the Castle- wall ; 
 Thou know'st not what thy heart may prove, 
 What joy may thee befall. 
 
 These seemingly unmeaning verses passed 
 unnoticed by all at table except by Hepborne, 
 on whom they made a strong impression. He 
 was particularly struck by the concluding stan- 
 za, containing an invitation which he could not 
 help believing was meant to apply to himself. 
 He resolved to visit the ramparts as soon as he 
 could escape from the banquet. This he found 
 it no very difficult matter to accomplish, for Sir 
 Walter was abstracted, and evidently depressed 
 with something that weighed on his spirits ; so, 
 taking advantage of this circumstance, Hep- 
 borne rose to retire at an early hour. His 
 friend followed him, and when left to the se- 
 er esy of their own apartments, —
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEXOCH. 85 
 
 •" Assueton," said Sir Patrick, " didst thou 
 remark the glance, full of meaning, which the 
 minstrel threw on me to-night ? or didst thou 
 note the purport of his ditty ?" 
 
 " As for his glances," replied Sir John, " I 
 noticed nothing particular in them ; your bards 
 are in use to throw such around them, to col- 
 lect their barren harvest of paltry praise ; and 
 as for his verses, or rather his rhymes, I thought 
 them silly enow in conscience. But thou know- 
 est I do rarely listen when love or its follies are 
 the theme." 
 
 " But I saw, and I listened," replied Hep- 
 borne. " By St Denis, they carried hints to 
 me that I shall not neglect. I go to take the 
 air on the ramparts, and hope to meet the an- 
 gelic Eleanore de Selby there." 
 
 " Art thou mad ?" said Assueton : " What 
 can old Adam have looked or said that can in- 
 duce thee to go on such a fool's errand ? Thou 
 hast but fancied; thy blind passion hath de- 
 ceived thee." 
 
 " I shall at least put his fancied hints to the 
 proof," said Hepborne, " though I should watch 
 all night." 
 
 " Then I wish thee a pleasant moonlight 
 promenade," said Assueton. " I'll to my couch. 
 To-morrow, I presume, we shall cross the Tweed,
 
 86 THE WOLFE OF BADENO€H« 
 
 and yede us into Scotland. By St Andrew, I 
 would gladly meet again with those well-known 
 faces whose smiles once reflected the happiness 
 of my boyhood !" 
 
 " Go to-morrow !" exclaimed Hepborne, as 
 if their so speedy departure was far from being 
 agreeable in the contemplation ; " surely thou 
 wilt stay, Assueton, if thou seest that thy so do- 
 ing may further my happiness ?" 
 
 " Nay," replied Assueton, " thou need'st 
 hardly fear that I will scruple to sacrifice my 
 own wishes to thy happiness, Hepborne; but 
 I confess I would that thy happiness depended 
 on some more stirring cause, and one in which 
 we both could join." 
 
 Here the friends parted. Hepborne, wrapped 
 up in a cloak, stole gently down stairs, and slip- 
 ping unperceived from the keep, bent his steps 
 towards that part of the ramparts where he had 
 formerly seen the lady. To his inexpressible joy, 
 he saw the minstrel already on the spot. There 
 were two ladies in company with the old man. 
 As Sir Patrick passed near the base of the tower 
 under which he and his friend had concealed 
 themselves the night before, a huge figure be- 
 gan to rear itself from under it, throwing a 
 shadow half-way across the court-yard. It 
 looked as if the tower itself were in motion.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 87 
 
 He stood undaunted to observe it, as it gra- 
 dually arose story over story. It was the An- 
 cient Fen wick. His enormous face looked down- 
 wards upon Hepborne, and his red cinder-like 
 eyes glared upon him as he sputtered out some 
 unintelligible sounds from the corners of his 
 mouth, and then moved away like a walking 
 monument. 
 
 Whilst Hepborne's attention was occupied in 
 observing the retreat of the monster, who seem- 
 ed to have secreted himself there for no good 
 purpose, the minstrel, and the two ladies who 
 were with him, had already walked down the 
 rampart until they were lost within the shade of 
 a projecting building. He began to fear that they 
 were gone, but he soon saw one of them, whom 
 he believed to be the attendant, emerge from the 
 shadow and retire by a short way to the keep, 
 whilst the other returned aloug the wall with 
 the minstrel. As they stopped to converse, the 
 lady leaned on one of the engines of war. A 
 breeze from the Tweed threw back the hood 
 of her mantle, and Hepborne could no longer 
 doubt it was the Lady Eleanore de Selby he 
 saw: Her long and beautiful hair streamed 
 jdown, but she hastily arranged it with her fin- 
 gers, and then came onwards with Adam of 
 Gordon. Sir Patrick flew to the rampart and
 
 88 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 sprung on the wall. The lady was alarmed at 
 first by his sudden appearance, but perceiving 
 immediately that it was Sir Patrick Hepborne, 
 she received him graciously yet modestly. 
 
 " The soft and perfumed air of this beauteous 
 night," said Hepburne, " and yonder lovely 
 moon, lady, tempted me forth awhile ; but what 
 bliss is mine that I should thus meet with her, 
 who in softness, sweetness, and beauty, doth 
 excel the Queen of Night herself !" 
 
 " Sir Patrick Hepborne, thou art at thy fus- 
 tian again," replied the lady seriously. " This 
 high-flown phrase of thine, palatable though 
 it might be to the pampered ears of Parisian 
 dames, sorteth ill with plainness such as mine. 
 Mesecms," continued she somewhat more play- 
 fully, " meseems as if the moon were thy fa- 
 vourite theme. Pray Heaven that head may 
 be right furnished, the which hath the unstable 
 planet so often at work within it." 
 
 " And if I am mad, as thy words would im- 
 ply," said Hepborne, smiling, " 'tis thou, lady, 
 who must answer for my frenzy ; for since I 
 first saw thee last night, I have thought and 
 dreamt of thee alone." 
 
 " Sir Knight," said the lady, blushing, "me- 
 thinks it savours of a more constitutional mad-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 89 
 
 ness to be so affected by so short a meeting. We 
 were but some few minutes together, if I err 
 not." 
 
 " Ay, lady," said Adam of Gordon, signifi- 
 cantly; " but love will work miracles like this." 
 
 " 'Tis indeed true," said the lady, with a sigh : 
 and then, as if recollecting herself, she added, 
 " I have indeed heard of such sudden affec- 
 tions." 
 
 " Ay," said Sir Patrick, " and that fair fal- 
 con of thine ! Depardieux, I begin to believe 
 that he was Cupid himself in disguise, for ever 
 sith I gave the traitor lodgment in my bosom, 
 it hath been affected with the sweet torment 
 the urchin Love is wont to inflict. My heart's 
 disease began with thy hawk's ensayning." 
 
 " Nay, then, much as I love him," said the 
 lady, " yet should I hardly have purchased his 
 health, I ween, at the price of that of the gal- 
 lant knight who did so feelingly redeem it." 
 
 " Heaven's blessings on thee for thy charity, 
 lady," exclaimed Hepborne ; " yet should I re- 
 joice in my disease were it to awaken thy sym- 
 pathy, so that thou mightest yield me the heal- 
 ing leechcraft that beameth from those eyes." 
 
 <; Verily, my youth doth lack experience in 
 all such healing skill," said the lady. 
 
 " Nay, 'tis a mystery most easily learned by
 
 90 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the young," replied Hepborne. " Thou dost 
 possess the power to assuage, if not to heal, my 
 wound," added he tenderly. " Let me but be 
 enlisted among the humblest of the captives 
 whom thine eyes hath made subject to thy will ; 
 and albeit thy heart may be already given to 
 another, spurn not the adoration of one whose 
 sole wish is to live within the sphere of thy 
 cheering influence, and to die in thy defence." 
 
 " In truth, Sir Knight, these eyes have been 
 guiltless of any such tyranny as thou would'st 
 charge them withal," replied the lady artless- 
 ly ; "at least they have never wilfully so tyran- 
 nized. As for my heart, it hath never known 
 warmer feeling than that which doth bind me 
 to him to whom I owe the duty of a daughter." 
 
 " Then is thy heart unenthralled," cried Hep- 
 borne in an ecstasy, in the transport of which 
 he threw himself on one knee before her who 
 had produced it. " Refuse not, then, to accept 
 my services as thy true and faithful knight. 
 All I ask is, but to be allowed to devote my 
 lance to thy service. Reject not these my vows. 
 Cheer me with but one ray of hope, to nerve 
 this arm to the doing of deeds worthy of the 
 knight who calleth himself thy slave. I swear 
 'V 
 
 " Swear not too rashly, Sir Knight," said
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 91 
 
 the lady, with a deep sigh, and with more of 
 seriousness than she had yet displayed, " to 
 one such as me, to one so obscure " 
 
 " Obscure, lady !" cried Hepborne, inter- 
 rupting her : " Hath not high Heaven stamped 
 thee with that celestial face and form to place 
 thee far above all reckonings of paltry pedigree ? 
 What, then, is that obscurity which may have 
 dimmed the birth of so fair a star ? What — " 
 
 " Nay," said the lady, interrupting him with 
 an air of uncommon dignity and animation, 
 " obscure though mine origin may be. Sir Pa- 
 trick, yet do I feel within me that which doth 
 tell me that I might match with princes." 
 
 " Lady, I well know thy high and justly- 
 grounded pretensions," said Hepborne, in a sub- 
 dued tone ; " yet scorn not mine humble devo- 
 tion." 
 
 " I scorn thee not, Sir Knight," said the lady, 
 with combined modesty and feeling, and again 
 sighing deeply ; " it would indeed ill become 
 me to scorn any one, far less such as thee ; nor 
 is my heart insensible to the courtesy thou hast 
 been pleased to show to one who " 
 
 " Thanks, thanks, most peerless of thy sex," 
 cried Hepburne, gazing with ecstasy in her 
 face, that burned with blushes even under the 
 cold light of the moon.
 
 92 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " But in truth it beseemeth me not to stand 
 talking idly with thee thus, Sir Knight," said 
 the lady, suddenly breaking off; "I must hie 
 me to my chamber." 
 
 " Oh, stay, sweet lady, stay — one moment 
 stay !" cried Hepborne ; " rob me not of thy 
 presence until thou hast left me the cheering 
 prospect of meeting thee to-morrow." 
 
 " I hope Sir Walter hath induced thee and 
 thy friend to tarry some longer space in Nor- 
 ham ; if so, it will pleasure me to meet thee 
 again," said the lady, with a trembling voice. 
 
 " Then trust me I go not from Norham, be- 
 tide me what may," cried Sir Patrick, energeti- 
 cally. " But tell me, lady, I entreat thee, when 
 these eyes may be again blest with thy pre- 
 sence ; give me hope, the which is now the food 
 I feed on." 
 
 " Nay, in sooth, I can enter into no arrange- 
 ments," said the lady, with yet greater agita- 
 tion; " but," said she, starting away, " I have 
 tarried here too long ; in truth, Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne, I must be gone ; may the Holy Virgin 
 be with thee, Sir Knight !" 
 
 " And may thou be guarded by kindred spi- 
 rits like thyself!" cried Sir Patrick, earnestly 
 clasping his hands, and following her with his 
 eyes as she hastily retreated with old Adam.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 93 
 
 Sir Patrick took several turns on the walls, 
 giving way to the rapture which this meeting 
 had occasioned him, and then hastened to re- 
 gain his apartment, where he laid himself down, 
 not to repose, but to muse on the events of the 
 evening. 
 
 " The minstrel was right," thought he ; " the 
 good Adam's prophecy did not deceive me. She 
 admitted that her heart was free, and she con- 
 fessed, as far as maiden modesty might permit 
 her, that she is not altogether without an inte- 
 rest in me. She was pleased with the idea of 
 our farther stay at Norham ; and in her confu- 
 sion she betrayed, that to meet me again would 
 give her pleasure. And she shall meet me again 
 — ay, and again ; mine excellent Assueton's pa- 
 tience must e'en bear some days' longer trial, 
 for go, at least, I shall not. Days, did I say ? 
 ha ! but let events determine." With such hap- 
 py reflections, and yielding to a train of the most 
 pleasing anticipation, he amused himself till he 
 fell asleep.
 
 94 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It was past the hour of midnight, when all 
 in the Castle had been for some time still, save 
 when the sentinels on the ramparts repeated 
 their prolonged call, that a footstep was again 
 heard upon the stair leading to the top of the 
 keep. It was the heavy slow step of Sir Wal- 
 ter de Selby. He carried a lamp in his hand, 
 and often stopped to breathe ; but at last he 
 made his way to the roof, and sought the aerial 
 den of the monstrous Ancient. He went thi- 
 ther, deluded man, imagining that he went of 
 his own free will ; but the crafty Ancient had 
 taken secret measures to insure his coming. 
 
 When the good old knight had sought the 
 little private oratory within his chamber, im- 
 mediately after his attendants had retired, he 
 was fearfully dismayed by observing a blue 
 lambent light flitting over the surface of an an- 
 cient shield that hung above a small altar with- 
 in a dark Gothic recess. In that age of igno-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 95 
 
 ranee, a circumstance so unaccountable might 
 have shaken the firmest nerves ; but it had been 
 the shield of his father, a bold moss-trooper, 
 and from him he had learned, that this was the 
 ill-omened warning sign that was always said 
 to appear to foretell some dire calamity affect- 
 ing him or his issue. With extreme agitation 
 of mind, he at once recurred to recent events 
 for an explanation of it. During his ride with 
 the Bishop of Durham, that prelate had repeat- 
 ed the arguments he had employed the day be- 
 fore, particularly in the long conference they 
 had held after the banquet, to fortify him in 
 the resolution of pressing the Lady Eleanore 
 into a marriage with Sir Rafe Piersie ; and, in- 
 deed, Sir Walter's heart was so eagerly set on 
 the accomplishment of a union, in every re- 
 spect equal to his most sanguine wishes, that 
 little eloquence was necessary to convince him 
 of the propriety of urging his daughter to it 
 by every means in his power. Nay, although 
 she was his only child, and that he so doted on 
 her as to have got into a habit of yielding to 
 every wish she expressed, yet this was a point 
 on which he was very easily brought to adopt a 
 determined line of conduct with her. She had 
 somewhat provoked him, too, by the licence she 
 had given her tongue in presence of the Bishop,
 
 96 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 when she indulged herself in ridiculing the very 
 august person he was proposing to her as a hus- 
 band; and the knight's passion at the moment 
 had so far got the better of his affection, that 
 he spoke to her with a degree of harshness he 
 had never used before. His after conversations 
 with the Bishop had now brought him to the 
 determination of compelling the Lady Eleanor 
 to a marriage, so much to her advantage, and 
 so flattering to his own hopes of high alliance. 
 So firmly was he fixed in this resolution, that 
 in a meeting he had with his daughter, after 
 his return from accompanying the Bishop, he 
 withstood all her entreaties, and steeled him- 
 self against all her grief, and all her spirited 
 remonstrances. After such an interview, it is 
 not surprising that Sir Walter should have im- 
 mediately supposed, that the menacing prodigy 
 which now appeared before his eyes, had some 
 reference to the purposed marriage of the Lady 
 Eleanore. On all similar occasions of threaten- 
 ed misfortune, he had been for some years ac- 
 customed to apply for counsel to the cunning 
 Ancient Fenwick, whom he believed to possess 
 supernatural powers of foretelling and avert- 
 ing the greatest calamities ; nay, he had more 
 than once been convinced of the happy effects 
 of his interference in his hehalf. His impa-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 97 
 
 tience to seek him at present, therefore, was 
 such, that he could hardly restrain himself un- 
 til he had reason to think that all eyes in the 
 Castle were closed hut his own. He paced his 
 chamber in a state bordering on distraction, 
 stopping from time to time at the door of the 
 oratory to regard the terrific warning, and 
 wringing his hands as he beheld it still flitting 
 and playing over the surface of the shield. 
 
 He was no sooner certain, however, that he 
 might move from his apartment without risk of 
 observation, than he seized his lamp, and, as we 
 have seen, sought the lonely cap-house of the 
 Ancient. The small door of the place was clo- 
 sed. So strongly were m?n , s minds bound by 
 the thraldom of superstition in those days, that 
 the gallant Sir Walter de Selby, who had so 
 often faced the foe like a lion in the field, and 
 who would even now have defended the Castle 
 of Norham to the uttermost extremity, yea, so 
 long as one stone of its walls remained upon 
 another, — this brave old warrior, I say, abso- 
 lutely trembled as he tapped at the door of 
 the wretched Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick, 
 who once formed his most common subject of 
 jest. He tapped, but no answer was returned; 
 he listened, but not a sound was heard. He 
 tapped again — and again he tapped louder. He 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 98 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 called the Ancient by his name; but still all 
 was profound silence. He hesitated for some 
 moments, in doubt what to do. At last he 
 brought himself to the determination of push- 
 ing the door up. He bent down on his knees 
 to force it, and it yielded before his exertions ; 
 but the sight which met his eyes so appalled 
 him, that he was unable at first to advance. 
 
 The Ancient Fenwick, to all appearance dead, 
 lay stretched, with his arms and legs extend- 
 ed on the floor. His face had the leaden hue 
 of death on it ; and a small orb, composed of 
 a number of points of bluish lambent flame, 
 like that so ominously illuminating the shield, 
 flitted on his forehead — a book of necromancy 
 lay open on the floor — his lamp burned on the 
 usual pile of volumes — and on a temporary al- 
 tar, composed of several folios, raised one above 
 the other against the wall, were placed a hu- 
 man skull, and thigh bones, and an hour-glass. 
 Immediately over these, a number of cabalisti- 
 cal figures were described with charcoal on the 
 plaster ; and a white rod seemed, from the po- 
 sition it lay in, to have been pointed towards 
 them, and to have fallen from his hand, as if he 
 had been suddenly struck down in the very act 
 of conjuration. 
 
 Sir Walter was so overpowered with horror
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 99 
 
 and superstitious fear, that some moments elap- 
 sed ere he could summon up resolution to creep 
 into the place and examine the body more nar- 
 rowly. He looked down on the hideous ghastly 
 face, over which the magical flame still flitted. 
 The small fiery eye-halls glared — but they were 
 still: not a feature moved, nor was there the 
 slightest sound or appearance of respiration. 
 Scarcely bearing to behold such a spectacle, 
 the old knight looked timorously around him, 
 afraid that the demon, who had done this fear- 
 ful work upon his disciple, might appear to an- 
 nihilate him also. In truth, his terrors so far 
 overcame him, that he was just about to retreat 
 hastily, when he observed a certain spasmodic 
 twitch about the mouth, which soon afterwards 
 became powerfully convulsed, writhing from 
 side to side, and throwing the whole features of 
 the countenance into the most fearful contor- 
 tions. By degrees, the convulsion seemed to ex- 
 tend itself along the muscles of the body, arms, 
 and limbs, until the whole frame was thrown 
 into violent agitation ; unintelligible sputtering 
 sounds came from the alternate corners of the 
 mouth ; and Sir Walter quaked to hear the name 
 of " Sathanas" often repeated energetically. At 
 last, by a convulsion stronger than the rest, the 
 head and body were erected, and, after a little
 
 100 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 time, the Ancient seemed to recover the use of 
 his senses, and the command over his muscles, 
 as well as of his powers of utterance. 
 
 " What, Master Ancient Fenwick, hath be- 
 fallen thee ?" exclaimed Sir Walter, in a voice 
 almost indistinct from trepidation ; " tell me, I 
 beseech thee, what hath happened ?" 
 
 " My brain burnetii," cried the Ancient, 
 with a hideous yell, and striking his forehead 
 with the palms of both hands, after which the 
 name no longer appeared. Then, after a pause, 
 " Where am I ?" said he, staring wildly around ; 
 — " where am I? Ha ! I see I am again in the 
 world of men. What !" exclaimed he, with sur- 
 prise, on beholding Sir Walter — " art thou here? 
 — How earnest thou to this place ?" 
 
 " My friend," replied the old knight, " my 
 excellent friend, I came to consult thee ; I came 
 to take counsel from thy superhuman knowledge 
 — thy knowledge gathered from converse with 
 the spirits of another world." 
 
 " Another world !" exclaimed the Ancient, in 
 a sepulchral voice — " in another world, didst 
 thou say ? Ay, I have indeed long had converse 
 here, face to face, with some of its blackest in- 
 mates; but never, till this night," added he, 
 Juddering, " did I visit its fiery realms."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 101 
 
 " Where hast thou been, then ?" asked the 
 knight, in a tone of alarm. 
 
 " In Hell !" cried the Ancient, with a horrible 
 voice that chilled the very blood in Sir Walter's 
 veins : " Yes," continued he, " I have visited 
 those dreadful abodes ; but I may not tell their 
 awful secrets. Some, it is true, I am permit- 
 ted to disclose, if I can bring myself to speak 
 of them — of things on which depend the fate of 
 thyself and thy daughter, and deeply affecting 
 thy country's weal." 
 
 " What, good Ancient, hast thou learned, 
 that may affect me or my daughter ? I do be- 
 seech thee let me straightway be informed. The 
 blue fire burns on my father's shield to-night : 
 some dreadful calamity impends." 
 
 " Ha ! said'st thou so ?" cried the Ancient, 
 with a sudden start — " The blue fire, said'st 
 thou ? — Signs meet then ; prodigies combine to 
 overwhelm thee." 
 
 " They do indeed, most terribly," said the 
 knight, shuddering with alarm. 
 
 " Their portent is direful," said the Ancient, 
 groaning deeply. 
 
 " In mercy tell me by what means they may 
 be averted," anxiously inquired Sir Walter. 
 
 " Nay," said the Ancient, with a desponding 
 air, " 'tis thyself who art bringing them on thine
 
 102 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 own head." Then, after a long pause — " Thou 
 art about to marry thy daughter to the brother 
 ofthePiersie?" 
 
 " By what miracle knowest thou this ?" de- 
 manded Sir Walter, in amazement. 
 
 " Ask me not by what miracle I know this," 
 replied the Ancient, " after what thou hast thy- 
 self witnessed. Have I not been in the world 
 below ? — Do I not know all things ? — Do I not 
 know that Sir Rafe Piersie hath sought the hand 
 of the Lady Eleanore ? — that he hath been 
 scorned by her ? — that even the Lord Bishop of 
 Durham's influence hath been employed by him 
 to incline thee to the match ; and that, overcome 
 by his counsels, thou art about to compel thy 
 daughter to accept of his hand ? Yea, all this 
 do I know, to the veriest item of the conversa- 
 tion held between thee : And now, can'st thou 
 doubt whence I have had this knowledge ?" 
 
 Sir Walter replied not, but groaned deeply. 
 
 ;s Sit down by me," said the Ancient, " and 
 listen to me. 'Tis registered in the dread Book 
 of Fate," continued he solemnly, " that if this 
 marriage be concluded, consequences the most 
 direful will result from it. First, thy daugh- 
 ter shall produce a son, of countenance so in- 
 human, that it shall be liker that of a wild 
 boar than a man ; and the monstrous birth will
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 103 
 
 produce the death of the mother. Then the 
 child shall grow up, and wax exceeding strong, 
 so that his might shall overmatch that of the 
 most powerful men. But though his mind shall 
 not ripen in proportion, yet shall his passions 
 terrihly expand themselves ; and after murder- 
 ing thee, from whom he shall have sprung, he 
 shall gather unto himself a host of demons of 
 his own stamp, and lay waste the fair face of 
 England, cruelly slaying and oppressing its in- 
 nocent people for the space of ten years, when 
 he shall be at last overthrown by a Scottish 
 army, which, being brought against him, shall 
 subdue and enslave our nation." 
 
 The white hairs of the aged Sir Walter bristled 
 on his head as he listened to this dreadful pro- 
 phecy. Tlie scourge with which his country was 
 menaced was worse, in his eyes, than even his 
 own unhappy fate. 
 
 " Tell me, oh tell me, most excellent An- 
 cient," said he, in the agony of despair, " tell 
 me, I entreat thee, how this awful mass of ap- 
 proaching misery may be averted." 
 
 " There is only one way to shield yourself 
 and mankind from the threatened curse," re- 
 plied the Ancient tardily, and rather as if he 
 felt difficulty in bringing it out; " there is only 
 one course to pursue, but it is such that, slave
 
 104 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 as thou art to the prejudices of the world, it is 
 vain to hope, that even the dread of these im- 
 pending calamities will induce thee to adopt it." 
 
 " Talk not so, good Ancient, talk not so," 
 cried the old knight impatiently. " There is 
 nothing I would not do — Holy Virgin, forgive 
 me ! — there is nothing I would not do honestly, 
 to prevent this threatened curse from arising, 
 to the destruction of my family and my coun- 
 try." 
 
 " Sayest thou so ?" said the Ancient, calmly 
 shaking his head, as if in doubt : "I will put 
 thee to the proof then. It is written, as I have 
 already declared, in the book of the fates of men, 
 that this marriage shall take place, and that 
 from it shall proceed this two-edged sword, to 
 smite both thee and England, unless thou shalt 
 bestow thy daughter on one whom — But thou 
 wilt never condescend " 
 
 " Nay," impatiently interrupted the knight, 
 " better she should marry any honest man of 
 good family, than that she should be suffered to 
 match so proudly, only to be the mother of de- 
 struction to herself, to me, and to her country." 
 
 " Thou sayest well," calmly replied the An- 
 cient ; " but the Fates have not left the choice 
 of her mate to thee or to her. Yet hear me pa- 
 tiently ; and thou shalt know all. Thou art not
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 105 
 
 ignorant that I have long abjured the pitiful 
 affairs of men. 'Tis now more than fifteen years 
 since, quitting their society, I have devoted my- 
 self to those studies by which thou hast more 
 than once benefited. I have sacrificed all earthly 
 prospects and enjoyments for the sake of that 
 sublime knowledge, which doth enable me to 
 foresee and control coming events ; and it is to 
 me a reward in itself so great, as to make every 
 other appear despicable in comparison with it. 
 But though I have forsworn the world, yet can- 
 not I rid myself of attachment to thee ; my early 
 feelings must tie me to thee and thine for ever. 
 Thou hast had proofs of this devotion too often, 
 to require me to repeat that it doth exist ; but 
 I am now prepared to give thee a demonstra- 
 tion of it yet stronger than any thou hast hi- 
 therto received from me." 
 
 " Kind, excellent Ancient," exclaimed the 
 grateful Sir Walter, " I well know the care 
 with which thou hast watched over the welfare 
 of my house ; I feel the magnitude of the debt 
 I owe thee, and 'tis with gratitude I acknow- 
 ledge it. What is it, I beseech thee, thou canst 
 do?" 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed the Ancient, with a show 
 of much feeling, " yes, I will sacrifice myself. 
 I will come forth again into the haunts of de- 
 e2
 
 106 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ceitful and cold-blooded man. I will give up 
 all I prize, my quiet, my solitude, to save thee 
 and thine from ruin. On my part there shall 
 be no failure, however at war with my habits 
 and inclinations the sacrifice may be. 'Tis upon 
 thyself, therefore, upon thine own decision, that 
 thine own fate, and the fate of thy daughter, 
 and of thy country, must depend." 
 
 " Name — name, I entreat thee, the terms," 
 cried the anxious old knight ; " name the con- 
 ditions that I must fulfil — flfell me what I must 
 do, and no time shall be lost in carrying it into 
 effect." 
 
 The Ancient paused for some moments, du- 
 ring which he looked into the face of the knight 
 with his fiery inexpressive eyes, and then, with 
 slow and solemn, though harsh utterance — 
 
 " I must espouse thy daughter, the Lady 
 Eleanore !" said he. " The Fates have willed 
 it so ; no other remedy doth now remain against 
 the overwhelming destruction thou art doomed 
 to behold." 
 
 This fatal declaration — this dreadful contrast 
 to all those hopes of splendid alliance which had 
 filled Sir Walter's thoughts, came upon him like 
 a thunderbolt, and was perfectly annihilating. 
 He could not stand the bitter alternative that 
 was thus presented to him. Overcome by his
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 107 
 
 feelings, he threw himself back among the straw 
 composing the lair of the monster he had been 
 listening to, and covering his eyes with the 
 palms of his hands, he, hardy soldier as he was, 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 A grim meteor smile of inward satisfaction 
 shot over the pallid face of the impostor. 
 
 " Ay," said he, " no one can expect thee to 
 match thy daughter with such as me. Better 
 that she should give birth to ten thousand such 
 demons, as her fated marriage with the brother 
 of the Piersie is infallibly destined to produce — 
 better that she should die, and thou be cruelly 
 murdered by the parricidal hand of thine inhu- 
 man grandchild, than that thou should' st call 
 such a wretch as me son. Thy determination 
 hath been well taken ; 'tis like a good soldier, 
 as thou art, to brave the Fates. I thank thee, 
 too, for mine emancipation from the vow I had 
 resolved to subject myself to for thy sake. My 
 time, and my quiet, and my solitude, shall be 
 again mine own, and my darling studies shall 
 receive no interruption." 
 
 " Is there no other alternative ?" cried the 
 distracted father, rising with energy from the 
 position he had thrown himself into. 
 
 " None !" replied the Ancient : " But that 
 thou mayest be ignorant of no tittle of what it
 
 108 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 so deeply concerns thee to know," continued he. 
 after a pause, " it is destined that if ever I do 
 so espouse me, my son shall he the most perfect 
 model of hravery and of virtue that ever Eng- 
 land saw; and that, taking the proud name of 
 de Selby, he shall wax exceeding mighty, and 
 leading a small hand of gallant youths, march 
 into Scotland as a conqueror, until at last, de- 
 throning the monarch of the North, he shall 
 himself be proclaimed king of that country, and 
 uniting himself by marriage with the King of 
 England, he and his posterity shall reign for 
 twelve centuries. To look farther into futu- 
 rity is denied ; but enow hath been told thee 
 to point out the way that doth lie before thee. 
 The space of three days and three hours is given 
 thee to choose thy daughter's destiny. And 
 now," continued the Ancient, putting out his 
 hand to the hour-glass, and solemnly inverting 
 it ; " and now the stream of thy time beginneth 
 to run ; see how the sand floweth down : — a por- 
 tion of it hath already glided away ; — so will the 
 rest, till the period assigned thee be irrecover- 
 ably gone. 'Twere better that thou should'st re- 
 tire to thy chamber, to weigh well the fates of 
 thy daughter, for the balance of her destinies is 
 in thine hand." 
 
 The impostor paused. The agitated mind of
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 109 
 
 Sir Walter de Selby had eagerly grasped at the 
 flattering picture which the Ancient had so cun- 
 ningly reserved to the last, and which was so 
 perfectly in harmony with every wish of the 
 old man's heart. In his contemplation of it, he 
 had almost forgotten the uncouth son-in-law 
 destined to make him the grandfather of a hero, 
 who was to raise the glory of his country's arms 
 so high, and who was at last to become a King 
 of Scotland. His pride was peculiarly flattered 
 by the notion of the name of de Selby being re- 
 tained to become eventually royal ; and he be- 
 gan to reason with himself as he sat, that it was 
 but stooping to present humiliation, in order to 
 rise to the summit of human ambition. The 
 crafty Ancient saw the working of his mind, 
 from its operation on his honest countenance, 
 as well as if he had been thinking audibly. 
 
 " Such proud prospects of an issue so glo- 
 rious tempt not me," said he. " These dark 
 volumes, and the retirement of this unseemly 
 chamber, whence the stars can be most easily 
 conversed with, are to me worth a world of 
 such. But for thee, if thou demandest it of me, 
 the sacrifice shall be made ; and should'st thou 
 make me the humble instrument of the sal- 
 vation and exaltation of thyself and thy issue, it 
 would," said he, with an affectation of extreme
 
 110 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 humility, " be no more, after all, than burying 
 good seed in the soil of a dunghill, to see it 
 buxion with the more vigour, shoot the more 
 aloft, and rear its proud head far above the 
 meagre plants on higher but more sterile spots. 
 But it is matter worthy of grave thought. Yet 
 judge me not as I seem ; as the poor, the wretch- 
 ed inmate of this howlet's nest. Why am I so ? 
 Even because I despise all those gewgaws men 
 esteem most valuable, and covet only that most 
 precious of all jewels — the perfection of know- 
 ledge. Thinkest thou that it would not help me 
 to all the rest, were it my pleasure to command 
 them ? Thinkest thou that I could not command 
 worldly wealth and honours, were I to fancy 
 such baubles ? Would'st thou have me conjure 
 up gold? Lo ! — there !" said he, plucking the 
 leathern bag from his jerkin, and emptying the 
 shining contents of it on the ground, to the as- 
 tonishment of Sir Walter ; "a little midnight 
 labour would raise me up a hoard that might 
 purchase the earth itself. But what is the vile 
 dross to me ? — Nay, I would not inundate the 
 wretched world with that which hath already 
 caused sufficient human misery. To pour out 
 more, would be to breed a more accursed scourge 
 than e'en thy grandson Piersie will prove."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. Ill 
 
 " Talk not of him," exclaimed the knight in 
 terror; " the very thought of his existence is 
 racking to me. I want not time for considera- 
 tion on a point so plain. I do now resolve me 
 on the alliance with thee. Sir Rafe Piersie comes 
 to-morrow morning; — I shall break with him 
 abruptly — and then, my resolution being taken, 
 my daughter must yield to the irresistible de- 
 crees of Fate." 
 
 With these words Sir Walter rose to his knees, 
 and, snatching up his lamp, scrambled hastily 
 to the door, and stole softly down to his apart- 
 ment. He looked with fear and trembling into 
 the oratory, when, to his extreme relief, he saw 
 that the ominous flame had left the fatal shield, 
 and he retired to his couch in a state of compa- 
 rative composure. 
 
 " So," said the Ancient, in grim soliloquy, 
 after Sir Walter's footsteps had died away on 
 the stairs, — " so, the hook is in thy nose, and 
 thou shalt feel the power, as well as the ven- 
 geance, of him thou didst despise and make thy 
 mock of. Thou didst thwart mine ambition; but 
 my helm ere long shall tower amid the proud- 
 est crests of chivalry, and wealth and honours, 
 yea, and the haughty smile of beauty too, shall 
 be at my will. This is indeed to rise by mine
 
 112 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 abasement, even beyond the highest soaring of 
 those early hopes which this man did so cruel- 
 ly level with the earth. The thought is ec- 
 stasy."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 113 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sir John Assueton was early astir next 
 morning, for his head was so filled with the re- 
 membrance of those friends, and scenes of his 
 youth, he now hoped to revisit after a long ab- 
 sence, that he was impatient to depart from 
 Norham Castle. He had already given orders 
 to the squires to hold themselves in readiness, 
 and he had visited the stable, where Blanche- 
 etoile neighed a recognition to his master, and 
 was spoken to with the kindness of a friend. 
 The knight then ascended the ramparts to en- 
 joy a short promenade ; and there he was soon 
 afterwards joined by Hepborne, who came 
 springing towards him, urged by an unusual 
 flow of spirits. 
 
 " Good morrow, Hepborne," said Assueton ; 
 " I am glad to see thee so alert this morning. 
 I have looked at our steeds ; they are courage- 
 ous as lions, and gamesome as kids. They will 
 carry us into Scotland with as much spirit as 
 we shall ride them thither. After breaking our
 
 114- THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 fast, and bestowing our meed of thanks on the 
 good old Knight for his hospitality, we may yet 
 make our way o'er many a good mile of Scot- 
 tish ground, ere yonder new-born sun shall sink 
 in the west." 
 
 " Nay, my dear Assueton," said Hepborne, 
 " what need hast thou for so much haste ? Hadst 
 thou some fair damosel in Scotland — some lady 
 bright, who, with her swan-like neck stretched 
 towards the mid-day sun, looketh day after day 
 from her lofty towernet, with anxious eyes, in 
 the hope of descrying thee her true and constant 
 Knight — -hadst thou such a fair one as this, I 
 say, impatience might indeed become thee ; but 
 what reason hast thou, despiser of the lovely 
 sex as thou art, to long for a change of posi- 
 tion ? By the Rood of St Andrew, I begin to 
 believe that thou art no such woman-hater as 
 thou would'st pretend, and that all this seeming 
 coldness of thine is nothing but thy laudable 
 constancy to some Scottish maid, who hath 
 thine early-pledged vows of love in keeping." 
 
 " Thou art welcome to rally me as it may 
 please thee, Hepborne," replied Assueton, with 
 a smile ; " but, on the faith and honour of my 
 knighthood, I have not seen the maiden for 
 whom I would go three ells from my intended 
 path, except for common knightly courtesy, or
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 115 
 
 to redress some grievous wrong. Nay, nay, 
 thou knowest my natural duresse — that my heart 
 is adamant to all such weak impressions. Per- 
 die, I cannot understand how any such can af- 
 fect the good, hardy, soldier-like bosom, though 
 I do observe the melancholy truth exampled 
 forth, in daily occurrence, with those around 
 me. — But I perceive thy drift, my politic friend. 
 To assail is the best tactique against being as- 
 sailed. Thou earnest forth conscience-stricken, 
 and being well aware that thy foolish fondness 
 for this masquing damosel of the Castle here 
 would come under my gentle lash, to divert the 
 attack against thyself, thou dost begin to skir- 
 mish against me. But I see well enow that 'tis 
 the Lady Eleanore's attraction that would keep 
 thee here." 
 
 " It is e'en so, I candidly confess it," replied 
 Hepborne. " I candidly confess it, dost mark 
 me ? so, throwing myself at thy feet, I cry for 
 quarter." 
 
 " Nay, an thou dost disarm me thus," replied 
 Assueton, " I can say no more." 
 
 " Oh, Assueton, Assueton, my bel ami," said 
 Hepborne enthusiastically, " I was the happiest 
 of human beings last night. I did indeed meet 
 her on the ramparts. Old Adam of Gordon was 
 a good seer ; nay, perchance, though as to that I
 
 116 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 know not, he may have been Cupid's messenger. 
 Yet, hold! Depardieux, I do her most foul 
 wrong in so supposing ; for she hath too much 
 maiden modesty to have been guilty of so much 
 boldness. But, be that as it may, her words — 
 her looks — were kind and most encouraging. 
 She did blushingly confess that her heart had 
 known no other affection than that which she 
 bears towards her venerable father. She half 
 admitted that I was not altogether indifferent 
 to her ; — she did utter a hope that we should 
 remain her father's guests for some longer 
 space; — yea, and she even admitted, that to 
 see me again would give her pleasure. Then 
 her accents were so sweet, and her demeanour 
 so gentle — Oh, Assueton, she is in very truth 
 an angel! — But what is all this to thee, thou 
 Knight of Adamant ? I forgot that I might as 
 well speak to the stones of these walls of amo- 
 rets and love passages, as to Sir John Assueton." 
 " Thou art right, i'faith, Hepborne," replied 
 Assueton ; " they say walls have ears, whilst I, 
 in good earnest, may with truth enow be said 
 to have none for such matters, since they do 
 irk whenever the theme of love is handled in 
 their hearing. Yet my friendship for thee bids 
 me listen to thy ravings, and compassion for 
 thy disease makes me watch the progress of its
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 1 IT 
 
 symptoms, as I should do those of any other 
 fever. From all thou hast said, then, I would 
 gather that thou would'st fain loiter off another 
 day or two, to catch fresh smiles and deeper 
 wounds from the Lady Eleanore. — Is't not so, 
 Hephorne ?" 
 
 44 In truth, Assueton," replied Sir Patrick, 
 44 her whole deportment towards me last night 
 hath huoyed me up with hope, yea, and hath 
 even led me to flatter myself that I am not in- 
 different to her, Scot though I be. At so cri- 
 tical a period, then, I cannot go, my dear As- 
 sueton ; and I am sure thy good nature will 
 never allow thee to abandon thy friend in the 
 crisis of his distemper." 
 
 " No, Hepborne," said Assueton, laughing, 
 44 I shall certainly not be so little of a Christian 
 knight as to abandon thee when thine estate is 
 so dangerous. — Well, then, I must wait thy 
 time, I suppose : But parfoy I must have some 
 rounds of the tiltyard, were it but to joust at 
 the quintaine, or Blanche-etoile and I too will 
 lose our occupation. Wilt thou not take a turn 
 with me for exercise? — But soft — I need not 
 talk to thee now of any such thing, for yonder 
 comes the cause of thy malady." 
 
 44 By St Denis, it is she indeed !" exclaimed 
 Hepborne ; 44 that is the very mantle she wore.
 
 118 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 But who is that cavalier on whose arm she hangs 
 so freely ?" added he, with a jealous tone and 
 air. 
 
 " St Genevieve, but he is a tall, proper, 
 handsome knight," said Assueton. 
 
 " Phsaw !" said Hepborne pettishly ; " I see 
 nothing handsome about him : meseems he hath 
 the air of a sturdy swineherd." 
 
 " Is not that the Lady Eleanore de Selby ?" 
 inquired Assueton of a sentinel who walked on 
 the rampart at some little distance from where 
 the knights then stood. 
 
 " Ay, in truth, it is she," replied the man, 
 stopping to look at her. 
 
 " And who may yonder knight be with whom 
 she holds converse ?" demanded Hepborne ea- 
 gerly. 
 
 " By the mass, I know not, Sir Knight," re- 
 plied the man, as he turned to tread back his 
 measured pace ; " I never saw him before, that 
 I knows on." 
 
 But notwithstanding the unfavourable remark 
 which jealousy had made Hepborne cast on the 
 stranger's appearance, he could not help secretly 
 confessing that the knight with whom the lady 
 Eleanore had come forth from the keep, and on 
 whose arm she was now leaning with so little 
 reserve, was indeed very handsome, even noble-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 119 
 
 looking. An esquire waited for him at the end 
 of the bridge, with two magnificently-capari- 
 soned black horses. The lady seemed to be a 
 drag on his steps, and to keep him back, as it 
 were, with a thousand last words, as if with a 
 desire of prolonging the few remaining minutes 
 of their converse. On his part, he displayed 
 signs of the tenderest affection for her; and 
 after they had crossed the bridge tardily toge- 
 ther, she threw herself upon his mailed neck, 
 and he enfolded her in his arms, both remain- 
 ing locked together for some moments in a last 
 embrace. The warrior then tore himself from 
 her, and vaulting on his steed, struck the pointed 
 steel into his sides, and galloped off at a despe- 
 rate pace. The lady, leaning on the balustrades 
 of the bridge, rested there a little space, and 
 then turning slowly towards the door of the keep, 
 disappeared. 
 
 The two knights commanded a full though 
 distant view of this scene of dumb show, from 
 the part of the rampart where they then stood. 
 Assueton turned his eyes with compassion upon 
 his friend to observe its effect upon him. He 
 was standing like a marble statue, still gazing 
 on the spot where it had been acted ; his eyes 
 fixed in his head as if with apathetical stupor. 
 At length, after remaining in the same attitude
 
 120 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 for several minutes, he struck his forehead vio- 
 lently with the palms of his hands, and address- 
 ing his friend in hurried accents, — 
 
 " Assueton, Assueton," said he, " did'st thou 
 see? did'st thou mark? Oh, woman, woman, 
 woman ! But it mattereth not. Assueton, let 
 our horses be ordered ; I will forth with thee for 
 Scotland even now ; ay, even now. Thou wert 
 indeed right, my friend ; there is more of thorns 
 than roses about them all. Thou wert wise, 
 Assueton ; but I am cured now — nay, I am as 
 sane as thyself. Our horses, Assueton — our 
 squires and cortege. Let us not lose a moment ; 
 — we may yet dispatch good store of Scottish 
 miles ere we sleep." 
 
 " Nay, let us not be guilty of doing violence 
 to the courtesy of knighthood," replied Assue- 
 ton ; " Sir Walter de Selby hath used much 
 fair hospitality towards us. It beseems us not 
 to leave Norham Castle without giving thanks 
 to the good old governor in person, and bidding 
 him adieu. Besides, 'twere as well, methinks, 
 to go with less suspicious haste, lest we may be 
 misjudged; and, indeed, Sir Walter can have 
 hardly left his couch as yet." 
 
 " Ay, ay, true — thou sayest true, my friend," 
 said Hepborne, interrupting him keenly. " I 
 had forgotten. Her father not yet astir, and
 
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 121 
 
 she taking leave of her lover so tenderly at such 
 an hour. Oh, damnable ! He came, doubt-, 
 less, last night, and has been i' the keep with- 
 out the old man's knowledge. So, all her deep 
 and long-drawn suspires were but the offspring 
 of her fears lest her leman should break faith." 
 " Come, come, Hepborne, my bel ami, com- 
 pose thyself," said Sir John; " thou must not 
 let this appear within; 'tis but a short hour 
 sacrificed to common civility, and then let us 
 boune us for Scotland." 
 
 " Thou sayest well, Assueton," said Hep- 
 borne, recollecting himself after a short pause, 
 during which he sighed deeply; " I must en- 
 deavour to command myself — my passion too 
 much en chafe th me. The good old man hath 
 indeed been to us kindness itself. How cruel 
 that he should be so deceived in his daughter ! 
 I pity him from the bottom of my soul. My 
 wounds will soon be healed — war-toil must be 
 their confecture ; but his, alas ! are yet to be 
 opened, for now they do fester all unwist to 
 him, and when they do burst forth, I fear me 
 they may well out his life's blood. But come," 
 added he, rousing himself, " let's in." 
 
 They turned their steps towards the keep, 
 but before they had descended from the ram- 
 parts, their ears werenstruck with the sound of 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 122 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 a bugle, and as they looked over the walls they 
 descried a long cavalcade of knights, esquires, 
 grooms, lacqueys, and spearmen, advancing 
 with lances and pennons up the hollow way 
 leading towards the outer gate of the Castle. 
 The party soon came thundering over the draw- 
 bridge, and were saluted by the guards as they 
 passed. At the head of the troop rode the proud 
 Sir Rafe Piersie. The array of the very mean- 
 est of his people was magnificent ; but his ar- 
 mour and his horse-gear shone like the sun, and 
 glittered with the splendour of its embossments. 
 They passed into the inner court-yard; loud 
 rang the bugle of announcement, and the ear 
 was assailed by the neighing of hot steeds, the 
 clattering and pawing of impatient hoofs, the 
 champing of foam-covered bits, the jingling of 
 chains, and the clinking of spurs ; whilst a rout 
 of soldiers and grooms, with Master Thomas 
 Turnberry at their head, ran clustering around 
 them. The squires of the Castle, with the hoary 
 seneschal and a host of lacqueys, came forth 
 from the keep, and ushered in Sir Rafe Piersie 
 and his suite. 
 
 Hepborne and Assueton soon afterwards fol- 
 lowed, and on reaching the banquet-hall they 
 found Sir Walter dc Selby in the act of recei- 
 ving and welcoming his newly-arrived guest,
 
 
 THE WOLFE Or BADENOCH. 123 
 
 whose supercilious air, when addressing the 
 plain honest old soldier, by no means prepos- 
 sessed the two Scottish knights in his favour. 
 Sir Walter introduced them to Piersie, and he 
 received them with the same offensive hauteur. 
 There is something in such a deportment that 
 provokes even the humble man to put on haugh- 
 tiness. Hepborne, from late events, was not 
 prepared to be in the most condescending hu- 
 mour, so that he failed not to carry his head 
 fully three inches higher than he had done since 
 he became an inmate of the Castle of Norham. 
 Nor was Assueton at all behind him in state- 
 liness. 
 
 The table was covered with the morning's 
 meal, and but little conversation passed during 
 the time it was going on. Sir Walter de Selby 
 seemed to be more reserved, and even less dis- 
 posed to risk his words than he had been the 
 previous night. 
 
 " I marvel much, Sir Governor," said Sir 
 Rafe Piersie with a haughty sneer — " I say, me- 
 thinks, that 'tis marvellously strange that thou 
 hast as yet said nothing touching the object of 
 the visit I have thus paid tliee. Am I, or am 
 I not, to have this girl of thine ? Depardieux, 
 there hath been more ambassage about this af- 
 fair than might have brought home and wedded
 
 124 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 a queen of England. The damsel, I am inform- 
 ed, knew not her own mind, and thou wert weak 
 enough to suffer thyself to he blown about by 
 her wayward whimsies ; but my kinsman, the 
 Bishop of Durham, tells me, that having at last 
 brought thine own determination up to the pro- 
 per point, thou art finally resolved she shall be 
 mine. Marry, a matter of great exertion, truly, 
 to accept of Sir Rafe Piercie as a husband for 
 Eleanore de Selby !" 
 
 " My mind has indeed been made up, Sir 
 Rafe Piersie," said the old knight, " and would 
 to Heaven, beausir, that it could have been 
 made up differently, for, certes, it doleth me 
 sorely to be driven to answer thee, as I must of 
 needscost do. I should not have broached this 
 matter till privacy had put the seal on our con- 
 verse ; but since thou hast opened it, I am for- 
 ced to tell thee, that since I saw the Bishop of 
 Durham, obstacles have appeared which render 
 it impossible for me to give thee my daughter, 
 the Lady Eleanore, to wife. She is affianced 
 to another." 
 
 " So," thought Hepborne, the ideas passing 
 rapidly through his mind, "her father knows 
 of the attachment between her and the knight 
 who left her this morning. Then, perhaps, she 
 has been less to blame than I thought ; yet why
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 125 
 
 were her words and manner such, last night, 
 towards me, as to mislead me into the idea that 
 I had reason to hope ? Oh, deceitful woman, 
 never satisfied with the success of thy springes 
 as long as there is a foolish bird to catch. So ! 
 thou must have me limed too ? But, gramercy, 
 I have escaped thy toils." 
 
 Such were Hepborne's thoughts ; — but what 
 Sir Rafe Piersie's were during the pause of 
 astonishment he was thrown into, may be best 
 gathered from the utterance he gave them. 
 
 " What is this I hear ? has a limb of the 
 noble Piersie been brought here to be insulted ? 
 Thou art a false old papelarcle; and were it not 
 for those hoary hairs of thine, by the beard of 
 St Barnabas, I would brain thee with this 
 gauntlet ;" and saying so, he dashed it down 
 on the board, making it ring again. 
 
 Hepborne and Assueton both started up, and 
 stretched out their hands eagerly to seize it. 
 
 " Ah, thou art always the lucky man, Hep- 
 borne," said Assueton, much disappointed to 
 see that his friend had snatched it before him. 
 
 " Sir Rafe Piersie," said Hepborne, " in be- 
 half of this good old knight, whom thou hast so 
 grossly insulted at his own board, I defy thee to 
 instant and mortal debate ; and in thy teeth 1 
 return the opprobrious epithets thou didst dare
 
 126 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 to throw in his face; and here, I say, thou 
 liest !" and with these words he threw down his 
 gauntlet. 
 
 " And who art thou ?" said his antagonist, 
 taking it up ; " who art thou, young cockerel, 
 who crowest so loud ? By St George, but thou 
 showest small share of wisdom to pit thyself 
 thus against Sir Rafe Piersie. But fear not, 
 thoa shalt have thy will. Was thy darreigne 
 for instant fight, saidst thou ? In God's name, 
 let us to horse then without farther parley. Let 
 Sir Richard de Lacy here, and thine eager 
 friend there, be the judges of the field ; and as 
 for the place, the Norham meadow below will 
 do as well for thine overthrow as any other: 
 thou wilt have easy galloping ere thou dost meet 
 it. What, defy Sir Rafe Piersie to combat of 
 outran ce, and give him the lie too ! Thou art 
 doomed, young man, thou art doomed; thine 
 insolence hath put thee beyond the pale of my 
 mercy. By the holy Rood, thou must be the 
 young cock-sparrow the old dotard hath chosen 
 as a mate for his pretty popelot, else thou never 
 could'st have been so bold." 
 
 " I am not so fortunate," replied Hepborne, 
 with calm and courteous manner. 
 
 " And what may thy name and title be, then ?" 
 demanded Piersie, with yet greater hauteur.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 127 
 
 " My name," replied lie, with a dignified 
 bow, " is Sir Patrick Hepborne." 
 
 " Ha ! then, by my faith, thou hast some 
 good Northern blood in thee," replied Piersie ; 
 " thou art less unworthy of my lance than I 
 did ween thou wert. Thy father is a right 
 doughty Scot; and, if I mistake not, I have 
 heard of some deeds of thine done in France, 
 which have made thine honours and renomie to 
 bud and buxion rathely. But 'tis a warm cli- 
 mate they have sprouted in, and such early and 
 unnatural shoots are wont to be air-drawn and 
 unhealthy ; and albeit they may vegetate under 
 the more southern sun, they are often withered 
 by the blasts of the North, as soon as they ap- 
 pear amongst us. But come, come, my horse, 
 Delaval — my horse and gear, I say ;" and lea- 
 ving the hall hastily, he sought a chamber where 
 he might prepare himself for single combat.
 
 128 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Hepborne was not slow on his part, and in 
 a very short time the Castle-yard was again in 
 commotion, and grooms and esquires were seen 
 running in all directions, bringing out steeds 
 and buckling on trappings. Hepborne's gallant 
 steed Beaufront was led proudly forth from his 
 stall by Mortimer Sang, and was no sooner 
 backed by his master, than he pranced, neighed, 
 and spurned the ground, as if he had guessed 
 at the nature of the work he had to do. Attend- 
 ed by Assueton and their small party of follow- 
 ers, Sir Patrick rode slowly down to the mead 
 of Norham, extending from under the elevated 
 ground on which the Castle stood, for a consi- 
 derable way to the westward, between the vil- 
 lage and the bank of the Tweed. Here he halt- 
 ed, and patiently awaited the arrival of his op- 
 ponent. Piersie came in all his pomp, mounted 
 on a dapple-grey horse, of remarkable strength, 
 figure, and action. Both horse and rider were 
 splendidly arrayed, and his friends and people 
 came crowding after him, boasting loudly of
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 129 
 
 the probable issue of the combat. Sir Walter 
 de Selby came last, attended by some few offi- 
 cers, esquires, and meaner people, and joined 
 Hepborne's party, stationed towards one end of 
 the field, Sir Rafe Piersie's having filed off and 
 taken post towards the other extremity of it. 
 Little time was lost in preparation. The two 
 judges placed themselves opposite to the middle 
 of the space, and there the combatants met and 
 measured lances. 
 
 The bugle-mot gave them warning, so turn- 
 ing their steeds round, they each rode back 
 about a furlong towards their respective parties, 
 and suddenly wheeling at the second sound of 
 the bugle, they ran their furious course against 
 each other with lance in rest. The shock was 
 tremendous. The clash of their armour echoed 
 from the very walls of the neighbouring castle ; 
 nor had the oldest and most experienced men- 
 at-arms who were there present ever seen any- 
 thing like it. Sir Patrick Hepborne had re- 
 ceived his adversary's lance, with great adroit- 
 ness, on his shield, at such an angle that it 
 glanced off broken in shivers ; yet the force 
 was so great that it had almost turned him in 
 his saddle. But he on his part had borne his 
 point so stoutly, so steadily, and so truly, that 
 taking his adversary in the centre of the body, 
 f 2
 
 130 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 he tossed him entirely over the croupe of his 
 horse. Piersie lay stunned by the fall; and 
 Sir Patrick checking Beaufront in his career, 
 made a circuit around his prostrate adversary, 
 and speedily dismounting, went up to him, and 
 kneeling on the ground beside him, lifted up his 
 head, and opened his vizor and beaver to give 
 him freer air. Sir Richard de Lacy and As- 
 sueton came up. 
 
 " Sir Richard," said Hepborne, " thou seest 
 his life is in mine hands ; and after the bragging 
 and insolent threats he used towards me, per- 
 haps I might be deemed well entitled to use the 
 privileges of my victory, and take it. But I 
 engaged in this affair only to wipe off the dis- 
 grace thrown on this good old knight Sir Wal- 
 ter de Selby, in whose hospitality I and my 
 brother-in-arms have so liberally shared ; and 
 the blot having been thus removed, by God's 
 blessing on mine arm, I leave Piersie his life, 
 that he may use it against me when next we 
 meet in fair fight in bloody field, should the 
 jarring rights of our two countries summon us 
 against each other. But through thee, his friend, 
 I do most solemnly enjoin him, that on the ho- 
 nour of a knight, he shall henceforth hold Sir 
 Walter de Selby as acquitted of all intention of 
 doing him any injury or insult in the matter of 

 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 131 
 
 the marriage he contemplated with the Lady 
 Eleanore, and that he think not of doing Sir 
 Walter violence upon that account." 
 
 For all this Sir Richard de Lacy immediate- 
 ly pledged himself in name of Sir Rafe Piersie ; 
 and the discomfited knight, who was still in- 
 sensible, having been lifted up by his esquires, 
 was straightway borne towards the Castle. As 
 they were carrying him away, Mortimer Sang, 
 who had by chance caught the dapple-grey 
 steed, as he scoured past him on the field after 
 his rider's overthrow, trotted up to the group 
 leading him by the bridle. The worthy esquire 
 had heard and treasured up the taunts and boast- 
 ing of Piersie's people, as they were approach- 
 ing the field. 
 
 " Hath any of ye lost perchance a pomely 
 grise-coloured horse, my masters ?" exclaimed 
 he ; " here is a proper powerful destrier, if he 
 had been but well backed. Hast thou no varlet 
 of a pricksoure squire who can ride him ? Here 
 take him, some of ye ; and, hark ye, let his saddle 
 be better filled the next time ye do come afield." 
 
 Piersies men were too much crest-fallen to 
 return his jibes, so he rode back to the group 
 that surrounded the conqueror, chuckling over 
 his triumph. The good old Sir Walter de 
 Selby, his eyes running over with gratitude,
 
 132 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 approached Sir Patrick Hepbome, and embra- 
 ced him cordially. 
 
 " The time hath been," said he, " the time 
 hath been, Sir Patrick, when it pleased Heaven 
 to permit me to reap the same guerdon of in- 
 ward satisfaction thou art now feeling, and 
 could the weight of a few years have been lift- 
 ed from off this hoar head, by God's blessing, 
 thou should'st not have had this noble chance of 
 gathering fame at the cost of Sir Rafe Piersie. 
 As it is, I thank thee heartily for thy gallant 
 defence of an old man, as well as for the gene- 
 rous use thou hast made of thy victory. Come, 
 let us to the Castle, that by my treatment of 
 thee, and Sir Rafe Piersie, I may forthwith 
 prove my gratitude to the one, and my forgive- 
 ness of the other.' ' 
 
 " Thanks, most hospitable knight," said Sir 
 Patrick, " I beseech thee in mine own name, 
 and that of my friend, to receive our poor thanks 
 for thy kind reception of us at Norham. But 
 now our affairs demand our return to our own 
 country ; nay, had it not been for this unlooked- 
 for deed of arms, we had been ere now some 
 miles beyond that broad stream. We boune us 
 now for Scotland. Farewell, and may the holy 
 St Cuthbert keep thee in health and safety. We 
 may yet haply meet again."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 133 
 
 Sir Walter de Selby was grieved to find that 
 all his efforts to detain the two knights were in- 
 effectual. 
 
 " Since it is thy will, then, to pleasure me 
 no longer with thy good company and presence, 
 Sirs Knights, may the blessed Virgin and the 
 holy St Andrew guide you in safety to your 
 friends ; and may you find those ye love in the 
 good plight you would wish them to be." And 
 saying so, he again cordially embraced both the 
 knights, and slowly returned towards the Castle 
 with his attendants. 
 
 The bustle and commotion occasioned by the 
 appearance of the knights and their followers 
 on the mead of Norham, the sound of the bugle, 
 and the clash of the shock, had brought out 
 many of the inhabitants of the village to see 
 what was a-doing. Amongst these was the 
 black-eyed Mrs Kyle, who came up to Master 
 Mortimer Sang, and laying hold of his bridle- 
 rein, — 
 
 " When goest thou for Scotland ?" said she 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Even now, fair dame," said he calmly. 
 
 " Then go I with thee, Sir Squire," return- 
 ed she. " Let me have a seat on that butt- 
 horse ; I can ride right merrily there."
 
 131 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Nay, my most beautiful Mrs Kyle," replied 
 Sang, " that may in no wise be, seeing I am an 
 honest virtuous esquire, not one of those false 
 faitors who basely run away with other men's 
 wives. Thou canst not with me, I promise 
 thee." 
 
 " Yea, but thou didst promise to take me," 
 cried Mrs Kyle, a flood of tears bursting from 
 her eyes, as she began to reproach Sang, with 
 a voice half-choked by the violence of her sob- 
 bing; " So, false foiterer that thou art, I — I — 
 I — I must be fordone by thee, must I, after all 
 thy losengery and flattery ? Her6 have I kept 
 goodman Kyle all this time i' the vault, ygraven, 
 as a body may say, that I mought the more 
 sickerly follow thee when thou wentest. Oh, 
 what will become of me ? I am but as one 
 dead." 
 
 " Why, thou cruel giglet thou," cried Sang, 
 " didst thou in very truth mean to go off to 
 Scotland with me, and leave thy poor husband 
 ygraven i' the vault to die the most horrible of 
 deaths ? Did not I tell thee to let him out at 
 thy leisure and on thine own good terms ? By 
 the mass, a pretty leisure hast thou taken, and 
 pretty terms hast thou resolved to yield him." 
 
 " Nay, judge not so hastily, good Sir Squire," 
 replied Mrs Kyle. " That I would boune me to
 
 THE WOLFE OF BAD ENOCH* 135 
 
 Scotland with thee, is sure enow ; but as to lea- 
 ving Sylvester Kyle to die a cruel death, Thomas 
 Tapster here knows that I taught him the use 
 of the sliding plank and the clickct of the trap- 
 door, and that Master Sylvester was to receive 
 his franchise as soon as Tweed should be atween 
 us. But what shall I do ? I can never go back 
 to the Norham Tower again ; goodman Sylves- 
 ter will surely amortise me attenes when he dotli 
 get freedom." 
 
 " Squire," said Hepborne, " thou must e'en 
 get thee back to the village, and make her peace 
 with the bear her husband ; we shall wait for 
 thee at the ferry-boat." 
 
 " Nay, as for that matter," said Sang, " I 
 must go back at any rate, for I have yet to pay 
 the rascal for the excellent supper we had of 
 him, and for the herborow of our party for the 
 night we spent there. Come along then. Dame 
 Kyle, I see thou wert not quite so savage as I 
 took thee to be." 
 
 They soon reached the hostel, and Master 
 Mortimer Sang, dismounting from his horse in 
 the yard, entered and strode along the passage to 
 the place where he knew the trap-door to be, 
 and, sliding aside the plank that covered its 
 fastenings, he hoisted up the lever. 
 
 " Sylvester Kyle, miserable lossel wight,"
 
 136 THE WOLFE OF BADEN'OCH. 
 
 cried he, " art thou yet alive ? Sinner that thou 
 art, I have compassion on thee, and albeit thou 
 hast been there but some short space — small 
 guerdon for thy wicked coulpe, seeing thou art 
 in the midst of so great a mountance of good 
 provender and drink, with which to fill thine 
 enormous bowke — I now condescend to let thee 
 come forth. Come up, come up, I say, and 
 show thy face, that we may hold parley as to 
 the terms of thine enlargement.' ' 
 
 A groaning was heard from the farther end 
 of the place, and by and by Sylvester's head 
 appeared above the steps, his countenance wear- 
 ing the most miserable expression. Horrible 
 fear of the agonizing death he had thought 
 himself doomed to die, had prevented him from 
 touching food; but the anxious workings of hi.* 
 mind had done even more mortification upon 
 him than a starvation of a fortnight could have 
 accomplished. The red in his face was con- 
 verted into a deadly pale copper hue, for even 
 death itself could never have altogether extin- 
 guished the flame in his nose; his teeth pro- 
 jected beyond his lips, and chattered against 
 each other from the cold he had undergone; 
 and his eyes stared in their sockets, from the 
 united effects of want and terror.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 137 
 
 " Should it please me to give thee the fran- 
 chise, thou agroted lorrel, thou," said the Squire, 
 " wilt thou give me thy promise to comport 
 thyself more honestly in time to come, to have 
 done with all knavery and chinchery, and to 
 give thy very best to all Scots who may, in time 
 to come, chance to honour thy hostelry with 
 their presence ?" 
 
 " Oh, good Sir Squire," replied the host, 
 " anything — I will promise anything that thou 
 mayest please." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Sir Knave," cried Sang, " hor- 
 row tallowcatch that thou art — no generals — 
 swear me in particulars — item by item, dost 
 thou hear, as thou framest thy reckonings. If 
 thou dost not, down goeth the trap-door again, 
 and I leave thee here to meditate and ypend 
 my proposal, until my return from the Holy 
 Wars, whither I am boune. By that time thou 
 wilt be more humble, and more coming to my 
 terms. Swear." 
 
 " I swear, by the holy St Cuthbert," replied 
 the host, " that all Scots shall henceforth be 
 entertained with the best meats and drinks the 
 nale of the Norham Tower can afford, yea, al- 
 swa the best herborow it can yield them." 
 
 " Tis well," said Sang; " swear me next,
 
 138 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 then, and let the oath be strong, that thou wilt 
 never again score double." 
 
 " Nay, Master Squire, that is a hard oath for 
 a tapster to take ; 'tis warring against the very 
 nicest mystery of my vocation," said Kyle. 
 
 " No matter, Sir Knave," said Sang, " I shall 
 not have my terms agrutched by thee. An thou 
 swearest not this, down thou goest, and I leave 
 thee to settle scores with a friend of thine be- 
 low, with whom thou wilt find the single reck- 
 oning of thy sins a hard enough matter for thee 
 to pay." 
 
 " Oh, for mercy's sake, touch not the trap- 
 door, Sir Squire, and I will swear anything," 
 cried Kyle, much alarmed at seeing Sang's 
 brawny arm preparing to turn it over upon his 
 head. 
 
 " Well, thou horrow lossel," cried Sang, 
 " dost thou swear thou wilt never more cheat, 
 or score double ?" 
 
 " I do, I do," said the host; " by the holy 
 Rood, I swear that I will never cheat or score 
 double again. God help me," cried he, after a 
 pause, " how shall I eschew it, and what shall 
 I do without it?" 
 
 " Now, thou prince of knaves," cried Sang, 
 " thou hast yet one more serment to swal- 
 low. Swear by the blessed Virgin, that thou
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 139 
 
 wilt receive thy wife back into thy bosom, and 
 abandoning thy former harshness towards her, 
 that thou wilt kindly cherish her, and do thy 
 possible to comfort and pleasure her, forgetting 
 all that may have hitherto happened amiss be- 
 tween ye. I -restore her to thee pure. She was 
 not to blame for my being in the vault with 
 her. The coulpe was all thine own. Thou 
 madest me ravenous with hunger by thy vil- 
 lainous chinchery. My nose, through very 
 want, became as sharp in scent as that of a 
 sleuth-hound. I winded the steam that came 
 from the trap-door, yea, from the very common 
 room where I sat. I ran it up hot foot, and 
 descending the stair, I had but just begun to 
 feast mine eyes with that thou hadst denied to 
 my stomach, when thy pestiferous voice was 
 heard. Thy wife is as virtuous and innocent as 
 the child unborn. So swear, I say. " 
 
 Master Sylvester Kyle shook his head wo- 
 fully, and looked very far from satisfied; but 
 he had no alternative ; he swore as the squire 
 wished him to do, and then was permitted to 
 issue from his subterranean prison. 
 
 " And now, Sir Knave," said Sang, " do but 
 note my extreme clemency. Thou would'st 
 have starved me, the knights, and our good 
 company, because we were Scots, for the which
 
 140 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 grievous sin I did put thee in a prison full of 
 goodly provender and' rich drinks ; whence I 
 now let thee forth, with thy greedy carcase 
 crammed to bursting, and thy whole person 
 plump and fair as a capon. Do but behold him, 
 I beseech ye, how round he looks. Now get 
 thee to thine augrim- stones, and cast up thine 
 account withal. Thou knowest pretty well what 
 we have had, for thou didst give me the vic- 
 tuals and wine with thine own hand." 
 
 " Nay, good Sir Squire," said Kyle, glad to 
 escape, " take it all, in God's name, as a free 
 gift, and let us part good friends." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Master Sang, " we take no 
 such beggarly treats, we Scottish knights and 
 squires. Come, come — thy reckoning, thy reck- 
 oning, dost hear ? No more words ; my mas- 
 ter doth wait, and I must haste to join him." 
 
 Kyle, with his wife's assistance, and that of 
 the pebbles or augrim-stones, by which accounts 
 were usually made out in those days, scored up 
 the first fair reckoning he had ever made in his 
 life, and Sang paid it without a word. 
 
 " And now," said he, " let us, as thou said'st, 
 Master Kyle, let us e'en part good friends. 
 Bring me a stirrup-cup of thy best." 
 
 The host hastened to fetch a cup of excellent 
 Rhenish. They drank to each other, and shook
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 141 
 
 hands with perfect cordiality; and the squire, 
 smacking the pouting lips of Mrs Kyle, mount- 
 ed his horse, and rode away to join his party. 
 
 As the knights and their small retinue were 
 crossing the Tweed in the ferry-boat, Hepborne 
 cast his eyes up to the keep of the Castle, 
 towering high above them, and frowning de- 
 fiance upon Scotland. A white hand appeared 
 from a narrow window, and waved a handker- 
 chief ; and by a sort of natural impulse, he was 
 about to have waved and kissed his fervently in 
 return. 
 
 " Pshaw !" said he, pettishly checking him- 
 self, for being so ready to yield to the impulse 
 of his heart. The white hand and handkerchief 
 waved again — and again it waved ere he reached 
 the Scottish shore ; but he manfully resisted all 
 temptation, and gave no sign of recognition. 
 
 As he mounted, however, he looked once 
 more. The hand was still there, streaming the 
 little speck of white. His resolution gave way 
 — he waved his hand, and his eyes filling with 
 tears, he dashed the rowels of his spurs against 
 the sides of his steed, sprung off at full gallop, 
 and was immediately lost amongst the oak copse 
 through which lay their destined way.
 
 142 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 After tarrying for a while at the small town 
 of Dunse, the two knights pursued their jour- 
 ney over the high ridge of Lammermoor, and 
 <?arly on the second day they reached Hailes 
 Castle, the seat of the Hepbornes, a strong fort- 
 ress, standing on the southern banks of the 
 river Tyne, in the heart of the fertile county 
 of East Lothian. At the period we are now 
 speaking of, the varied surface of the district 
 surrounding the place was richly though irre- 
 gularly wooded ; and even the singular isolated 
 hill of Dunpender, rising to the southward of 
 it, had gigantic oaks growing about its base, 
 and towering upon its sides, amidst thick hazel 
 and other brushwood, wherever they could find 
 soil enough to nourish them. 
 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne had been particularly 
 silent during their march. The events which 
 took place at Norham, and the conviction he 
 felt that the Lady Eleanore de Selby had indi-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 143 
 
 rectly endeavoured to draw liim into an attach- 
 ment for her, when her heart either was or 
 ought to have been engaged to another, made 
 him unhappy. It is needless to inquire why it 
 should have done so, since he was always con- 
 gratulating himself on having escaped unin- 
 jured from the toils of one so unworthy of him. 
 But the truth was, he had not escaped unin- 
 jured ; he had " tane a hurt " from her, of a 
 nature so serious as not to be very easy of cure. 
 Assueton, who had never felt the tender pas- 
 sion, and who had consequently very little sym- 
 pathy for it, had more than once complained of 
 the unwonted dulness of his companion, who 
 used to be so full of life and cheerfulness, and 
 had made several vain attempts to rouse him, 
 until at last, despairing of success, he amused 
 himself in jesting with Master Mortimer Sang, 
 who possessed a never-failing spring of good- 
 humour. 
 
 As they drew near the domains of Sir Pa- 
 trick Hepborne the elder, however, a thousand 
 spots, and things, and circumstances, began to 
 present themselves in succession, and to force 
 themselves on the attention of the love-sick 
 knight, awakening warm associations with the 
 events of his youthful days, and overpowering, 
 for a time, his melancholy. To these he began
 
 144 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 to give utterance in a language his friend could 
 not only comprehend, but participate in the 
 feelings they naturally gave rise to. 
 
 " Assueton," said he, " it was here, in this 
 very wood, that I took my first lessons in the 
 merry art of woodcraft ; in yonder hollow were 
 the rethes and paukers spread to toyle the deer; 
 and, see there, under yonder ancient tree, was 
 I first planted with my little cross-bow, as a 
 lymer, to have my vantage of the game. It was 
 old Gabriel Lindsay, then a jolly forester, who 
 put me there, and taught me how to behave me. 
 He is now my father's seneschal, if, as I hope, 
 he be yet alive. He was a hale man then, and 
 though twenty years older than my father, he 
 had a boy somewhat younger than myself, who 
 took up his father's trade of forester, just be- 
 fore I went to France. Alas, the old tree has 
 had a fearful skathe of firelevin since last I saw 
 it. See what a large limb hath been rent from 
 its side. Dost see the river glancing yonder be- 
 low, through the green-wood ? Ay, now we see 
 it better. In yonder shallow used I to wade 
 when a child, with my little hauselines tucked 
 up above my knees. I do remember well, I 
 was so engaged one hot summer's day, when, 
 swelled by some sudden water-spout or upland 
 flood, I saw the liquid wall come sweeping on-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 145 
 
 wards, ready to overwhelm me. I ran in child- 
 ish fear, but ere I reached the strand it came, 
 and overtaking my tottering steps, hurried me 
 with it into yonder pool. I sank, and rose, 
 and sank again. I remember e'en now how 
 quickly the ideas passed through my infant 
 mind, as I was whirling furiously round and 
 round by the force of the eddy, vainly strug- 
 gling and gasping for life, now below, and now 
 on the surface of the water. I thought of the 
 dreadful death I was dying ; I thought of the 
 misery about to befall my father and mother ; 
 nay, strange as it may seem, I saw them in my 
 mind's eye weeping in distraction over my pale 
 and dripping corpse, and all this was intermixed 
 with flitting hopes of rescue, that were but as 
 the flash amidst the darkness of the storm. The 
 recollections of the five or six years I could re- 
 member of my past childhood, were all conden- 
 sed into the short period of as many minutes ; 
 for that was all the time my lucky stars per- 
 mitted me to remain in jeopardy, till Gabriel 
 Lindsay came, and plunging into the foaming 
 current, dragged me half dead to the shore. 
 Full many a time have I sithence chosen that 
 very pool as a pleasure bayne wherein to exer- 
 cise my limbs in swimming, when hardier boy- 
 hood bid me defy the flood." 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 146 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " My dear friend," said Assueton, " trust 
 me, I do envy thee thine indulgence in those 
 remembrances excited by the scenes of thy child- 
 hood • — they make me more eager than ever to 
 revel in those that await me around my pater- 
 nal boure. I shall be thy father's guest to-night; 
 but I can no longer delay returning to my wi- 
 dowed mother, who doubtless longs to embrace 
 me, and to my paternal possessions. I must 
 leave thee to-morrow." 
 
 " Nay, Assueton, thou didst promise to be- 
 stow upon me three or four days at least," said 
 Hepborne : " let me not then have thy promise 
 amen used. To rob me of so large a portion of 
 thy behote were, methinks, but unkind." 
 
 " I did promise thee indeed," said Assueton ; 
 " but then I wist not of the time we should 
 waste at Norham. I must e'en go to-morrow, 
 Hepborne ; but, trust me, I shall boune me 
 back again some short space hence." 
 
 Hepborne was not lacking in argument to 
 overcome his friend's intentions, but he could 
 gain no more than a promise, reluctantly grant- 
 ed,, that his departure should be postponed un- 
 til the morning after the following day. 
 
 " But see, Assueton," said Hepborne, " there 
 are the outer towers and gateway of the Castle ? 
 and behold how its proud barbicans rise beyond
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 147 
 
 them. As I live, there is Flo, my faithful old 
 wolf-dog, lying sunning himself against the 
 wall. He is the fleetest allounde in all these 
 parts for taking down the deer at a view. What 
 ho, hoy, Flo, Flo ! What means the hrute, he 
 minds me not," continued Hepborne, riding up 
 to him; " I wot, he was never wont to be so 
 litherly : he used to fly at my voice with all 
 the swiftness of the arrow, which he is named 
 after. Ah ! now I see he is half-blind ; and 
 peraunter he is deaf too, for he seems as if 
 he heard me not. But, fool that I am, I forget 
 that some years have passed away sith I saw 
 him last, and that old age must ere this have 
 come upon him. 'Twas but a week before I left 
 home, Assueton, that he killed a wolf. But let 
 us hasten in, I am impatient to embrace my 
 father, and my dear mother, and my sister Isa- 
 bella" 
 
 Loud rang the bugle blast in the court-yard 
 of the Castle. Throwing his reins to his esquire, 
 Hepborne sprang from his horse, and running 
 towards the doorway, whence issued a crowd of 
 domestics, alarmed by the summons, he grasp- 
 ed the hand of an old white-headed man, who 
 presented the feeble remains of having been 
 once tall and powerful, but who was now bent 
 and tottering with age.
 
 148 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " My worthy Gabriel," said he, in an affec- 
 tionate tone and manner, and with a tear trem- 
 bling in his eye, " dost thou not know me ? 
 How fares my father, my mother, and my sis- 
 ter, the Lady Isabelle ?" 
 
 The old man looked at him for some moments, 
 with his hand held up as a pent-house to his 
 dim eyes. 
 
 " Holy St Giles," exclaimed he at last, "art 
 thou indeed my young master ? Art thou then 
 alive and sound ? Well, who would ha'e thought, 
 they that saw me last winter, when I was so 
 ill, that I should ha'e lived to ha'e seen this 
 blessed day !" 
 
 " But, tell me, Gabriel," cried Hepborne, 
 interrupting him, " tell me where are they all ; 
 I suppose I shall find them in the banquet-hall 
 above?" 
 
 " Stop thee, stop thee, Sir Patrick," said 
 the old seneschal ; " thy father and the Lady 
 Isabelle rode to the greenwood this morning. 
 There was a great cry about a rout of wolves 
 that have been wrecking doleful damage on the 
 shepens ; they do say, that some of the flocks 
 ha'e been sorely berried by them ; so my mas- 
 ter and the Lady Isabelle rode forth with the 
 sleuth-hounds, and the alloundes, and the fo- 
 resters ; and this morniug, ere the sun saw the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 149 
 
 welkin, my boy yode away to lay out the rethes 
 and the pankers. I wot, thou remembers thee 
 of my son Robert ? He is head forester now. 
 Thy noble father, Heaven's blessing and the 
 Virgin's be about him, did that for him ; may 
 long life and eternal joy be his guerdon for all 
 his good deeds to me and mine ! And Ralpho 
 Proudfoot was but ill content to see my Rob 
 get the place aboon him ; so Ralpho yode his 
 ways, and hath oft sithes threatened some ma- 
 lure to Rob ; but as to that " 
 
 " Nay, my good Gabriel," said Hepborne, 
 impatiently interrupting him, " but where, I 
 entreat thee, is my mother ?" 
 
 A cloud instantly overcast the face of the 
 venerable domestic ; he hesitated and stam- 
 mered — 
 
 " Nay, then, my dear young master, thou 
 hast not heard the doleful tidings ?" 
 
 " What doleful tidings ? Quick, speak, old 
 man. My mother ! — is she ill ? Good God, 
 thou art pale. Oh, thy face doth speak too 
 intelligibly ; — my mother — my beloved mother, 
 is no more !" 
 
 The old man burst into tears. He could not 
 command a single word ; but the grief and agi- 
 tation he could not hide was enough for Sir
 
 150 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Patrick Hepborne. In a choked and hollow 
 voice — 
 
 " Assueton," said he, " walk up this way, so 
 please thee ; there is the banquet-hall ; I must 
 retire into this apartment for some moments. 
 If thou hadst but known my mother — my ex- 
 cellent, my tenderly affectionate mother — my 
 mother, by whose benignant and joy-beaming 
 eyes I looked to be now greeted withal — thou 
 would'st pardon me for being thus unmanned. 
 But I shall be more composed anon." 
 
 And with these words, and with an agitation 
 he could not hide, he burst away into an adja- 
 cent chamber, where he shut himself in, that he 
 might give way to his emotions without inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 It was his mother's private room. In the 
 little oratory opening from the farther end of 
 it was her prie-dieu and crucifix, and on the 
 floor opposite to it was the very velvet cushion 
 on which he found her kneeling, and offering 
 up her fervent orisons to Heaven in his behalf, 
 as he entered her apartment to embrace her for 
 the last time, the morning he left Hailes for 
 France. He remembered that his heart was 
 then bounding with delight at the prospect of 
 breaking into the world, and figuring among 
 knights and warriors, amidst all the gay splen-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 151 
 
 dour of the French court. Alas ! he little thought 
 then that he was embracing her for the last 
 time. He now looked round the chamber, and 
 her missal-books, with a thousand trifles he had 
 seen her use, called up her graceful figure and 
 gentle expression fresh before his eyes. He 
 wept bitterly, and seating himself in the chair 
 she used, wasted nearly an hour in giving way 
 to past recollections, and indulging in the grief 
 they occasioned. At last his sorrow began to 
 exhaust itself, and he became more composed. 
 The cushion and the little altar again caught 
 his eye, and, rising from the chair, he pros- 
 trated himself before the emblem of the Sa- 
 viour's sufferings and the Christian's faith and 
 hope, pouring out his soul in devotional exer- 
 cise. As his head was buried in the velvet dra- 
 pery of the prie-dieu, and his eyes covered, his 
 imagination pictured the figure of his mother 
 floating over him in seraphic glory. He start- 
 ed up, almost expecting to see his waking vision 
 realized ; but it was no more than the oifspring 
 of his fancy, and he again seated himself on his 
 mother's chair, to dry his eyes and to compose 
 his agitated bosom. 
 
 Though still deeply afflicted, he now felt him- 
 self able to command his feelings, and he left 
 his mother's apartment to rejoin Assueton. At
 
 152 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the door he met old Gabriel Lindsay, and he 
 being now able to ask, and the hoary seneschal 
 to tell, the date and circumstances of his mo- 
 ther's death, he learned that she had been car- 
 ried off by a sudden illness about three months 
 previous to his arrival. The firmness of the war- 
 rior now returned upon him, and, with a staid 
 but steady countenance, he rejoined his friend. 
 
 " Assueton," said he, " if thou art disposed 
 to ramble with me, it would give me ease to go 
 forth a little. Let us doff our mail, and put on 
 less cumbrous hunting-garbs and gippons, and 
 go out into the woods. We may chance to hear 
 their hunting-horns, and so fall in with them ; 
 else we may loiter idling it here till nightfall 
 ere they return. 
 
 Assueton readily agreed ; and both having 
 trimmed themselves for active exercise, and 
 armed themselves with hunting-spears, and 
 with the anelace, a kind of wood-knife or fal- 
 chion, usually worn, together with the pouch, 
 hanging from the girdle-stead of the body, they 
 left the Castle, with the intent of taking the 
 direction they were informed the hunting-party 
 had gone in. As they passed from the outer 
 gateway, the great rough old wolf-hound again 
 attracted his master's attention. 
 
 " Alas ! poor old Flo," said Hepborne, go- 
 ing up to him, and stooping to caress him, —
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 153 
 
 " thou canst no more follow me as thou wert 
 wont to do. Thou art now but as a withered 
 and decayed log of oak — thou who used, when- 
 ever I appeared, to dart hither and thither 
 around me like the fire-levin. " 
 
 The old dog began to lick his master s hand, 
 and to whine a dull recognition. 
 
 " I believe he doth hardly remember me," 
 said Hepborne, moving away ; " he seems now 
 to be little better than a clod of earth." 
 
 The old dog, however, though he had scarcely 
 stirred for many months before, began to whim- 
 per, and rearing up his huge body with great 
 pain, as if in stretching each limb he required 
 to break the bonds that age had rivetted every 
 joint withal, and getting at last on his legs, he 
 began to follow Sir Patrick, whining and wag- 
 ging his tail. Hepborne, seeing his feeble state, 
 did what he could to drive him back ; but the 
 dog persisted in following him. 
 
 " Poor old affectionate fellow," said Hep- 
 borne, " go with me, then, thou shalt, though 
 I should have to carry thee back. — Assueton," 
 continued he, " let us climb the lofty height of 
 Dunpender, whence we shall have such a view 
 around us as may enable us to descry the hunt- 
 ing-party, if they be anywhere within the rarige 
 of our ken." 
 
 g2
 
 154 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 They accordingly made their way through 
 the intervening woods, lawns, and alleys, and 
 ascended the steep side of the hill. From the 
 summit, the beautiful vale of the Tyne was 
 fully commanded, and the extent and variety 
 of the prospect was such as to occupy them for 
 some time in admiration of it. Hepborne dis- 
 covered a thousand spots and points in it con- 
 nected with old stories of his youth. He touched 
 on all these in succession to Assueton, his heart 
 overflowing with his feelings, and his eyes with 
 the remembrance of his beloved mother, whose 
 image was continually recurring to him. He 
 made his friend observe the distant eminences 
 in parts of Scotland afar off; and Assueton, 
 amongst others, was overjoyed to descry the blue 
 top of that hill, at the base of which he had 
 been born, and whither his heart bounded to 
 return. 
 
 " Hark," said Hepborne, suddenly interrupt- 
 ing the enthusiastic greeting his friend was waft-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 155 
 
 ing towards his distant home — " hark! me- 
 thinks I hear the sound of distant hugles echo- 
 ing through the woods helow ; dost thou not 
 hear?" 
 
 " I do," said Assueton, " and methinks I 
 also hear the yelling note of the sleuth-hounds." 
 
 " That bugle-mot was my father's," said 
 Hepborne ; " I know it full well ; I could swear 
 to it anywhere. Nay, yonder they ride. Dost 
 not see them afar off yonder, sweeping across 
 the green alunes and avenues, where the wood- 
 sliaws are thinnest ? Now they cross the wide 
 lawnde yonder — and now they are lost amid the 
 shade of these oakshaws. They come this way ; 
 let us hasten downward ; we shall have ill luck 
 an we meet them not at the bottom of the hill." 
 
 Hepborne was so eager to embrace his father, 
 that, forgetting his friend was a stranger to the 
 perplexities of the way, he darted off, and de- 
 scended through the brushwood, leaving Assue- 
 ton to follow him as he best might. Assueton, 
 in his turn, eager to overtake Hepborne, put 
 down the point of his hunting-spear to aid him 
 in vaulting over an opposing bush. There was 
 a knot in the ashen shaft, and it snapt asunder 
 with his weight. He threw it away, and, guided 
 by the distant sounds of the bugle-blasts and 
 the yells of the hounds, he pressed precipitate-
 
 156 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ly down the steep, but in a direction different 
 from that taken by Hepborne. 
 
 As he was within a few yards of the bottom 
 of the hill, he saw an enormous wolf making to- 
 wards him, the oblique and sinister eyes of the 
 animal flashing fire, his jaws extended, and his 
 tongue lolling out. Assueton regretted the loss 
 of his hunting-spear, but resolving to attack him, 
 squatted, to hide himself, behind a bush directly 
 in the animal's path, and springing at him as he 
 passed, he grappled him by the throat with both 
 hands, and held him with the grasp of fate. 
 The furious wolf struggled with all his tremen- 
 dous strength, and before Assueton could ven- 
 ture to let go one hand to draw out his anelace, 
 he was overbalanced by the weight of the crea- 
 ture, and they rolled over and over each other 
 down the remainder of the grassy declivity, the 
 knight still keeping his hold, conscious that the 
 moment he should lose it he must inevitably be 
 torn in pieces. There they lay tumbling and 
 writhing on the ground, the exertions of the 
 wolf being so violent, as frequently to lift As- 
 sueton and drag him on his back along«the green 
 sward. Now he gained his knees, and press- 
 ing down his savage foe, he at last ventured 
 to loose his right hand to grope for his ane- 
 lace ; but it was gone — it had dropped from the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 157 
 
 sheath; and, casting a glance around him, he 
 saw it glittering on the grass, at some yards dis- 
 tance. There was no other mode of recovering 
 it, but by dragging the furious beast towards it, 
 and this he now put forth all his strength to 
 endeavour to effect. He tugged and toiled, and 
 even succeeded so far as to gain a yard or two ; 
 but his grim foe was only rendered more fero- 
 cious in his resistance, by the additional force 
 he employed. The wolf made repeated efforts 
 to twist his neck round to bite, and more than 
 once succeeded in wounding Assueton severely 
 in the left arm, the sleeve of which was entirely 
 torn off. As the beast lay on his back too, 
 pinned firmly down towards his head, he threw 
 up his body, and thrust his hind feet against 
 Assueton's face, so as completely to blind his 
 eyes, and by a struggle more violent than any 
 he had made before, he threw him down back- 
 wards. 
 
 The situation of the bold and hardy knight 
 was now most perilous, for, though he still kept 
 his grasp, he lay stretched on the ground ; and 
 whilst the wolf, standing over him, was now 
 able to bring all his sinews to bear against 
 him, from having his feet planted firmly on the 
 ground, Assueton, from his position, was un- 
 able to use his muscles with much effect. The
 
 158 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 panting and frothy jaws, and long sharp tusks 
 of the infuriated beast, were almost at his throat, 
 and the only salvation that remained for him, 
 was to prevent his fastening on it, by keep- 
 ing the head of the brute at a distance by the 
 strength of his arms. The muscles of the neck 
 of a wolf are well known to be so powerful, 
 that they enable the animal to carry off a sheep 
 with ease ; so that, with all his vigour of nerve, 
 Assueton had but a hopeless chance for it. Still 
 he held, and still they struggled, when the tramp 
 of a horse was heard, and a lady came galloping 
 by under the trees. She no sooner observed the 
 dreadful strife between the savage wolf and the 
 knight, than, alighting nimbly from her palfrey, 
 she couched the light hunting-spear she carried, 
 and ran it through the heart of the half-choked 
 animal. The blood spurted over the prostrate 
 cavalier, and the huge carcase fell on him, with 
 the eyes glaring in the head, and the teeth 
 grinding together in the agony of death. 
 
 The bold Assueton, sore toil-spent with the 
 length of the contest, threw the now unresist- 
 ing body of the creature away from him, and 
 instantly recovered his legs. All bloody and 
 covered with foam as he was, he bowed grace- 
 fully to his preserver, and gazed at her for some 
 time ere he could find breath to give his grati-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 159 
 
 tude utterance. She was lovely as the morning. 
 Her fair hair, broken loose from the thraldom 
 of its braiding bodkins by the agitation of ri- 
 ding, streamed from beneath a hunting hat she 
 wore, and fell in flowing ringlets over the black 
 mantle that hung from her shoulder. Her mild 
 and angelic soul spoke in expressive language 
 through her blue eyes, though they were more 
 than half veiled by her modest eyelids. Her 
 full fresh lips were half open, and her bosom 
 heaved with her high breathing from the exer- 
 cise she had been undergoing, and the unwont- 
 ed exertion she had so lately made, and her 
 cheek was gently flushed by the consciousness 
 of the glorious deed she had achieved. 
 
 " Sir Knight," inquired she, timidly though 
 anxiously, " I hope thou hast tane no hurt 
 from the caitiff salvage ? Thou dost bleed, me- 
 seems ?" 
 
 " Nay, lady," said Assueton, at last able to 
 speak, " I bleed not ; 'tis the blood of the brute 
 yonder. Perdie, thy bold and timely aid did 
 rid me of a strife that mought have ended sore- 
 ly to my mischaunce. Verily, thou earnest, like 
 an angel, to my rescue, and my poor thanks are 
 but meagre guerdon for the heroic deed thou 
 didst adventure to effect. Do I not speak to
 
 160 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the sister of my friend, Sir Patrick Hepborne ? 
 — do I not address the fair Lady Isabelle ?" 
 
 " Patrick Hepborne ?" inquired she eagerly ; 
 " art thou, indeed, the friend of my brother? 
 Welcome, Sir Knight ; thou art welcome to me, 
 as thou wilt be to my father. What tidings 
 hast thou of my gallant brother ?" 
 
 " Even those, I ween, beauteous lady, which 
 shall give thee belchier," said Assueton; " my 
 friend is well, as thou would'st wish him ; nay, 
 more, he is here with me. We parted but now 
 above yonder at the crop of the hill. I lost 
 him in the thickets on its side, just before I en- 
 countered with gaffer wolf yonder." 
 
 " Pray Heaven, " said Isabelle, with alarm 
 in her countenance, " that he may not meet 
 with some of the wolves Ave drove hither before 
 us. Thou seemest to be altogether without 
 weapon, Sir Knight ; perhaps he is equally de- 
 fenceless." 
 
 " Nay, lady," replied Assueton, " I broke a 
 faithless rotten-shafted hunting-spear ere I came 
 down, and I lost my anelace from my girdle- 
 stead as I was struggling with the wolf. Sir 
 Patrick has both, I warrant thee, and will make 
 a better use of them than I did. Shall we seek 
 him?"
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 161 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried the Lady Isabelle joyfully j 
 " how I long to clasp ray dear brother in these 
 arms. But hold, Sir Knight," said she, her 
 face again assuming an air of anxiety, " thou 
 dost bleed, maugre all thou didst say. Truly 
 thy left arm is most grievously torn by the mis- 
 creant wolf; let me bind it up with this rag 
 here." And notwithstanding all Assueton's 
 protestations to the contrary, she took off a 
 silken scarf, and bound up his wounds with it 
 very tenderly, exposing her own lovely neck to 
 the sun, that she might effect her charitable 
 purpose. 
 
 " And now," said she, " let's on in the direc- 
 tion my father took; he and my brother may 
 have probably met ere this. — Hey, Robert," 
 cried she to a forester who appeared at the mo- 
 ment, " whither went my father ?" 
 
 " This way, lady," said he, pointing in a par- 
 ticular direction ; " I heard his bugle-mot but 
 now." 
 
 " Charge thyself with the spoils of this wolf, 
 Robert," said the Lady Isabelle; " I do mean 
 to have his felt hanged up in the hall, in re- 
 membrance of the bold and desperate conflict, 
 waged without aid of steel against him, by dint 
 of thewes and sinews alone, by this valiant
 
 162 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 knight; 'tis a monster for size, the make of 
 which is, I trow, rarely seen." 
 
 " Nay, lady," cried Assueton, " rather hang 
 up his spoils in commemoration of thine own 
 brave deed ; for it was thou who killed him. 
 And had it not been for thee, gaffer wolf might, 
 ere now, have made a dinner of me." 
 
 " In truth, Sir Knight," replied Isabelle, 
 " hadst thou not held him by the throat so 
 starkly, I trow I should have had little courage 
 to have faced him." 
 
 The lady vaulted on her palfrey, and Assue- 
 ton, his left arm decorated with her scarf, and 
 holding her bridle with his right, walked by 
 the side of her palfrey, like a true lady's knight, 
 unwittingly engaged, for the first time in his 
 life, in pleasing dialogue with a beautiful wo- 
 man. 
 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne, who thought only of 
 seeing his father, had rushed down the steep 
 side of Dunpender in the hope of meeting him 
 somewhere near the base of the hill, for the 
 sound of the chase evidently came that way. 
 His old dog Flo had difficulty in following him ; 
 and stumbling over the stumps of trees, and the 
 stones that lay in his way, he was at last com- 
 pletely left behind. As Sir Patrick had nearly 
 reached the bottom of the steep, he too ob-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 163 
 
 served a large wolf making up the hill. The 
 animal came at a lagging pace, and was evident- 
 ly much blown. Hepborne hurled his hunting- 
 spear at him without a moment's delay, wound- 
 ing him desperately in the neck ; and eager to 
 make sure of him with his anelace, rushed for- 
 ward, without perceiving a sudden declivity, 
 where there was a little precipitous face of rock, 
 over which he fell headlong, and rolling down- 
 wards, his head came in contact with the trunk 
 of an oak, at the foot of which he lay stunned 
 and senseless. The wolf, writhing for some 
 time with the agony of the wound he had re- 
 ceived, succeeded at last in extricating himself 
 from the spear-head, and then observing the 
 man from whose hand he had received it, lying 
 at his mercy on the ground near him, he was 
 about to take instant vengeance on him, when 
 he was suddenly called on to defend himself 
 against a new assailant. 
 
 This was no other than poor Flo, who, having 
 followed his master's track as fast as his old 
 legs could carry him, came up at the very mo- 
 ment the gaunt animal was about to fasten his 
 jaws on him. His ancient spirit grew young 
 within him as he beheld his master's danger ; 
 he sprang on the wolf with an energy and fury 
 which no one who had seen him that morning
 
 164 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 could have believed him capable of, and seizing 
 his ferocious adversary by the throat, a bloody 
 combat ensued between them. 
 
 Hepborne having gradually recovered from 
 his swoon, and hearing the noise of the fight, 
 roused himself, and getting upon his legs, be- 
 held with astonishment the miraculous exer- 
 tions his faithful dog was making in his defence, 
 and the deadly strife that was waging between 
 him and the wolf. The fierce and powerful 
 animal was much an overmatch for the good 
 allounde, who had already received some dread- 
 ful bites, but still fought with unabated reso- 
 lution. Hepborne ran to his rescue, and bury- 
 ing his anelace in the wolf's body, killed him 
 outright. But his help came too late for poor 
 old Flo, who licked the kind hand that was 
 stretched out to succour and caress him, and 
 turning upon his side, raised his dim eyes to- 
 wards his master's face, and slowly closed them 
 in death. 
 
 Hepborne lifted him up, all streaming with 
 blood, and carrying him to a fountain a few 
 paces off, bathed his head and his gaping wounds, 
 with the vain hope that the water might revive 
 him ; but life was extinct. Sir Patrick laid him 
 on the ground, and wept over him as if he had 
 been a friend.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 165 
 
 The sound of the horns now came nearer, the 
 yell of the dogs approached, and by and by 
 some of the hounds appeared, and ran in upon 
 their already inanimate prey. Immediately be- 
 hind them came Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder, 
 a powerful, noble-looking man, in full vigour of 
 life, mounted on a gallant grey, and with a 
 crowd of foresters at his back. He took off his 
 hunting-hat to wipe his brow as he halted, and 
 though he displayed a bald forehead, the hinder 
 part of his head was covered with luxuriant 
 black hair, on which age's winter had not yet 
 shed a single particle of snow. His beard and 
 moustaches were of the same raven hue ; and 
 his eyes, though mild, were lofty and penetra- 
 ting in their expression. 
 
 " How now, young man," said he to his son, 
 as he reined up his steed, " what, hast thou 
 killed the wolf?" 
 
 " My father !" cried the younger Sir Patrick, 
 starting up, and running to his stirrup. 
 
 " My son !" exclaimed the astonished and de- 
 lighted Sir Patrick the elder, and vaulting from 
 his horse, they were immediately locked in each 
 other's arms. 
 
 It was some minutes before either father or 
 son could articulate anything but broken sen- 
 tences. The minds of both reverted to the over-
 
 166 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 whelming loss they had sustained since they last 
 saw each other, and both wept bitterly. 
 
 " My dear boy, forgive me," said the father ; 
 " but these tears are — we have lost — but yet I 
 see thou hast already gathered the sad intelli- 
 gence. — 'Tis now three months — Good Hea- 
 vens ! — but she is a saint above, my dear Pa- 
 trick." 
 
 Again they enclasped each other, and giving 
 way to their feelings, the two warriors wept on 
 each other's bosoms till the rude group of fo- 
 resters around them were melted into tears at 
 the spectacle. Sir Patrick the elder was the 
 first to regain command of himself, and the first 
 use he made of the power of speech was to put 
 a thousand questions to his son. The younger 
 knight satisfied him as to everything, and con- 
 cluded by giving him the history of his accident, 
 and the noble but afflicting death of his faithful 
 old alio undo. 
 
 " Poor fellow," said the elder Sir Patrick, 
 going up to the spot where he lay, and dropping 
 a tear of gratitude over him — " poor fellow, he 
 has died as a hero ought to do — nobly, in stark 
 stoure in the field. Let him be forthwith yirded, 
 dost hear me, on the spot where he fell ; I shall 
 have a stone erected over him, in grateful me- 
 morial of his having died for his master." 
 
 Some of the foresters, who had spades for
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 167 
 
 digging out the vermin of the chase, instantly 
 executed this command, and the two knights 
 tarried until they had themselves laid his body 
 in the grave dug for him. 
 
 " And now let us go look for Isahelle, and thy 
 friend Sir John Assueton," said the elder Sir 
 Patrick ; " sound thy bugles, my merry men, 
 and let us down to the broad lawnde, where we 
 shall have best chance of meeting." 
 
 They had no sooner entered the beautiful 
 glade among the woods that the elder knight 
 had alluded to, than the younger Sir Patrick 
 descried his sister the Lady Isabelle coming 
 riding on her palfrey, and his friend Assueton 
 leading her bridle-rein. He ran forward to em- 
 brace her, and she, instantly recognizing him, 
 sprang from the saddle into his arms. The 
 meeting between the brother and sister was 
 rendered as affecting, by the remembrance of 
 the loss of their mother, as that of the father 
 and son had been. But the elder Sir Patrick 
 having mastered his feelings, soon contributed 
 to soothe theirs. The younger Sir Patrick in- 
 troduced his friend Assueton to his father, and 
 after their compliments of courtesy were made, 
 the adventures of both parties detailed, and 
 mutual congratulations had taken place be- 
 tween them, —
 
 168 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Come," said the elder Sir Patrick, " come, 
 Isabelle, get thee to horse again, and let us 
 straightway to the Castle. The welkin reddens 
 i* the west, and the sun is about to hide his 
 head among yonder amber clouds ; let us to the 
 Castle, I say. I trow we shall have enow of 
 food for talk for the rest of the evening. We 
 shall have the spoils of these wolves hung up in 
 the hall, in memorial of the strange events of 
 this day — of the gallantry of the Lady Isabelle, 
 who so nobly rescued Sir John Assueton, and 
 of the courage and fidelity of the attached old 
 allounde Flo, who so nobly died in defence of 
 his master." 
 
 The bugles sounded a mot, and the elder Sir 
 Patrick, with his son walking by his side, moved 
 forward at the head of the troop. The Lady 
 Isabelle sprang into her saddle, and Sir John 
 Assueton, never choosing to resign the rein he 
 had grasped, led her palfrey as before, and again 
 glided into the same train of conversation with 
 her which he had formerly found so fascinating. 
 The foresters, grooms, and churls, who formed 
 the hunting-suite, some on foot and others on 
 horseback, armed with every variety of hunting- 
 gear, followed in the rear of march, and in this 
 order they returned to the Castle.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The affliction which had so lately visited the 
 elder Sir Patrick Hephorne had made him avoid 
 company, and Hailes Castle had consequently 
 been entirely without guests ever since his lady's 
 death. But it must not be imagined that the 
 evening of the hunting-day passed dully, be- 
 cause the board was not filled. The sweet and 
 soothing sorrow awakened by tender and me- 
 lancholy recollections soon gave way before the 
 joy arising from the return of Sir Patrick the 
 younger. In those days letters could not pass 
 as they do now, with the velocity of the winds, 
 by posts and carriers, from one part of Europe 
 to another ; and during Hepborne's absence his 
 father had had no tidings of his son, except 
 occasionally through the medium of those war- 
 riors or pilgrims, who, having fought in foreign 
 fields, or visited foreign shrines, had chanced 
 during their travels to see or to hear of him, 
 and who came to Hailes Castle to receive the 
 liberal guerdon of his hospitality for the good 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 170 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 news they brought. The elder Sir Patrick, 
 therefore had much to ask, and his son much to 
 answer ; so that the ball of conversation was un- 
 remittingly kept up between them. 
 
 The Lady Isabelle was seated between her 
 brother and his friend Sir John Assueton, in 
 the most provoking position ; for she was thus 
 placed, as it were, betwixt two magnets, so as 
 to be equally attracted by both. Her affection 
 for Sir Patrick made her anxious to catch all 
 he said, and to gather all his adventures; whilst, 
 on the other hand, Sir John Assueton's conver- 
 sation, made up, as it in a great measure was, 
 of the praises of his friend, intermixed with 
 many interesting notes on the accounts of bat- 
 tles and passages of arms her brother was nar- 
 rating to her father, proved so seducing, that 
 she found it difficult to turn away her ear from 
 him. Nor were Assueton's illustrations the less 
 gratifying, that the^: -often brought out the whole 
 truth, where her brother's modesty induced him 
 to sink such parts of the tale as were the most 
 glorious to himself. As for Assueton himself, 
 he seemed to have become a new man in her 
 company. He was naturally shrewd, exces- 
 sively good-humoured, and often witty in his 
 conversation, but he never in his life before be- 
 stowed more of it on a lady than barely what
 
 THE WOLFE OE BADENOCH. 171 
 
 the courtesy of chivalry required. This night, 
 however, he was animated and eloquent ; and 
 the result was, that the Lady Isabelle retired to 
 her couch at an unusually late hour, and de- 
 clared to her handmaiden, Mary Hay, as she 
 was undressing her, that Sir John Assueton 
 was certainly the most gallant, witty, and agree- 
 able knight she had ever had the good fortune 
 to meet with. 
 
 " But thou dost not think him so handsome 
 as thy brother Sir Patrick, Lady ?" said the sly 
 Miss Mary Hay. 
 
 " Nay, as to that, Mary," replied the Lady 
 Isabelle, " they are both handsome, yet both 
 very diverse in their beauty. Thou knoWest 
 that one is fair, and the other dark. My brother 
 Sir Patrick and I do take our fair tint from our 
 poor mother. Is it not common for fair to affect 
 dark, and dark fair ? My father, thou seest, is 
 dark, yet was my dear departed mother fair as 
 the light of day. Is it unnatural, then, that I 
 should esteem Sir John Assueton's olive tint of 
 countenance, his speaking black eyes, his nobly- 
 arched jet eyebrows, and the raven curls of his 
 finely-formed head, more than the pure red and 
 white complexion, the blue eyes, and the fair 
 hair of my dear brother ? Nay, nay, my brother 
 is very handsome ; but algate he be my brother,
 
 172 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 and though I love him, as sure never sister loved 
 brother before, yet must I tell the truth, thou 
 knowest, Mary ; and in good foy I do think Sir 
 John Assueton by much the properer man." 
 
 Hepborne had been by no means blind to 
 that, of which neither his sister nor Sir John 
 Assueton were as yet themselves aware. He 
 saw the change on Assueton with extreme de- 
 light. He enjoyed the idea of this woman-hater 
 being at last himself enslaved, and above all, he 
 rejoiced that the enslaver should be his sister 
 the Lady Isabelle. He longed to attack him on 
 the subject ; but lest he might scare him away 
 from the toils, before he was fairly and irre- 
 coverably meshed, he resolved to appear to shut 
 his eyes to his friend's incipient disease. As he 
 went with Sir John, therefore, to see him com- 
 fortably accommodated for the night, he only 
 indulged himself in a remark, natural enough 
 in itself, upon his wounded arm. 
 
 " Assueton," said he, " wilt thou not have 
 thine arm dressed by some cunning leech ere 
 thou goest to rest? Our chaplain is no mean 
 proficient in leechcraft ; better take that rag of 
 a kerchief away, and have it properly bound 
 up." 
 
 " Nay, nay," cried Assueton, hastily, " I 
 thank thee, my good friend ; but 'tis very well
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 173 
 
 as it is. Thy sister, the Lady Isahelle, bound 
 it up with exceeding care ; and in these cases, 
 I have remarked, that there is no salve equal in 
 virtue to the bloody goutes of the wound itself. 
 Good night, and St Andrew be with thee." 
 
 " And may St Baldrid, our tutelary Saint, be 
 with you," replied Hepborne, as he shut the 
 door. " Poor Assueton, said he then to him- 
 self, with a smile, " my sister has cured one 
 wound for him, only to inflict another, which he 
 will find it more difficult to salve." 
 
 The next day being devoted to the gay amuse- 
 ment of hawking, was yet more decisive of the 
 fate of poor Sir John Assueton. He rode by 
 the side of the Lady Isabelle ; and as the nature 
 of the sport precluded the possibility of her using 
 that attention necessary to make her palfrey 
 avoid the obstacles lying in its way, or to keep 
 it up when it stumbled, Sir John found a ready 
 excuse for again acting the part of her knight ; 
 and one-armed as he had been rendered by the 
 bites of the wolf, he ran all manner of risks for 
 his own neck, to save hers. Hepborne was 
 more occupied in regarding them, than in the 
 sport they were following. He rode after the 
 pair, enjoying all he saw ; for in the malicious 
 pleasure he took in perceiving Assueton getting 
 deeper and deeper entangled in the snares of
 
 174 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 love, and its fever mounting higher and higher 
 into his brain, he almost forgot the toils he had 
 himself been caught in, and found a palliative 
 for his own heart's disease, producing a tempo- 
 rary relaxation of its intensity. Thus then they 
 rode. When the game was on wing, the fair 
 Isabelle galloped fearlessly on, with her eyes 
 sometimes following the flight of the falcon af- 
 ter its quarry, but much oftener with her head 
 turned towards Sir John Assueton, whilst Sir 
 John's looks were fixed now with anxiety on the 
 ground, to ensure safe riding to the lady, and 
 now thrown with love-sick gaze of tenderness 
 into the heaven of her eyes, for his had no wish 
 to soar higher. 
 
 In the evening, the Lady Isabelle and her 
 knight were again left to themselves by the fa- 
 ther and son. Her brother's tales were less in- 
 teresting to her than they had been the previous 
 night, and though Assueton talked less of his 
 friend, yet she by no means found his conver- 
 sation the duller on that account ; nay, she even 
 listened much more intensely to it than before. 
 The younger Sir Patrick, towards the close of 
 the night, begged of his sister to sit down to 
 her harp, and when she did so, Assueton hung 
 over her with a rapture sufficiently marking the
 
 THE WOLFE OP BADENOCH. 175 
 
 strength of his new-born passion, and the little 
 art he had in concealing it. 
 
 Having been asked by her brother to sing, 
 she accompanied her voice in the following can- 
 zonette : — 
 
 Why was celestial Music given, 
 
 But of enchanting- Love to sing 1 ! 
 Ethereal flame — that first from Heaven 
 
 Angels to this earth did bring. 
 
 What state was man's, till he received 
 
 The genial blessing from the sky ? 
 What though in Paradise he lived ? 
 
 Yet still he pined, and knew not why. 
 
 But when his beauteous partner came, 
 The scene, that dreary was and wild, 
 
 Grew lovely as he felt the flame, 
 And the luxuriant garden smiled. 
 
 Oh, Love ! — of man thou second soul, 
 
 What but a clod of earth is he, 
 Who never yet thy flame did thole, 
 
 Who never felt thy witchery ! 
 
 Assueton's applauses were more energetic^ 
 and his approbation more eloquently expressed 
 at the conclusion of this song, than Hepborne 
 had ever heard them on any former occasion. 
 Though the theme was wont to be so very 
 unpalatable to him, yet he besought the Lady 
 Isabelle again and again to repeat it, and it seem- 
 ed to give him new and increased pleasure every 
 time he heard it. At last the hour for retiring
 
 176 N THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 came, and Hepborne inwardly rejoiced to ob- 
 serve a certain trembling in the voices of both 
 Assueton and his sister, as they touched each 
 other's hands to say good night. 
 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne the younger had no 
 sooner accompanied his friend to his apartment, 
 than Assueton seated himself near the hearth, 
 and put up his feet against the wall, where he 
 fell into a kind of listless dream. Hepborne 
 took a seat on the opposite side of the fire-place, 
 and after he had sat silently watching him for 
 some time, in secret enjoyment of the state he 
 beheld him reduced to, the following conversa- 
 tion took place between them. 
 
 " Well, Assueton," said Hepborne, first break- 
 ing silence, and assuming as melancholy a tone 
 as the humour he was in would permit him to 
 use, " well, mon bel ami, so we must part to- 
 morrow? The thought is most distressing. My 
 heart would have urged me to press thee to 
 a farther sojournance with us at Hailes ; but 
 thou wert too determined, and urged too many 
 and too strong reasons for thy return home, 
 when we last talked of the matter, to leave 
 room for hope that I might succeed in shaking 
 thy purpose. I see that of very needscost thou 
 must go ; nay, in good sooth, thy motives for 
 departure are of a nature, that, feeling as I
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 177 
 
 have myself felt, I should inwardly hlame thee 
 were thy good nature to lead thee to yield to 
 my importunate entreaty. Yea, alheit thou 
 should'st consent to stay with me, I should ve- 
 rily tine half the jovisaunce that mought other- 
 wise spring from thy good company; since, 
 from the all-perfect heing I now hold thee to 
 be, thou would'st dwindle in my esteem, and he 
 agrutched of half the attraction thou dost pos- 
 sess in mine eyes, by appearing to lose some deal 
 of those strong feelings of attachment for thy 
 home, and for the scenes and friends of thy boy- 
 hood, which thou hast hitherto so eminently 
 displayed, and in which, I am led to think, we 
 do so much resemble each other. Having now 
 had mine somewhat satisfied, perdie, I could 
 almost wish to boune me with thee, were it 
 only to participate in thine, — were it only to see 
 thee approach the wide domains and the ancient 
 castle of thine ancestors — to see thee meet thy 
 beloved mother, now so long widowed, and 
 panting to press her only child, her long absent 
 son, to ber bosom — to watch how thou mayest 
 encounter with old friends — to behold the hearty 
 shakes of loving souvenaunce, given by thy 
 hand to those with whom thou hast wrestled, 
 or held mimic tournay when thou wert yet but 
 a stripling. — Oh, 'twould be as a prolonging of 
 h2
 
 178 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 mine own feelings of like sort, to witness those 
 that might arise to thee. But the journey is too 
 long for me to take as yet ; and besides, I can- 
 not yet so soon leave my father and Isahelle. 
 Moreover, thou knowest that my heart yet ach- 
 eth severely from the wounds which it took at 
 Norham. Heigh ho ! But, gramercy, forgive me, 
 I entreat thee, for touching unwittingly on the, 
 by thee, hated subject of love, the which, I well 
 know, is ever wont to erke thee." 
 
 During this long address, Assueton remained 
 with his heels up against the wall, his toes all 
 the time beating that species of march, that in 
 more modern times has been denominated the 
 devil's tattoo, and with his eyes firmly fixed on 
 the embers consuming on the hearth. 
 
 " I hope, however, my dearest friend," con- 
 tinued Hepborne, " that thou mayest yet be 
 able to return to me at Hailes. Thine affairs, 
 (though, per die, thou must have much to settle 
 after such a succession, and so long an absence, ) 
 thine affairs, I say, cannot at the worst detain 
 thee at home longer than a matter of twelve 
 months or so ; after which, (that is, when thou 
 shalt have visited thy friends in divers other 
 parts,) I may hope perchance to see thee again 
 return hither." 
 
 Assueton shifted his position two or three
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. J79 
 
 times during this second speech of Hepborne's, 
 always again commencing his devil's tattoo on 
 the wall ; but when his friend ceased, he made 
 no other reply than — 
 
 " Umph ! Ay, ay, my dear Hepborne, thou 
 shalt see me." 
 
 " My dear Assueton," continued Hepborne, 
 " that is but a loose and vague reply, I ween. 
 But, by St Genevieve, I guess how it is. Thou 
 hast thoughts (though as yet thou would'st fain 
 not effunde them to me) of returning to France 
 in short space ; and thou would'st keep them 
 sicker in thy breast for a time, lest peraclven- 
 ture I should grieve too deeply at thy so speedy 
 abandonment of thy country." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Assueton, hastily, " trust 
 me I have no such emprize in head." 
 
 " What then can make thee so little satisfac- 
 tory in thy reply ?" said Hepborne ; " surely 'tis 
 but a small matter to grant me ; 'tis but a small 
 boon to ask of thee to return to Hailes Castle 
 some twelve months or year and half hence ? 1 
 doubt me sore that thou hast been but half plea- 
 sed with thy visit here ; and truly, when I think 
 on't, it has been but a dull one." 
 
 " Nay," replied Assueton, eagerly interrupt- 
 ing him, " I do assure thee, Hepborne, thou art 
 grievously mistaken in so supposing. On the
 
 180 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 contrary, my hours never passed so happily as 
 they have done here; nor," added he, with a 
 deep sigh, " so swiftly, so very swiftly." 
 
 " 'Tis all well in thee, Assueton," said Hep- 
 borne, " 'tis all well in thee to use thy courtesy 
 to say so ; yet, I wot well, 'tis hut to please thy 
 friend. Thou knowest that my father hath been 
 so voracious in his inquiries into the history of 
 my life during my stay in France, that he hath 
 never suffered me to leave him, so that thou 
 hadst neither his good company, nor my poor 
 converse to cheer thee, but, much to my dis- 
 tress, thou hast been left to be erked by the silly 
 prattle and trifling speech of that foolish pusel 
 my sister Isabelle, worn out by the which, 'tis 
 no marvel thou should' st now be thus moody, as 
 I see thou art ; and to rid thyself of this dre- 
 riment of thine, it is natural enow that thou 
 should' st be right glad to escape hence, yea, and 
 sore afraid ever to return here. But fear thee 
 not, my friend ; she shall not stand long in thy 
 way. She hath had many offers of espousal, 
 on the which my father and I are to sit in coun- 
 sel anon, that is, when other weightier matters 
 are dispatched ; and as soon as we shall have 
 time to choose a fitting match for the maid, 
 she shall forthwith be tochered off. She cannot, 
 then, remain much longer at Hailes than some
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 181 
 
 three or four weeks at farthest, to frighten from 
 its hall my best and dearest friend. So that if 
 she be the hinderance to thy return hither, make 
 no account of her, and promise me at once that 
 thou wilt come. By St Baldrid, we shall have a 
 houseful of jolly stalwart knights to meet thee 
 here ; and our talk shall be of deeds of arms, 
 and tourneys, till thy heart be fully content- 
 ed." 
 
 This speech of Hepborne's very much moved 
 Assueton ; he shifted his legs down from the 
 wall and up again at least a dozen times, and 
 his tattoo now became so rapid, that it would 
 have troubled the legions for whom the march 
 may have been originally composed, to have 
 kept their feet trotting in time to its measure. 
 
 " Nay, verily, Hepborne," said he seriously, 
 u thou dost thy sister but scrimp justice, me- 
 thinks. The Lady Isabel le was anything but 
 tiresome to me ; nay, if I may adventure to say 
 so much, she hath sense and judgment greatly 
 beyond what might be looked for from her age 
 and sex ; there is something most truly pleasing 
 in her converse — something, I would say, much 
 superior to anything I have heretofore chanced 
 to encounter in woman. But, methinks, thou 
 art rather hasty in thy disposal of her. The 
 damosel is young enow, meseems, to be thrust
 
 182 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 forth of her father's boure, perhaps to take upon 
 her the weight of formal state that appertaineth 
 to the Madame of some stiff and stern vave- 
 soure. Perdie, I cannot think with patience of 
 her being so bestowed already ; 'twould be cruel, 
 methinks — nay, 'twould, in good verity, be most 
 unlike thee, Hepborne, to throw thy peerless 
 sister away on some harsh lord, or silly gnoffe, 
 merely to rid thy father's castle of her for thine 
 own convenience. Fie on thee ; I weened not 
 thou could'st have even thought of anything so 
 selfish." 
 
 " Nay, be not angry, Assueton," said Hep- 
 borne, u thou knowest that they have all a wish 
 to wed them. But 'tis somewhat strange, me- 
 thinks, to hear thee talk so ; the poppet seems 
 to have made more impression on thee than 
 ever before was made by woman. What means 
 this warmth ? or why should'st thou step forth 
 to be her knight ?" 
 
 " 'Tis the part of a good knight," replied 
 Assueton, hastily, " to aid and succour all da- 
 mosels in distress." 
 
 " Nay, but not against a distress of the 
 knight's own fancying, yea, and contrary to the 
 wishes of the damosel herself," replied Hep- 
 borne. " What ! would'st thou throw down 
 the gauntlet of defiance against thy friend, only
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 183 
 
 for being willing to give to his sister the man 
 of her own heart ?" 
 
 " And hath she then such ?" exclaimed As- 
 sueton, his face suddenly becoming the very 
 emblem of woe-begone anxiety. 
 
 " Yea, in good truth hath she, Assueton," re- 
 plied Sir Patrick. " I did but suspect the truth 
 last night, but this day I have been confirmed 
 in it." 
 
 " Then am I the most wretched of knights," 
 cried Assueton, at once forgetting all his guards; 
 and rising hastily from his seat, he struck his 
 breast, and paced the room in a frenzy of de- 
 spair. 
 
 Hepborne could carry on the farce no longer. 
 He burst into a fit of laughter that seemed to 
 threaten his immediate dissolution ; then threw 
 himself on the couch, that he might give full 
 way to it without fear of falling on the floor, 
 and there he tossed to and fro with the reitera- 
 ted convulsions it occasioned him. Assueton 
 stood in mute astonishment for some moments, 
 but at last he began to perceive that his friend 
 had discovered his weakness, and that he had 
 been all this time playing on him. He resumed 
 his seat and position at the hearth, and return- 
 ed again to his tattoo. 
 
 « So," said Hepborne — " so ! — ha, ha, ha !
 
 184 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 — so ! — ha, ha ! — so ! — Oh, I shall never find 
 breath to speak — ha, ha, ha ! So, Sir John As- 
 sueton, the woman-hater, the Knight of Ada- 
 mant, he who was wont to be known in France 
 by the surnoms of the Knight sans Amour, and 
 the Chevalier coeur caillou — who, rather than 
 submit to talk to a woman, would hie him to 
 the stable, to hold grave converse with his horse 
 — who railed roundly at every unfortunate man 
 that, following the ensample of his great an- 
 cestor Adam, did but submit himself to the 
 yoke of love — who could not bear to hear the 
 very name of love — who sickened when it was 
 mentioned — who had an absolute antipathy to 
 it, as some, they know not why, have to cats 
 or cheese — who, though he liked music to ad- 
 miration, would avoid the place if love but 
 chanced to be the minstrel's theme; — he, Sir 
 John Assueton, is at last enslaved, has his 
 wounds bound up by a woman, and wears her 
 scarf — plays the lady's knight, and leads her 
 palfrey rein — rownes soft things in her ear, 
 hangs o'er her harp, and drinks in the sweet 
 love-verses she sings to him !" 
 
 " Nay, nay, Hepborne, my dearest friend," 
 said Assueton, starting up, and clasping his 
 hands together in an imploring attitude, " I 
 confess, I confess ; but sith I do confess, have
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 185 
 
 mercy on me, I entreat thee ; 'tis cruel to sport 
 with my sufferings, since thou knowest, alas, 
 too surely that I must love in vain." 
 
 " But, pr'ythee, ' why should'st thou afflict 
 thyself, and peak and pine for a silly girl ?' " 
 said Hephorne ironically, bringing up against 
 him some of the very expressions he had used to 
 himself at Norham. " 'A knight of thy prow- 
 ess in the field may have a thousand baubles as 
 fair for the mere picking up ; let it not erk 
 thee that this trifle is beyond thy reach.' " And 
 then rising, and striding gravely up to Assue- 
 ton, and shaking his head solemnly — " 4 Trust 
 me, women are dangerous flowers to pluck, and 
 have less of the rose about them than the thorn.' 
 Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, 'tis exquisite — by St Denis, 
 'tis the richest treat I ever enjoyed." 
 
 " Nay, but bethink thee, my dear friend," 
 said Assueton, with an imploring look — " be- 
 think thee, I beseech thee, what misery I am 
 enduring, and reflect how much thou art aug- 
 menting it by thy raillery. Depardieu, I believe 
 thou never didst suffer such pain from love as 
 I do now." 
 
 " * No, thank my good stars,' " said Hep- 
 borne, returning to the charge, and again assu- 
 ming a burlesque solemnity of air and tone,
 
 186 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " i and I hope, moreover, I never shall be so be- 
 sotted ; it makes a very fool of a man.' " 
 
 r Well, well," said Assueton, sighing deep- 
 ly, "I see thou art determined to make my fa- 
 tal disease thy sport ; yet, by St Andrew, it is 
 but cruel and ungenerous of thee." 
 
 " Gramercy, Assueton, I thought my inno- 
 cent raillery could do thee no harm," said Hep- 
 borne; " methought that ' thou might'st be 
 said to have no ears for such matters.' But if 
 thou, in good truth, hast really caught the fe- 
 ver, verily I shall not desert thee, * my friend- 
 ship for thee shall make me listen to thy ra- 
 vings;' yea, and 6 compassion for thy disease 
 shall make me watch the progress of its symp- 
 toms. Never fear that I shall be so little of a 
 Christian knight as to abandon thee when thy 
 estate is so dangerous.' But what, I pr'ythee, 
 my friend, hath induced this so dangerous ma- 
 lady?" 
 
 " Hepborne," replied Sir John, " thy ange- 
 lic sister's magnanimity, her matchless beauty, 
 her enchanting converse, and her sweet syren 
 voice." 
 
 " Ay, ay," said Hepborne, roguishly, " so 
 'twas her voice, her warbles, and her virelays, 
 that gave thee the coup-de-grace ? Nay, it must 
 be soothly confessed, thou didst hang over her
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 187 
 
 chair to-night in most proper love-like fashion, 
 as she harped it; yet her verses £ were silly 
 enough in conscience, methought' — and then, 
 thou knowest, thou dost i rarely listen to music 
 when love or its follies are the theme.' " 
 
 " Hephorne," said Assueton gravely? and 
 with an air of entreaty, " it was not after this 
 fashion that I did use thee in thine affliction at 
 JNorham. Think, I beseech thee, that my case 
 is not less hopeless than thine. But who, I en- 
 treat thee, is the happy knight who is blessed 
 by the favouring smile of thy divine sister, of 
 the Lady Isabelle Hepborne, whom I now no 
 longer blush to declare to be the most peerless 
 damosel presently in existence ?" 
 
 " He is a knight," replied Hepborne, " whose 
 peer thou shalt as rarely meet with, I trow, as 
 thou canst encounter the make of my sister, 
 the Lady Isabelle. He is a proper, tall, athle- 
 tic, handsome man, of dark hair and olive 
 complexion, with trim moustaches and comely 
 beard — nay, the very man, in short, to take a 
 woman's eye. Though as yet but young in age, 
 he is old in arms, and hath already done such 
 doughty deeds as have made him renowned 
 even in the very songs of the minstrels. More- 
 over, he is a beloved friend of mine, and one 
 much approved of my father, and he shall glad*
 
 188 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCK. 
 
 ly have our consent for the espousal of my sis- 
 ter." 
 
 " Nay, then," said Assueton, in the accents 
 of utter hopelessness, " I am indeed but a lost 
 knight, and must hie me to some barren wil- 
 derness, to sigh my soul away. But lest my 
 disease should drive me to madness, tell me, I 
 entreat thee, the name of this most fortunate of 
 men, that I may keep me from his path, lest, 
 in my blind fury, I might destroy him in some 
 ill-starred contecke, and through him wrack the 
 happiness of the Lady Isabelle, now dearer to 
 me than life ?" 
 
 " Thou knowest him as well as thou dost 
 thyself, my dear Assueton," said Hepborne. 
 " Trust me, he is one to whom thou dost wish 
 much too well to do him harm ; his name is — 
 Sir John Assueton." 
 
 " Nay, mock me not, Hepborne, drive me not 
 mad with false hopes," said Assueton ; " certes, 
 thy raillery doth now exceed the bounds that 
 even friendship should permit." 
 
 " Gad-a-mercy," said Hepborne, " thou dost 
 seem to me to be mad enough already. What ! 
 would' st thou quarrel with me for giving thee 
 assurance of that thou hast most panted for? 
 By the honour of a knight, I swear that Isa- 
 belle loves thee. 'Tis true, I heard it not from
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 189 
 
 her lips ; but I read it in her eyes, the which, 
 let me tell thee, inexperienced in the science, 
 and all unlearned in the leden of love as thou 
 art, do ever furnish by far the best and soothest 
 evidence on this point that the riddle woman 
 can yield. Never doubt me but she loves thee, 
 Assueton. She drank up the words thou did'st 
 rowne in her ear, with a thirst that showed the 
 growing fever of her soul. And now," conti- 
 nued he, as he observed the happy effects of his 
 intelligence upon the countenance of his friend 
 — " and now, Assueton, tell me, I pr'ythee, at 
 what hour in the morning shall I order thine 
 esquire and cortege to be ready for thy depar- 
 ture?" 
 
 " Hepborne," said Assueton, running to em- 
 brace him, " thou hast made me the happiest of 
 mortals. Go ! nay, perdie, I shall stay at Hailes 
 till thou dost turn me out." 
 
 " But, my dearest Assueton," cried Hep- 
 borne, smiling, " consider thy mother, and the 
 friends and the scenes of thy boyhood — consi- 
 der what thou " 
 
 " Pshaw, my dear Hepborne," cried Sir John, 
 interrupting him, " no more on't, I entreat 
 thee. Leave me, I beseech thee, to dreams of 
 delight. Good night, and may the blessed Vir- 
 gin and St Andrew be thy warison, for this ecs-
 
 190 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 tacy of jovinaunce thou hast poured into my 
 soul." 
 
 " Good night," said Hepborne, with a more 
 serious air — " good night, my dear and long' 
 tried brother-in-arms; and good night, my yet 
 dearer brother by alliance, as I hope soon to 
 call thee." 
 
 The meeting of the lovers on the next day, 
 was productive of more interesting conversation 
 than any they had yet enjoyed ; and although 
 Assueton was. as his friend had said, a novice in 
 the science and language of love, yet he caught 
 up the knowledge of both with most marvellous 
 expedition, and was listened to with blushing 
 pleasure by the lovely Isabelle. 
 
 As the party was seated at breakfast, the 
 sound of trumpets was heard, followed by that 
 of the trampling of horses in the courtyard, and 
 immediately afterwards a herald, proudly ar- 
 rayed, and followed by his pursuivants, was 
 ushered into the hall. 
 
 "Sir Patrick Hepborne," said he, " and you, 
 Sirs Knights, I come to announce to you and 
 to the world, that on the tenth day of the next 
 month, the noble John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, 
 will hold a splendid meeting of arms on the 
 Mead of St John's ; and all princes, lords, ba- 
 rons, knights, and esquires, who intend to tilt
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 191 
 
 at the tournament, are hereby ordained to lodge 
 themselves within his Castle of Tarnawa, or in 
 pavilions on the field, four days before the said 
 tournament, to make due display of their ar- 
 mouries, on pain of not being received at the 
 said tournament. And their arms shall be thus 
 disposed : The crest shall be placed on a plate 
 of copper large enough to contain the whole 
 summit of the helmet, and the said plate shall 
 be covered with a mantle, whereon shall be bla- 
 zoned the arms of him who bears it ; and on 
 the said mantle, at the top thereof, shall the 
 crest be placed, and around it shall be a wreath 
 of colours, whatsoever it shall please him, God 
 save King Robert." 
 
 The herald having in this manner formally 
 pronounced the proclamation intrusted to him, 
 was kindly and honourably greeted by Sir Pa- 
 trick Hepborne, and forthwith seated at the 
 board, and hospitably entertained ; after which 
 he arose, and addressed the knight. 
 
 " Sir Patrick Hepborne," said he, " myself 
 and my people being now refreshed, I may not 
 waste my time here, having yet a large district 
 to travel over. I drink this cup of wine to thee 
 and to thy roof- tree, with a herald's thanks for 
 thy noble treatment. Say, shall the Lord of 
 Moray look for thy presence at the Tournay ?
 
 
 192 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 I know it would be his wish to do thee and 
 thine particular honour." 
 
 " Of that I judge by his sending thee to 
 Hailes," said Sir Patrick, courteously. " But 
 in truth I cannot go. I must leave it to thee to 
 tell the noble earl how sorely grieved I am to 
 say so ; but my heart has been ill at ease of 
 late." 
 
 " Thine absence will sorely grieve the noble 
 earl, Sir Knight," replied the herald ; " but, 
 nathless, I shall hope to see thy gallant son 
 and the renowned Sir John Assueton, chiefest 
 flowers in the gay garland of Scottish knights, 
 who shall that day assemble at St John's. Till 
 then adieu, Sirs Knights, and may God and St 
 Andrew be with ye all." 
 
 The trumpets again sounded, and the herald, 
 being waited on by the knights to the court-yard, 
 mounted his richly-caparisoned steed, and rode 
 forth from the Castle, again attended by all the 
 pomp of heraldry. 
 
 " Assueton," said Hepborne, with a roguish 
 air of seriousness, as they returned up stairs, 
 " goest thou to this tour nay ?" 
 
 " Nay, of a truth," replied Assueton, with 
 his eyes on the ground, " I cannot just at pre- 
 sent yede me so far. Besides, these wounds in 

 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 193 
 
 my bridle-arm do still pain me grievously, ren- 
 dering me all unfit for jousting." 
 
 " Then, as I am resolved to go," said Hep- 
 borne, " I do beseech thee make Hailes Castle 
 thy home till my return, and play the part of 
 son to my dear father in mine absence." 
 
 vol. I.
 
 191 THE WOLFE OF BADENOOH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. ♦ 
 
 As the way was long, and the day of the 
 tournament not very distant, Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne the younger resolved to leave Hailes 
 Castle next morning for the North, that he 
 might save himself the necessity of forced march- 
 es. He accordingly made instant preparations 
 for his journey ; his father gave immediate or- 
 ders for securing him such a cortege as should 
 not disgrace the name he bore ; and his horses, 
 arms, and appointments of every description, 
 were perfectly befitting his family and rank. 
 When the morning of his departure arrived, he 
 took an affectionate leave of his father and As- 
 sueton, who left the Castle with their attendants, 
 at an early hour, for the purpose of hunting to- 
 gether. The Lady Isabelle would gladly have 
 made one of the party with her father and her 
 lover, but, attached as she was to Sir John As- 
 sueton, her affection for her brother was too 
 strong to permit her to leave the Castle till he
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 195 
 
 should be gone. That he might enjoy her so- 
 ciety in private till the last moment, Hepborne 
 dispatched his faithful esquire, Master Morti- 
 mer Sang, at the head of his people, to wait for 
 him at a particular spot, which he indicated, at 
 the distance of about a mile from the Castle • 
 and he also sent forward the palfrey he meant 
 to ride, for his noble destrier Beaufront was to 
 be led by a groom during the whole march. 
 
 His fond sister Isabelle resolved to walk with 
 him to the place where he was to meet his at- 
 tendants, and accordingly the brother and sister 
 set out together arm in arm. 
 
 Sir Patrick, resolving to probe his sister's 
 love, adroitly turned the conversation on his 
 friend Assueton, and, with extreme ingenuity, 
 touched on those agremens and virtues which 
 his friend evidently possessed, as well as on a 
 number of weak and faulty points, both in per- 
 son and manner, which he chose, for certain 
 purposes, to feign in him, or greatly to exagge- 
 rate. In praising the former, the Lady Isabelle 
 very much surpassed her brother ; for, however 
 highly he might laud his friend, she always 
 found something yet more powerful and elo- 
 quent to say in his favour ; but whenever Sir 
 Patrick ventured to hint at anything like a 
 fault or a blemish, the lady was instantly up
 
 196 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 in arms, and made as brave a defence for him 
 against her brother, as she had done for him 
 some days before against the wolf. This light 
 skirmishing went on between them until they 
 reached a knoll covered with tall oaks, whence 
 they beheld the party, about to take shelter in 
 the appointed grove of trees, on the meadow by 
 the river's side, at a considerable distance below 
 them. 
 
 " Isabelle," said Hepborne, taking her hand 
 tenderly, " thou hast walked far enough, my 
 love ; let us rest here for an instant, and then 
 part. Our converse hath not been vain. My 
 just praise of Assueton, as well as the faults I 
 pretended to find in him, were neither of them 
 without an object. I wished, ere I left thee, to 
 satisfy myself of the true state of thy little 
 heart ; for I should have never forgiven myself 
 had I discovered that I had been mistaken, and 
 that I had told what was not true, when I as- 
 sured Assueton, as I did last night, that thou 
 lovest him."" 
 
 " Told Sir John Assueton that I love him !" 
 exclaimed the Lady Isabelle, blushing with min- 
 gled surprise and confusion ; "how could'st thou 
 tell him so ? and what dost thou know of my 
 sentiments regarding him ? — Heavens ! what 
 will he think of me ?"
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 197 
 
 " Why, well, passing well, my fair sister," 
 said Hepborne ; " make thyself easy on that 
 score. He loves thee, believe me, as much as 
 thou lovest him ; so I leave thee to measure the 
 length, breadth, heighth, and depth, of his at- 
 tachment by the dimensions of thine own. But 
 as to knowing the state of thy heart — tut ! I 
 could make out much more difficult cases than 
 it presents ; for well I wot its state is apparent 
 enough, even from the little talk I have had 
 with thee now, if I had never heard or seen 
 more. But, my dear Isabelle, after my father, 
 thou and he are the two beings on earth whom 
 I do most love. Ye are both perfect in mine 
 eyes. I could talk to thee of Assueton's qua- 
 lities and perfections for days together, and of 
 virtues, which as yet thou canst not have dreamt 
 of; but I must leave thee to the delightful task 
 of discovering them for thyself. All I can now 
 say is, may Heaven make ye both happy in each 
 other, — for I must be gone. And so, my love, 
 farewell, and may the blessed Virgin protect 
 thee." 
 
 He then threw his arms about his sister's 
 neck, pressed her to his bosom, and, having 
 kissed her repeatedly with the most tender af- 
 fection, tore himself from her, ran down the 
 hill, and, as she cleared her eves from the tear-
 
 198 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 drops that swelled in them, she saw him disap- 
 pear in the shade of the clump of trees where 
 his party was stationed. A good deal of time 
 seemed to be lost ere the whole were mounted, 
 and in motion ; but at last she saw them emer- 
 ging from the wood-shaw, and winding slowly, 
 in single files, up the river-side. She sat on the 
 bank, straining her eyes after them, until they 
 were lost in the distant intricacies of the sur- 
 face, and then turned her steps slowly home- 
 wards, ruminating agreeably on her brother's 
 last words, as well as on the events of the pre- 
 ceding days, which had given her a new and 
 more powerful interest in life than she had ever 
 before experienced. 
 
 " Oh, my dear brother," said she to herself, 
 " thou didst indeed say truly that I do love him ; 
 and if thou sayest as soothly that he doth love 
 me, then am I blessed indeed." 
 
 It was courtesy alone that induced Sir John 
 Assueton to agree to Sir Patrick Hepborne's 
 proposal of going that morning to the wood- 
 lands to hunt the deer. He went with no very 
 good will ; nay, when his host talked of it, he 
 felt more than once inclined, as he had done 
 with his friend about the tournament, to plead 
 his wounded arm as an excuse for remaining at 
 home with the Lady Isabelle ; and perhaps, if it
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. L9<\ 
 
 had not been for absolute shame, he might have 
 yielded to the temptation. Hence he had but 
 little pleasure in the sport that day, although it 
 was unusually fine ; and he was by no means 
 gratified to find himself led on by the chase to a 
 very unusual distance. But to leave Sir Patrick 
 was impossible. He was therefore compelled, 
 very much against his inclination, to ride all 
 day like a lifeless trunk, whilst his spirit was 
 hovering over the far-off towers of Hailes Cas- 
 tle. The deer was killed so far from home, that 
 it was later than ordinary before the party re- 
 turned. 
 
 " I am surprised Isabelle is not already here 
 to receive us," said Sir Patrick, as they entered 
 the banquet-hall ; "I trowed she might have 
 been impatient for our return ere this. — Ga- 
 briel," said he to the old seneschal, " go, I 
 pr'ythee, to Mary Hay, and let her tell her 
 lady that we are come home, and that we have 
 brought good appetites with us." 
 
 Gabriel went, and soon returned with Mary 
 Hay herself, who appeared in great agitation. 
 
 " Where is thy lady ?" demanded Sir Patrick, 
 with an expression of considerable anxiety. 
 
 " My lady ! my good lord," said the terrified 
 girl ; " holy St Baldrid, is she not with thee 
 then ?"
 
 200 THE WOLFE OF BaDENOCH. 
 
 " No," said Sir Patrick, with increasing 
 amazement and alarm, " she went not with us. 
 We left her here with my son, when we rode 
 forth in the morning.'' 
 
 " Nay, I knew that," said the terrified Mary 
 Hay, " but — good angels be about us — I weened 
 that her pages and palfrey might have gone with 
 thee, and that she might ha' been to join thee 
 in the woods, after having given her brother the 
 convoy." 
 
 " Merciful powers ! did she leave the Castle 
 with her brother ?" — " Good Heavens ! hath she 
 never been seen since morning ?" exclaimed Sir 
 Patrick and Assueton, both in the same breath, 
 and looking eagerly in the faces of the people 
 around them for something satisfactory ; but no 
 one had seen her since morning. Some of the 
 domestics ran out to question those who had 
 kept guard ; but though she had been seen as 
 she went out with her brother, neither warder 
 nor sentinel had observed her return. Mean- 
 while the whole Castle was searched over from 
 garret to cellar by Assueton, Sir Patrick, and 
 the servants, all without success. 
 
 The consternation and misery of the father 
 and the lover were greater than language can 
 describe. Broken sentences burst from them at 
 short intervals, but altogether void of connex-
 
 THF WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 201 
 
 ion. A thousand conjectures were hazarded, 
 and again abandoned as impossible. Plans of 
 search without number were proposed, and then 
 given up as hopeless ; while all they said, thought, 
 or did, was without concert, and only calculated 
 to show their utter distraction. But matters did 
 not long continue thus. 
 
 " My horse, my horse !" cried the agonized 
 and frenzied father ; and " My horse, my horse !" 
 responded Assueton, in a state no less wild and 
 despairing. 
 
 Both rushed down to the stable, and the 
 horses which yet remained saddled from the 
 chase being hurriedly brought out, they struck 
 the spurs into their sweltering sides, and, al- 
 most without exchanging a word, galloped fu- 
 riously from the gateway, each, as if by a spe- 
 cies of instinct, taking a different way, and each 
 followed by a handful of his people, who mount- 
 ed in reeking haste to attend his master. They 
 scoured the woodlands, lawns, and alleys, from 
 side to side, and all around ; they beat through 
 the shaws and copses, and hollowed and shout- 
 ed to the very cracking of their voices. By and 
 by, to those who listened from the walls, their 
 circles appeared to become wider, and their 
 shouts were no longer heard. Forth rushed, one 
 by one, as they could horse them in haste, or 
 i 2
 
 202 THE WOLFE OF BADEXOCH. 
 
 gird themselves for running, grooms, lacqueys, 
 spearmen, billmen, bowmen, and foresters, until 
 none were left within the place but the men on 
 guard, the old, the feeble, and some of the wo- 
 men. Even Mary Hay ran out into the woods, 
 beating her breast, tearing her hair, screaming 
 like a maniac, and rummaging the bushes, even 
 less rationally than those who had gone before 
 her. 
 
 Sir Patrick, as he rode, began, in the midst 
 of his affliction, to collect his scattered ideas, 
 and, calling to mind what they had told him of 
 Lady Isabelle having gone to convoy her bro- 
 ther, he immediately halted from the unprofit- 
 able search he was pursuing, and turned his 
 horse's head towards that direction which they 
 must have necessarily taken. He rode on as far 
 as the knoll where the brother and sister had 
 bid adieu to each other, and there being a clus- 
 ter of cottages at the bottom of the bill, he made 
 towards one of them himself, and sent his at- 
 tendants to all the others in search of informa- 
 tion. From several of the churls, and from 
 their wives, he learned that his son had been 
 seen taking an affectionate leave of a lady, whom 
 they now supposed to have been the Lady Isa- 
 belle, among the oaks on the knoll, and that he 
 had afterwards joined his party, waiting for him 
 under the trees by the river's side, whilst the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 203 
 
 lady seemed to turn back, as if to take the way 
 to the Castle. With this new scent, Sir Patrick 
 made his panting horse breast the hill, and, as- 
 sisted by his men, beat the ground in close tra- 
 verse, backwards and forwards, from one side 
 to another, with so great care and minuteness, 
 that the smallest object could not have escaped 
 their observation. They tried all the by-routes 
 that might have been taken, but all without suc- 
 cess ; though they spent so much time in the 
 search, that darkness had already begun to de- 
 scend over the earth, ere they were compelled 
 to desist from it as hopeless. 
 
 They returned towards the Castle, still catch- 
 ing at the frail chance, as they hurried thither, 
 that though they had been unsuccessful, some 
 one else might have been more fortunate, and 
 that probably the Lady Isabelle had been al- 
 ready brought back in safety. But unhappily 
 the guards, who crowded round them at the 
 gate, and to whom both master and men all at 
 once opened in accents of loud inquiry, had no 
 such heart-healing tidings to give them. They 
 obtained such intelligence, however, as had awa- 
 kened a spark of hope. Sir John Assueton 
 had returned a short time before Sir Patrick, 
 with the horse he had ridden so exhausted, that 
 the wretched animal had dropped to the ground,
 
 204 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 and died instantly after his rider had quitted 
 the saddle. He had called loudly for fresh 
 horses and a party of spearmen, and had then 
 rushed into the Castle to arm himself in haste ; 
 and a number of those who had gone to search 
 independently, having fortunately by this time 
 dropped in, some fifteen or twenty bowmen, 
 spearmen, and billmen, had been hastily got 
 together, and provided with brisk and yet un- 
 breathed horses. Without taking time, how- 
 ever, to give the particulars of what he had ga- 
 thered, or to say whither he was bound, Sir John 
 had merely called out to the guard, as he was 
 mounting, to tell Sir Patrick, if he should re-, 
 turn before him, that he had heard some tidings 
 of the Lady Isabelle, and that he would bring 
 her safely back, or perish in the attempt ; and 
 after having said so, he had given the word to 
 his men, and scoured off at the head of them in, 
 a southern direction. 
 
 The miserable father was more than ever 
 perplexed by this information. From the pre- 
 parations Sir John had so effectually though 
 hastily made, it was evident that the scene of 
 the enterprise he went on was distant ; and that 
 it was not without doubt or danger, appeared 
 from the few words he had let fall. Could Sir 
 Patrick have had any guess whither to go, he
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 205 
 
 would have instantly armed himself, and such 
 men as he could have got together, to follow 
 and aid Sir John Assueton ; but such a chase 
 was evidently more wild and hopeless than the 
 fruitless search he had just returned from ; and 
 the pitchy darkness which by this time pre- 
 vailed, was in itself an insurmountable obstacle 
 to his discovering the route that Sir John had 
 taken. He was compelled, therefore, most un- 
 willingly and most sorrowfully, to give up all 
 idea of further exertion for the present ; but he 
 resolved to start in the morning, long ere the 
 first lark had arisen from its nest, and if he 
 should hear nothing before then, to ride to- 
 wards England. He accordingly gave orders 
 to his esquires to have a body of armed horse- 
 men ready equipped to accompany him, an hour 
 before the first streak of red should tinge the 
 eastern welkin. 
 
 Old Gabriel Lindsay, his dim eyes filled with 
 tears, and altogether unable to take comfort to 
 himself, came to make the vain attempt to ad- 
 minister it to his master, and to try to persuade 
 him to take some rest. But all the efforts of 
 the venerable seneschal were ineffectual, and 
 the heart-broken father continued to pace the 
 hall with agitated steps among his people, dis- 
 patching them off by turns, and often running
 
 '^06 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 down himself to the gate, or to the ramparts, 
 whenever his ear caught, or fancied it caught, 
 a sound that might have indicated Assueton's 
 return.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 But it is now time to state the circumstances 
 of Assueton's search, as well as the cause of 
 his abrupt departure. If Sir Patrick, on first 
 starting from the Castle, had Been so little 
 master of himself as to lose time by galloping 
 over ground, where it w r as next to impossible 
 his daughter could be found, it was not at all 
 likely that Sir John and his people, strangers 
 as they were to the neighbourhood, could make 
 a better selection. But it not unfrequently hap- 
 pens that chance, or, which is a much better word 
 for it, Providence, does more than human pru- 
 dence in such cases. After making two or three 
 wild and rapid circles through the woods in the 
 immediate vicinity of the Castle, like a stone 
 whirled round in a sling, he flew off at a tan- 
 gent southwards, and accidentally hit upon a 
 solitary cottage, about a couple or more miles 
 from the Castle, where he learned that a small 
 body of English spearmen had halted that morn-
 
 208 THE WOLFE OF BADEXOCH. 
 
 ing, and that the leader had made a number of 
 inquiries about the late and future motions of 
 his friend, the younger Sir Patrick Hepborne, 
 and himself. These were well enough known, 
 for the arrival of their young lord had excited 
 universal joy among the population of his fa- 
 ther's estate ; the coming of the herald, with 
 Hepborne's departure, were also matters too in- 
 teresting to escape circulation ; and the churl 
 of the cottage had told, without reservation, 
 all the circumstances to the strangers. He 
 also learned, that the party had gone on to re- 
 connoitre the Castle; and that afterwards, as 
 the rustic was making faggots at some distance 
 from his dwelling, he had seen them sweeping 
 by towards England. Assueton could not elicit 
 from the peasant whether it had appeared to 
 him that the Lady Isabelle was with them, be- 
 cause the man had had but an indistinct view 
 of them as they rode through the woodlands ; 
 but he and his people were agreed that these 
 must have been the perpetrators of the outrage. 
 His judgment, now that it had a defined ol> 
 ject, began to come into full play. He saw that 
 his own horse and the horses of his attendants 
 were too much spent to enable him to pursue on 
 the spur of the moment, and, had it not been 
 so, that it would be vain to go on such an expe-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 209 
 
 dition so slenderly accoutred and accompanied. 
 He therefore galloped back to the Castle as hard 
 as the exhausted animal could carry him, fol- 
 lowed at a distance by his straggling men ; and 
 there he made those rapid preparations and that 
 hasty outset which we have already noticed. 
 
 The night became extremely dark before As- 
 sueton had gone many miles ; but luckily for 
 him, Robert Lindsay, the head forester, hap- 
 pened to be one of his company, for without 
 him, or some other guide equally well acquaint- 
 ed with the country he had to travel over, his 
 expedition must have been rendered abortive. 
 Even as it was, he found difficulty enough in 
 threading the mazes of the Lammermoors ; and 
 although Lindsay knew every knoll, stone, bog, 
 rlow, and rivulet that diversified their surface, 
 they made divers deviations from the proper line, 
 and were much longer in crossing the ridge than 
 they should have been if favoured by the light 
 of the moon. Towards morning, they judged 
 it prudent to halt on the brow of the hills, ere 
 they began to descend into the lower and more 
 level country, that they might make observa- 
 tions by the first light, and determine both as 
 to where they were, and as to their future 
 movements. 
 
 As objects below them began to grow some-
 
 210 THE WOLFE OF BADEXGCH. 
 
 what distinct, they found that they had posted 
 themselves immediately over the hollow mouth 
 of a glen, opening on the flat country, where a 
 rivulet wound through some green meadows ; 
 and they soon began to descry several tents, 
 pitched together in a cluster, with a number of 
 horses piquetted around them. 
 
 " By'r lady," said Assueton, "yonder lie the 
 ravishers. Let's down upon them, my brave 
 men, ere they have time to be alarmed and fly." 
 
 He gave his horse the spur, and galloped 
 down the slope at a fearful pace, followed by 
 his party, and having gained the level, they 
 charged towards the little encampment with 
 the swiftness of the wind. The morning's mist 
 that hung on the side of the hill, and the imper- 
 fect grey light, had prevented the sentinels who 
 were on the watch from seeing the horsemen 
 approaching, until they had descended; but 
 they no sooner observed them coming on at the 
 pas de charge, than the alarm was given, and a 
 general commotion took place among them. Out 
 they came pouring from the tents to the num- 
 ber of forty or fifty ; and there was such a hasty 
 putting on of morrions and skull-caps, and 
 seizing of weapons, and loosing of halters, and 
 mounting of the few that had time to get on 
 horseback, and such a clamouring and shout-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 211 
 
 hig, and so much confusion, as assured Assue- 
 ton an easy victory, though their numbers were 
 so much greater than his. He came on them at 
 the head of his small body like a whirlwind, 
 and before half of them had time to turn out, 
 he was already within a hundred yards of their 
 position. A few of them, armed with spears, 
 had formed in line before the tents, apparent- 
 ly with the resolution of standing his charge, 
 and at the head of these was an old man, hastily 
 armed in a cuirass. He stood boldly planted 
 with a lance in his hand, though his head was 
 bare, and his white hairs hung loosely about his 
 determined countenance. Sir John Assueton 
 was on the very eve of bearing him and his 
 little phalanx down before the irresistible fury 
 of his onset, when he suddenly pulled up his 
 reins, and halted his men. 
 
 " Sir Walter de Selby !" exclaimed he, with 
 astonishment, and raising his vizor, that he 
 might the better behold him. 
 
 <; Sir John Assueton !" cried Sir Walter, " I 
 crave truce and parley." 
 
 " Thou hast it, Sir Walter," said Assueton 
 il but only on one condition, that I see not any 
 one attempt to escape hence, or stir from the po- 
 sition he is now in, until all matters be explained 
 betwixt us. Pledge me thine honour that this
 
 212 THE WOEFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 shall be so, and I shall parley with thee in 
 friendship, till I shall see just cause for other 
 acting. But, by the Rood of St Andrew, if a 
 single knave shall seek to steal him away, or to 
 quit the spot of earth that now bears him, I 
 will put every man to death, saving thee only, 
 whose white hairs and recent hospitality are 
 pledges for thy security. Advance, Sir Walter ; 
 I swear by my knighthood that thy person shall 
 take no hurt from my hands, or from the hands 
 of any of my people." 
 
 " Thou comest, doubtless," said Sir Walter, 
 " to seek after the Lady Isabelle Hepborne, the 
 fair sister of thy friend Sir Patrick Hepborne." 
 
 " I do," said Sir John Assueton, eagerly : 
 " and by the blessed Virgin, an she be not im- 
 mediately delivered up scatheless into my cus- 
 tody, I will put every man but thyself to instant 
 death. Shame, foul shame on thee, Sir Wal- 
 ter, to be the leader in a foray so disgraceful as 
 this. Is this thy requital to Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne for But hold — I will not in my friend's 
 
 name cast in thy teeth what he himself would 
 scorn to throw at thee." 
 
 " Nay, Sir John Assueton, judge not so hasti- 
 ly, I entreat thee. What didst thou see in my 
 behaviour at Norham, that should lead thee to 
 suspect me of the foul deed thou art now so ready
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 213 
 
 to charge me withal ? Were I capable of any 
 such, perdie, thou might' st well pour out all thy 
 wrath and wrekery on this old head of mine. 
 Listen to me, I beseech thee, with temper, and 
 thou shalt soon know that I have had no hand in 
 this unknightly outrage, the which nobody can 
 more deplore than I do. It was Sir Miers de 
 Willoughby who carried off the lady, — God pity 
 me for being related to one who could so disgrace 
 me ! But on him be the sin and the shame of 
 the act." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," cried Assueton, hastily, 
 " seeing that he did it in thy company, thou 
 canst not, methinks, shake thyself free of a share 
 of both. But where is the recreant, that I may 
 forthwith chastise him ? And where is the lady ? 
 By all the saints in the kalendar, if she is not 
 instantly produced, I will make every man in 
 thy troop breakfast upon cold steel." 
 
 " As God is my judge, Sir Knight," said 
 Sir Walter, " as God is my judge, mine own 
 afflictions weigh not more heavily on my old 
 heart at this moment, than does the thought 
 that I have been in some sort, though innocent- 
 ly, the occasion of this outrage having been 
 done against the sister of the very knight for 
 whom, of all others, gratitude would make me 
 think it matter of joy to sacrifice this hoary
 
 214 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 head to do him service. There are some ho- 
 nourable gentlemen here present, who can vouch 
 for me, that, forgetful of mine own bereavement, 
 and the direful consequences that may follow it, 
 I had resolved to abandon my own quest, and to 
 go forward this morning to Hailes Castle, to 
 inform Sir Patrick Hepborne in person of all I 
 know of this ill-starred and wicked transaction ; 
 and if thou wilt but listen to me, I shall tell it 
 thee in as few words as may be." 
 
 " But the lady, Sir Knight, the lady," cried 
 Assueton, in a frenzy ; " produce the lady in- 
 stantly, else the parley holds not longer." 
 
 " By mine honour as a knight," cried the old 
 man, " she is not here." 
 
 " Not here !" exclaimed Sir John Assueton, 
 *' not here ! What, hast thou sent her forward 
 to Norham ? By the blessed bones of my ances- 
 tors," said he, digging his spurs through mere 
 rage into his horse's sides, and checking him 
 again, till he sprang into the air with the pain, 
 " I shall not leave a stone of it together. Its 
 blaze shall serve to light up the Border to-night, 
 in such fashion, that every crone on Tweedside 
 shall see to go to bed by it." 
 
 " She is not at Norham, Sir Knight," said 
 Sir Walter, calmly ; " she is not in my keeping, 
 I most solemnly protest to thee."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 215 
 
 " Where is she, then, in the name of St 
 Giles ?" cried Assueton. " Tell me instantly, 
 that I may fly to her rescue. Trifle no more 
 with me, old man ; thou dost wear out the pre- 
 cious minutes. Depardieux, my patience is none 
 of the strongest e'en now; it won't hold out much 
 longer, I tell thee, for I am mad, stark mad : 
 so tell me at once where she is, or my rage may 
 overpower my better feelings." 
 
 " Nay, Sir John Assueton," said Sir Walter 
 de Selby, with a forbearance and temper that, 
 old as he was, he could never have exercised, 
 had it not been for the feeling of what he owed 
 to Sir Patrick Hepborne, and the consciousness 
 that present appearances warranted the suspi- 
 cion of his having been accessory to the outrage 
 committed against the Lady Isabelle, " I be- 
 seech thee, Sir John Assueton, command thy- 
 self so far as to listen to me for but a very few 
 minutes ; hadst thou done so earlier, thou hadst 
 ere this known everything. Interrupt me not 
 then, I implore thee, and thou shalt be the soon- 
 er satisfied. This is now the third morning 
 since, unfortunate father that I am, I discovered 
 the sad malure which hath befallen me, and that 
 [ was bereft of my daughter, the Lady Eleanore, 
 who had been mysteriously carried off during the 
 night. Certain circumstances "
 
 216 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Nay, but, Sir Knight," said 'Assueton, in- 
 terrupting him, " what is thy daughter to me ? 
 What is she to the Lady Isabelle Hepborne? 
 Ay, indeed, wretch that I am, what is she in 
 any way to the point ?" 
 
 Sir Walter de Selby went on without noticing 
 this fresh interruption. 
 
 " Certain circumstances led some of the 
 people about me to believe that thy friend, Sir 
 Patrick, had had some hand in the rapt, and 
 that he, or some of his people, had returned at 
 night, and, by some unexampled topinage, found 
 means unaccountably to withdraw my daugh- 
 ter from the Castle. In the frenzy I was 
 thrown into by mine affliction, I was easily in- 
 duced to believe anything that was suggested 
 to me ; and getting together my people in a 
 haste, I " 
 
 " So," cried Assueton, " I see how it is ; a 
 vile thirst of vengeance led thee to make cap- 
 tive of the Lady Isabelle. Oh, base and unwor- 
 thy knight !" 
 
 " Nay, indeed, not so," said Sir Walter, eager 
 to exculpate himself; " I have already vowed 
 I had no hand in anything so base. 'Tis true, 
 I set out with the mad intent of besieging Hailes 
 Castle, and demanding the restoration of my 
 daughter. To this I was much encouraged by
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 217 
 
 Sir Miers cle Willoughby, who happened to be 
 at Norham at the time, and who offered to ac- 
 company me. I got no farther than this place 
 that night ; and having had time to reflect by 
 the way, on the nature of the enterprise I was 
 boune on, as well as on the great improbability 
 of so foul suspicion being verified against a 
 knight of thy friend Sir Patrick's breeding and 
 courtesy, I resolved to proceed with the utmost 
 caution, lest I should even give cause of offence 
 where no offence had been rendered. As the 
 most prudent measure I could adopt, and as 
 that least likely to excite alarm, I resolved to 
 pitch my little camp in this retired spot, and to 
 send forward Sir Miers de Willoughby, who 
 readily volunteered the duty, towards Hailes 
 Castle, to make such inquiry of the peasants, 
 as might satisfy me of the truth or falsehood of 
 my suspicions ; and this, thou must grant me, 
 Sir John Assueton, was as much delicacy as 
 could be observed by me, in the anguished and 
 bleeding state of my heart for the loss of my 
 only child, and the impatience which I did na- 
 turally feel to gain tidings of her." Here the 
 old man's voice was for some moments choked 
 by his tears; and Sir John Assueton was so 
 much moved by them that he spake not a word. 
 Sir Walter proceeded — 
 vol. i. K
 
 218 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " De Willoughby returned here last night 
 about sun-set. He came to my tent alone, and 
 he did tell me, that from all he could learn, he 
 believed that my daughter had not been carried 
 thither, either by Sir Patrick or any other per- 
 son. ' But,' added he, ' be Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne guilty or innocent of this outrage' against 
 thee, I have made a capture that will be either 
 paying off an old score, or scoring the first item 
 of a new account against these Scots, for I have 
 carried off the Lady Isabelle Hepborne.' Struck 
 with horror, and burning with rage to hear him 
 tell this, I insisted on her being instantly brought 
 to my tent, that I might forthwith calm her 
 mind, and take immediate steps to return her 
 in safety with honourable escort to her father. 
 4 Give thyself no trouble about her,' said the 
 libertine, treating all I said with contempt, * for 
 ere this she bounes her over the Border, on a 
 palfrey led by my people/ I was thunder- 
 struck," continued the old man ; " and ere I 
 had time to recover myself so far as to be able 
 to speak or to act, De Willoughby sprang to the 
 door of the tent, and I heard the clatter of his 
 horse's heels as he galloped off. I was infuri- 
 ated; I felt that he had basely made me the 
 scape-goat to his own caitiff plans, which I now 
 began to suspect were not of recent hatching.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 219 
 
 I dispatched parties in every direction after 
 him, but all of them returned, one by one, with- 
 out having gained even the least intelligence of 
 him. And all this is true, on the word of an 
 old knight. God wot how well I do know to 
 feel for the father of the damosel, sith I do suf- 
 fer the same affliction myself." 
 
 The old knight was overpowered by his feel- 
 ings; and Assueton, who had been at length 
 prevailed on to hear his tale to an end, gave way 
 at the conclusion of it to a paroxysm of rage 
 and grief, which might have well warranted the 
 by-standers in believing he was really bereft 
 of reason. He threw himself from his horse 
 to the ground, in despair. Roger Riddel, his 
 esquire, a quiet, temperate, and, generally, a 
 very silent man, did all he could to soothe his 
 master ; and even old Sir Walter de Selby, sor- 
 rowful as he himself was, seemed to forget his 
 wretchedness in endeavouring to assuage that 
 which so unmanned the Scottish knight. 
 
 After giving way for some time to ineffectual 
 ravings, the offspring of intense feeling, and 
 having then vented his rage in threats against 
 Sir Miers de Willoughby, Assueton began by 
 degrees to become more calm, and seeing the 
 necessity of exerting his cool judgment, that he
 
 220 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 might determine how to act, he was at length 
 persuaded by Sir Walter de Selby to go into his 
 tent for a short time, till the horses and men 
 could be refreshed. Sir Walter had no disposi- 
 tion to screen his unworthy relative from the 
 wrath with which Assueton threatened him ; 
 or if he had, he conceived himself bound to 
 make it give way to a sense of justice. He 
 therefore readily answered the Scottish Knight's 
 hasty questions, and told him, that it was more 
 than likely that the lady had been carried to a 
 certain castle belonging to De Willoughby, si- 
 tuated among the Cheviot hills. 
 
 Assueton's impatience brooked no longer 
 delay. Accordingly, with a soul agonized by 
 the passions of love, grief, rage, and revenge, 
 he summoned his party to horse, and set off 
 at a furious pace on his anxious but uncertain 
 search.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Sir Walter de Selby, who was enduring 
 all the bitterness of grief that a father could 
 suifer whose only child, a daughter too, on 
 whose disposal hung a whole legion of supersti- 
 tious hopes and fears, had been rent from him 
 in a manner so mysterious, broke up his little 
 camp with as much impatience as Assueton had 
 exhibited. But age did not admit of his motions 
 being so rapid as those of the younger knight. 
 He moved, however, with all the celerity he 
 could exert, for he remembered the warning 
 flame which had appeared on the fatal shield ; 
 and the very thought of his daughter's disap- 
 pearance, with the frightful consequences which 
 might result from her being thus beyond his 
 control, filled his heart with horror and dismay. 
 He was also exceedingly perplexed how the wiz- 
 ard, Master Ancient HaggerstoneFenwick 9 could 
 have so erred in his divination, as to occasion 
 him the fruitless and mortifying expedition into
 
 222 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Scotland; for Sir Walter, in the first fever of 
 distraction he was thrown into by the discovery 
 of his daughter's disappearance, had immedi- 
 ately made his way to the aerial den of the An- 
 cient. The cunning diviner instantly recollect- 
 ed that he had seen Sir Patrick Hepborne go- 
 ing towards the rampart, where, he had reason 
 to know, the Lady Eleanore de Selby had been 
 walking, from which he was led to suspect an 
 appointment between them. He was too artful 
 to make Sir Walter aware of this circumstance, 
 but proceeding upon it, he enacted some hasty 
 farce of conjuration, and then, with all due so- 
 lemnity, boldly and confidently pronounced that 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne had secretly returned, 
 and obtaining possession of the person of the 
 Lady Eleanore, had carried her over the Border. 
 Some time after Sir Walter de Selby had 
 gone into Scotland, however, a discovery was 
 accidentally made that seemed to throw light 
 on the disappearance of his daughter. The man- 
 tle she usually wore, had been found by a pa- 
 trole, at several miles distance to the south of 
 Norham, lying by the way-side leading towards 
 Alnwick — a circumstance which left no doubt 
 remaining that she had been carried off in that 
 direction. But ere this could be communicated 
 to Sir Walter on his return, his impatience for
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 223 
 
 an interview with his oracle was so great, that, 
 putting aside all obstructions, lie hastened to 
 climb to the den of the monster on the top of 
 the keep. 
 
 " What sayest thou, Master Ancient Fen- 
 wick ?" said the old man as he entered the cap- 
 house door, his breath gone with the steepness 
 of the ascent and the anxiety of his mind ; " for 
 once thy skill seemeth to have failed thee." 
 
 The Ancient was seated in his usual corner, 
 immersed in his favourite study ; a large circle 
 was delineated on the floor, and in the centre 
 of it lay the Lady Eleanore's mantle. 
 
 " Blame, then, thine OAvn impatience and 
 haste," said the Ancient. " The signs w T ere 
 drawn awry, and no wonder that the calcula- 
 tions were erroneous ; but thou wert not gone 
 half a day until I discovered the error; and now 
 thou shalt thyself behold it remedied. Dost 
 see there thy daughter's mantle ?" 
 
 The old man instantly recognized it; and 
 looking at it in silence for some moments, the 
 feelings of a sorrowing and bereft parent came 
 upon him with all the strength of nature : his 
 heart and his eyes filled, and he burst into a 
 flood of tears. He stepped forward to lift it 
 up, ana imprint kisses upon it; but the stern
 
 224* THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 and unfeeling Ancient called out, in a harsh 
 voice, — 
 
 " Touch it not, on thy life, else all my mys- 
 tic labours have been in vain. Stand aloof 
 there, and, if thou wilt, be a witness of the 
 power I possess in diving into secrets that t are 
 hid from other men." 
 
 Sir Walter obeyed. The Ancient arose and 
 struck a light ; and having darkened the loop- 
 hole window, he lighted his lamp and put it 
 into a corner. He then approached the circle, 
 and squatting down, he with much labour and 
 difficulty drew his unwieldy limbs within its 
 compass, and, kneeling over the mantle, he pro- 
 ceeded to mutter to himself, from a book of ne- 
 cromancy which he held in his hand, turning tin- 
 pages over with great rapidity, and making, from 
 time to time, divers signs with his forefinger 
 on his face and on the floor. After this he laid 
 his head down on the pavement, covered it with 
 the mantle, and continued to mutter uncouthly, 
 and to writhe his body until he seemed to fall 
 into a swoon. He lay motionless for a consi- 
 derable time ; but at length he appeared to re- 
 cover gradually, the writhing and the mutter- 
 ing recommenced, and raising up his bodv with 
 the mantle hanging over his head and shotnclers, 
 he exposed his horrid features to view. To the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 225 
 
 inexpressible terror of Sir Walter, the forehead 
 blazed with the same appalling flame which he 
 had seen it bear on the night of his long inter- 
 view with the wizard. 
 
 " Seek thy daughter in the South," said the 
 Ancient, in a hollow voice; " seek her from Sir 
 Rafe Piersie. Remember thy destinies. The 
 balance now wavers — now it turns against thee 
 and thy destinies. If but an atom of time be 
 lost, they are sealed, irrecoverably sealed." 
 
 Quick as the lightning of heaven did the 
 ideas shoot through the old man's mind, as the 
 Ancient was solemnly pronouncing this terrific 
 response. He remembered that Sir Rafe Pier- 
 sie had left Norham, in a litter, the very day 
 preceding the night his daughter had disappear- 
 ed ; and it flashed upon him, that some of the 
 grooms had remained behind their master, un- 
 der pretence of one of his favourite horses ha- 
 ving been taken ill, and had afterwards follow- 
 ed him during the night. That they must have 
 found means to carry the Lady Eleanore off 
 with them, was, he thought, but too manifest. 
 The very name of Piersie, when uttered by the 
 Ancient, had made Sir Walter's blood run cold, 
 from his superstitious belief of the impending 
 fate that was connected with it ; and the weight 
 of his feelings operating on a body oppressed 
 k2
 
 226 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 with fatigue and want of sleep, and on a mind 
 worn out with the agitation and affliction it had 
 undergone, became too much for nature to bear. 
 He grew deadly pale. He made an effort to 
 speak, but his tongue became dry, and cleaved 
 to the roof of his mouth, and his lips refused 
 their office ; an indistinct, mumbling, moaning 
 sound was all that they could utter — his cheeks 
 became rapidly convulsed — one corner of his 
 mouth was drawn up to his ear, and he fell 
 backwards on the floor, in a state of perfect in- 
 sensibility. 
 
 Fenwick became alarmed. He started up 
 with the ghastly look of a newly-convicted fe- 
 lon, and the fear of being accused of the mur- 
 der of Sir Walter came upon him. He went 
 towards the knight, and, raising him up, made 
 use of what means he could to endeavour to re- 
 store him to life ; but all his efforts were un- 
 successful. Trembling from the panic he was 
 in, he then lifted the old knight in his arms, 
 and with great difficulty conveyed him down 
 the narrow stair to his own apartment. Hor- 
 ror was depicted in the faces of the domestics 
 when they beheld the hated but dreaded monster 
 bearing the bulky and apparently lifeless body 
 of their beloved master. A wild cry of grief and 
 apprehension burst from them. The Ancient 
 laid Sir Walter on the bed, and, as the atten-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 227 
 
 dants stood aloof and aghast, he took up a 
 small knife that lay near, and pierced the veins 
 of both temples with the point of it. The blood 
 spouted forth, and the knight began to show 
 faint symptoms of life. Never negligent of any 
 circumstance that might raise his reputation for 
 supernatural power, the Ancient now began to 
 employ a number of strange necromantic signs, 
 and to utter a jargon of unintelligible words in 
 a low muttering tone, laying his hand at one 
 time on the face, and at another on the breast, 
 of the semi-animate body, that he might impress 
 the by-standers with the idea of his magic having 
 restored Sir Walter to life ; for, seeing the blood 
 flow so freely, he anticipated the immediate and 
 perfect recovery of the patient. But he was mis- 
 taken in the extent of his hopes. Sir Walter 
 opened his eyes, stared wildly about him, and 
 moved his lips as if endeavouring to speak; 
 but he continued to lie on his back, altogether 
 motionless, and quite incapable of uttering a 
 word. 
 
 The dismayed Ancient shuffled out of the 
 apartment, and hastily retired to his lofty cita- 
 del. A murmur of disapprobation broke out 
 among the domestics the moment he was sup- 
 posed to be beyond hearing. They crowded 
 about their master's bed-side, every one eager
 
 228 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 to do something. All manner of restoratives 
 were tried with him, hut in vain. He seemed 
 to he perfectly unconscious of what they did, 
 and he lay sunk in a lethargy, from which no- 
 thing could rouse him. 
 
 Sir Walter was the idol of his people and 
 garrison. By degrees the melancholy news 
 spread through the keep of the Castle, and 
 thence into its courts, barracks, stables, guard- 
 houses, and along its very ramparts, until every 
 soldier and sentinel in the place became aware 
 of the miserable condition of their beloved go- 
 vernor, as well as of the immediate share which 
 Master Ancient Haggerstone Fen wick, the sor- 
 cerer, had had in producing it. General la- 
 mentations arose. 
 
 " Our good Governor is bewitched !" — " The 
 monster Ancient hath bewitched him !" — " The 
 villain Fenwick drew his very blood from him 
 to help his sorcery !" — " What can be done ?" 
 — " What shall we do ?"— " Let us send forth- 
 with for some holy man." — " Let us send for 
 the pious clerk of Tilmouth Chapel, he hath 
 good lore in sike cases." 
 
 The suggestion was approved by all, and ac- 
 cordingly a horseman was instantly dispatched 
 to bring the clerk with all possible haste. The 
 messenger speedily returned, unaccompanied,
 
 THE WOLFE OF EADENOCH. 229 
 
 however, by the pious priest of Tilmouth, who 
 chanced to be sick in bed, but who had sent 
 them a wayfaring Franciscan monk, of whose 
 potent power against magic he had largely spo- 
 ken. The holy man was immediately ushered 
 into the Governor's apartment. Having pre- 
 viously taken care to inform himself of all the 
 particulars of the case, from the horseman be- 
 hind whom he had been brought, he approach- 
 ed the bed with a solemn air, and surveyed Sir 
 Walter for some time, as if in deep considera- 
 tion of his state and appearance, with intent to 
 discover his malady. He looked into his eyes, 
 felt him carefully all over, and moved his help- 
 less legs and arms to and fro. Meanwhile the 
 officers of the garrison, the attendants, and even 
 some of the soldiers, were awaiting anxiously in 
 the room, about the door, on the stairs, and on 
 the bridge below, all eager to learn the issue of 
 his examination. 
 
 " Sir Walter de Selby is bewitched," said the 
 Franciscan at length, " and no human power 
 can now restore him, so long as the wretch, 
 whoever he may be, who hath done this foul 
 work on him, shall be permitted to live. If he 
 be known, therefore, let him be forthwith seized 
 and dragged to the flames." 
 
 An indignant murmur of approbation fol-
 
 2^0 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 lowed this announcement, and soon spread to 
 those on the stairs, and from them to the sol- 
 diers in the court-yard below. Fortified by the 
 spiritual aid of a holy friar, the most supersti- 
 tious of them lost half of their dread of the An- 
 cient's supernatural powers. 
 
 " Burn the Ancient !" cried one. — " Burn 
 Haggerstone Fen wick !" cried another. — " Burn 
 the Wizard Fenwick !" cried a third. — " Faggots 
 there — faggots in the court-yard !" — " Raise a 
 pile as high as the keep !" — " Faggots !" — 
 " Fire !"— " Burn the Ancient !"— " Burn the 
 Wizard !" flew from mouth to mouth. All was 
 instant ferment. Some ran this way, and others 
 that, to bring billets of wood, and to prepare 
 the pile of expiation ; so that, in a short time, 
 it was built up to a height sufficient to have 
 burnt the Ancient, if his altitude had been dou- 
 ble what it really was. 
 
 This being completed, the next cry was — 
 " Seize the Ancient — seize him, and bring him 
 down !" But this was altogether a different 
 matter; for although every one most readily 
 joined in the cry, no one seemed disposed to 
 lead the way in carrying the general wish into 
 effect. The friar assumed an air of command — 
 
 " Let no one move," said he, " until I shall 
 have communed with the wretch. I shall my-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 231 
 
 self ascend to his den, and endeavour to bend his 
 wicked heart to undo the evil he hath wrought 
 on the good Sir Walter. But let some chosen 
 and determined men be within call, for should 
 I find him hardened and obdurate, he must 
 forthwith be led out to suffer for his foul sor- 
 cery. Meanwhile let all be quiet, let no sound 
 be uttered, until I shall be heard to pronounce, 
 in a loud voice, this terrible malison, ' Body 
 and soid, to the flames I doom thee !' Then let 
 them up without delay on him, and he shall be 
 straightway overcome.' ' 
 
 The Franciscan was listened to with the most 
 profound deference, his commands were im- 
 plicitly obeyed, and every sound, both within 
 and without the Castle, was from that moment 
 hushed.
 
 232 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The Ancient Haggerstone Fenwick had been 
 by no means comfortable in his thoughts after 
 he had retreated to the solitude of his cap-house, 
 and had in fact anticipated in some degree the 
 effect which would result from the state of insen- 
 sibility Sir Walter had been thrown into. He 
 was aware that the Aery mummery he had en- 
 acted over him, when he expected his immediate 
 resuscitation, instead of operating, as in that 
 event it would have done, to raise his fame as a 
 healing magician, would now be the means of 
 fixing on him the supposed crime of having pro- 
 duced his malady, and strengthened it by wicked 
 sorcery. But he by no means expected that the 
 irritation against him would be so speedy or 
 so violent in its operation as it really proved, 
 and he perhaps trusted for his safety from any 
 sudden attack to the dread with which he well 
 knew his very name inspired every one in the 
 garrison.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEKOCH. 233 
 
 He had crept into the farther corner of his 
 den, where, in the present distracted state of his 
 mind, it did not even occur to him to extinguish 
 the lamp he had left burning, or to let in the 
 daylight he had excluded. There he sat, brood- 
 ing over the unfortunate issue of his divination, 
 in very uneasy contemplation of the danger that 
 threatened him in consequence, distant though 
 he then thought it. A coward in his heart, he 
 began to curse himself for having tried schemes 
 which now seemed likely to end so fatally for 
 himself. He turned over a variety of plans for 
 securing his safety, but, after all his cogitation, 
 flight alone seemed to be the only one that was 
 likely to be really available. But then Sir 
 Walter might recover; in which case he might 
 still obtain the credit of his recovery, and his 
 ambitious schemes be yet crowned with suc- 
 cess. Thus the devil again tempted him ; and 
 he finally resolved to wait patiently until night, 
 which was by this time at hand, and then steal 
 quietly down to ascertain Sir Walter's state, 
 and act accordingly. Should he find him worse, 
 or even no better than when he left him, he 
 resolved to go secretly to the ramparts, there 
 to undo some of the ropes of the warlike en- 
 gines that defended the walls, and to let him- 
 self down by means of them at a part where
 
 234 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 he knew the height would be least formidable, 
 and so to effect his escape. 
 
 Occupied as the Ancient was with these 
 thoughts, although he had heard the clamours 
 and shouts rising from below, yet, buried in 
 the farthest corner of his den, they came to his 
 ear like the murmurs of a far distant storm ; and 
 accustomed to the every-day noise of a crowded 
 garrison, they did not even strike him as at all 
 extraordinary. 
 
 To divert these apprehensions which he could 
 by no means allay, he opened one of his favour- 
 ite books, and endeavoured to occupy himself 
 in his usual study; but his mind wandered in 
 spite of all his exertions to keep it fixed, and he 
 turned the leaves, and traced the lines with his 
 eyes without being in the least conscious of the 
 meaning they conveyed. He roused himself, 
 and began reading aloud, as if he could have 
 talked himself into quiet by the very sound of 
 his own voice. He went on without at first 
 perceiving the particular nature of the passage 
 he had stumbled on ; but his attention being 
 now called to it, he was somewhat horrified to 
 observe that it contained the form of exorcism 
 employed for raising the devil in person. By 
 some unaccountable fatality, he went on with 
 it, wishing all the while that he had never be-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 235 
 
 gun it, but yet most strangely afraid to stop ; 
 until at length, approaching the conclusion, he 
 ended with these terrible words, — " Sathanas, 
 Sathanas, Sathanas, Sathanas, Prince of Dark- 
 ness, appear !" 
 
 He stopped, and looked fearfully around him, 
 as soon as they had passed his lips. The door 
 of the place slowly opened, and the head of the 
 very Franciscan monk who had formerly visited 
 him, the face deeply shaded by the projecting 
 cowl, was thrust within the doorway. 
 
 " I am here — what would'st thou with me ? ,J 
 said he, in a deep and hollow voice. 
 
 The Ancient threw himself upon his knees, 
 and drew back his body into the corner. His 
 teeth chattered in his head, and he was deprived 
 of speech. He covered his eyes with his hands, 
 as if afraid to look upon the object of his dread. 
 He now verily believed that he had been for- 
 merly visited by the Devil, and that the Arch- 
 Fiend had again returned to carry him away. 
 The Franciscan crouched, and glided forward 
 into the middle of the place. 
 
 " What becomes of him, lossel," said he, in 
 a tremendous voice — " What becomes of him 
 who takes the Devil's wages, and doeth not his 
 work ? What becomes of him who vainly tries 
 to deceive the Devil his master ? Fool ! didst
 
 236 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 thou not believe that I was the Prince of Dark- 
 
 ness 
 
 ?» 
 
 The terrified Ancient had now no doubt that 
 lie was indeed the Devil ; still he kept his hands 
 over his eyes, and drew himself yet more up, 
 in dread that every succeeding moment he 
 should feel himself clutched by his fiery fangs. 
 
 " Hast thou not tried to cheat me, wretch — 
 me, who cannot but know all things ?" conti- 
 tinued the Franciscan. 
 
 " Oh, spare me, spare me ! — I confess, J 
 confess. — Avaunt thee, Sathanas ! — Spare ! — 
 Avaunt ! — Spare me, Sathanas !" muttered the 
 miserable wretch, altogether unconscious of what 
 he uttered. 
 
 " Spare thee, thou vile slave !" cried thv 
 Franciscan with bitterness, " I never spared 
 mortal that once roused my vengeance ; and 
 thou hast roused mine to red-hot fury. An- 
 swer me, and remember it is vain to attempt 
 concealment with me — Didst thou not fail of 
 thy promise to rouse Sir Walter de Selby t<< 
 my purpose, as it affected Sir Rafe Piersie ?" 
 
 " Oh, I did, I did — Oh, spare me, spare mo. 
 Sathanas !" cried the Ancient. 
 
 " Didst thou not rather stir him up to re- 
 ject and spurn the noble knight?" demanded 
 the Franciscan.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 237 
 
 "Oh, yes, I did — Oh, yes — Spare me, spare 
 me ! — Avaunt thee, Sathanas ! — Spare me — 
 Oh, spare me !" 
 
 " Spare thee !" cried the Franciscan, with a 
 horrid laugh of contempt- — " spare thee ! What 
 mercy canst thou hope from me ? No, thou art 
 given up to my power, not to be spared, but to 
 be punished. Thine acts of sorcery, which have 
 murdered Sir Walter de Selby, have put thee 
 beyond the pale of mercy, nor canst thou now 
 look elsewhere for aid. — Thou art fitting food 
 for hell," continued he, with a fiendlike grin of 
 satisfaction ; and retreating slowly out of the 
 doorway, and raising his voice into a shriek, 
 that re-echoed from every projection and turret 
 of the building, he pronounced the last fatal 
 words, " Body and soul, to the flames I doom 
 thee!" 
 
 An instantaneous shout arose from the court- 
 yard below, and a clamour of many voices came 
 rapidly up the stairs in the interior of the keep. 
 It quickly swelled upon the ear, and the clat- 
 tering noise of many feet was heard approach- 
 ing. Out they came on the platform of the 
 keep, one by one, as they could scramble forth 
 and as the stoutest spirits naturally mounted 
 first, the Franciscan was instantly surrounded
 
 238 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 by a body of the most determined hearts in the 
 garrison. 
 
 " In on the servant of Sathanas," cried he ; 
 " in on the cruel sorcerer, who hath bewitched 
 thine unhappy Governor, and who refuseth to 
 save him again; in on the monster, tear him 
 from his den, and drag him to the flames. Fear 
 him not ; his supernatural powers are cpienched. 
 Behold !" and pulling a wooden crosslet from 
 his bosom, he held it up to their view — " In on 
 him, I say, and seize him." 
 
 The door was instantly forced open, and one 
 or two of the boldest entered first ; then two or 
 three more followed, to the number of half a 
 dozen in all, for the place could hardly contain 
 more. The Ancient had now become frantic 
 from terror, and his reason so far forsook him, 
 that he saw not or knew not the faces of those 
 who came in on him to attack him, though 
 many of them were familiar to him ; he was 
 fully possessed with the idea that a legion of 
 devils were about to assail him, to drag him 
 down to instant and eternal punishment. They 
 sprang upon him at once by general concert. 
 The Ancient was an arrant coward ; but a cow- 
 ard so circumstanced will fight to the last, even 
 against an infernal host ; and so he did, with 
 the desperation of a maniac. In the interior of
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 239 
 
 the place, the scuffle was tremendous ; the very 
 walls and roof of it seemed to heave and lahour 
 with its tumultuous contents. The keep itself 
 shook to its foundation, and the shrieks, groans, 
 and curses that came from within appalled the 
 by-standers. 
 
 " Pick-axes, crows, and hatchets !" cried the 
 friar ; and the implements were brought with 
 the utmost expedition at his command. 
 
 " Unroof his den," cried he again ; and two 
 or three of the stoutest men mounted forthwith 
 on the flags of the roof, and by means of the 
 crows and pick-axes, began to tear them up 
 with so much expedition, that they very soon 
 laid the wood bare, and following up their work 
 of devastation with the same energy, speedily 
 and entirely demolished the roof, letting in the 
 little light that yet remained of day upon the 
 combatants. 
 
 The Ancient Fen wick was now discovered 
 lying on his back, his jaws wide open, his huge 
 tusks displayed, and his mouth covered with 
 foam, while his opponents were clustered over 
 him, like ants employed in overpowering a huge 
 beetle. All their efforts to drag him out at the 
 door had been quite unavailing. Though there 
 were no weapons of edge or point among the 
 combatants, many severe wounds and blows
 
 240 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 had been given and received, and blood flowed 
 on the pavement in abundance. The Ancient's 
 teeth seemed to have done him good service after 
 his arms had been mastered and rendered in- 
 effectual to him, for many of his assailants bore 
 deep and lasting impressions of his jaws on 
 their hands and faces. 
 
 " In on the savage wizard now, overwhelm 
 and bind him," cried the Franciscan, with a 
 devilish laugh of triumph. 
 
 At his word they scaled the roofless walls, and 
 jumped down on the miserable wretch in such 
 numbers, that the place was literally packed. 
 But the more that came on him, the more fu- 
 riously the Ancient defended himself, kicking, 
 and heaving, and tossing some of them, till one 
 of their number, laying his hand on a huge fo- 
 lio, made use of his code of necromancy against 
 himself, and gave him a knock on the head that 
 stunned him, and rendered him for some time 
 insensible. Taking advantage of this circum- 
 stance, cords were hastily employed to bind his 
 arms behind him ; and a set of ropes being pass- 
 ed under him, he was with great difficulty hoist- 
 ed from his den, and laid out at length upon 
 the platform of the keep. There he lay, breath- 
 ing to be sure, but in a temporary state of per- 
 fect insensibility.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 241 
 
 Availing themselves of the swoon into which 
 he had fallen, the assailants hegan to hold coun- 
 cil how they were to get his unwieldy and un- 
 manageable carcase down to the courtyard. To 
 have attempted to carry it by the stairs would 
 have been hopeless ; a week would have hardly 
 sufficed to have manoeuvred it through their 
 narrow intricacies. The only possible mode, 
 therefore, was to let him down by means of 
 ropes, over the outside walls of the keep. Ac- 
 cordingly strong loops were passed around his 
 legs, and under his arm-pits ; and by the united 
 exertions of some dozen of men, he was lifted 
 up and projected over the battlements. 
 
 As they were lowering him down slowly and 
 with great care, the wretched Ancient, recover- 
 ing from his swoon, found himself dreadfully 
 suspended between sky and earth ; and looking 
 upwards, and beholding the grim faces of the 
 men who managed the ropes scowling over the 
 battlements, strongly illuminated by the light 
 of the torches they held, he was more than ever 
 convinced that they were demons, nor did he 
 doubt that he was in the very commencement 
 of those torments of the nether world, which 
 he had been condemned to undergo for his ini- 
 quity. He shrieked and kicked, and made such 
 exertions, that the very ropes cracked, so that 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 242 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 he ran imminent risk of breaking them, and 
 of tumbling headlong to the bottom. Afraid 
 of this, the people above began to lower him 
 away more quickly, and the darkness below not 
 permitting them to see the ground, so as to 
 know when he had nearly reached it, his head 
 came so rudely in contact with it, that he was 
 again thrown into a state of insensibility. 
 
 The whole men of the garrison, both within 
 and without the keep, having now assembled 
 around him, a white sheet was brought out by 
 order of the Franciscan, and he was clothed in 
 it as with a loose robe. A black cross was then 
 painted on the breast, and another on the back 
 of it, from the charitable motive of saving his 
 soul from the hands of the Devil, after it should 
 be purified from its sins by the fire his body 
 was destined to undergo. A parchment cap of 
 considerable altitude, and also ornamented with 
 crosses, was next tied upon his head ; and two 
 long flambeaux were bound firmly, one on each 
 side, above his ears. He was then carried to 
 the pile of wood, and extended at length upon 
 the top of it. The torches attached to his head 
 were lighted, and the Franciscan, approaching 
 the pile with a variety of ceremonies, set fire to 
 it with much solemnity ; a grim smile of inward 
 satisfaction lighting up his dark and stern fea- 
 tures as he did so.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 2^3 
 
 t; Thus," said he, " let all wizards and sor- 
 cerers perish, and thus let their cruel enchant- 
 ments end with them." 
 
 The anticipation of the horrific scene which 
 was to ensue operated so powerfully on the vul- 
 gar crowd around, that a dead silence prevail- 
 ed ; and even those who, a few minutes before, 
 had shouted loudest, and fought most furiously 
 against the Ancient, now that they beheld the 
 wretched victim laid upon the pile, and the fire 
 slowly gaining strength, and rising more and 
 more towards him — already hearing in fancy 
 the piercing agony of his screams, and behold- 
 ing in idea the horrible spectacle of his half-con- 
 sumed limbs writhing with the torture of the 
 flames — stood aloof, and, folding their sinewy 
 arms and knitting their brows, half averted their 
 eyes from the painful spectacle. 
 
 Up rose the curling smoke, until the whole 
 summit of the broad and lofty keep was en- 
 veloped in its murky folds ; while the flames, 
 shooting in all directions through the crackling 
 wood, began already to produce an intolera- 
 ble heat under the wretched and devoted man, 
 though they had not yet mounted so high as to 
 catch the sheet he was wrapt in. Life began 
 again to return to him. He stretched himself, 
 and turned his head round first to the right,
 
 244 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 and then to the left ; and, beholding the dense 
 group of soldiers on all sides of him, their eyes 
 glaring red on him, from the reflection of the 
 flame that was bursting from beneath him, and 
 being now sensible of the intolerable heat, and 
 half suffocated with the gusts of smoke that 
 blew about him, his belief that he was in the 
 hands of demons, and that his eternal fiery pu- 
 nishment was commencing, was more than ever 
 confirmed. He bellowed, writhed, and strug- 
 gled ; and his bodily strength, which was at all 
 times enormous, being now increased tenfold 
 by the horrors that beset him, he made one fu- 
 rious exertion, and, snapping the cords which 
 bound his arms behind, and which, fortunately 
 for him, had been weaker than they otherwise 
 would have been, had those who tied them not 
 believed that he was already nearly exanimate, 
 he sprang to his feet, and rent open the front 
 of the white robe they had put round him. Down 
 came the immense and loosely-constructed pile 
 of faggots, by the sheer force of his weight 
 alone, and onward he rushed, with the force 
 and fury of an enraged elephant, overturning 
 all who ventured to oppose him, or who could 
 not get out of his way, the flambeaux blazing 
 at his head, and his long white robe streaming 
 behind him, and exposing the close black frieze
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 245 
 
 dress he usually wore. The guards and senti- 
 nels at the first gate, aware of what was going 
 on, and conceiving it impossible for human 
 power to escape, after the precautions which 
 had been taken, when they saw the terrible fi- 
 gure advancing towards them, with what ap- 
 peared to them to be a couple of fiery horns on 
 his head, abandoned their posts and fled in ter- 
 ror. Those at the outer gate were no less fright- 
 ened, and retreated with equal expedition. But 
 the drawbridge was up. Luckily for the An- 
 cient, however, he, like many other fortunate 
 men, was on the right side for his own interest 
 on this occasion. Without hesitation he put the 
 enormous sole of one foot against it, — down it 
 rattled in an instant, chains and all, and he 
 thundered along it. 
 
 By this time the panic-stricken soldiers of 
 the garrison had recovered from their alarm, 
 and started with shouts after the fugitive, being 
 now again as eager to take him, and much more 
 ready to sacrifice him when taken, than they 
 had even been before. On they hurried after 
 him, yelling like a pack of hounds, and cheered 
 to the chase by the revengeful and bloodthirsty 
 Franciscan, their pursuit being directed by the 
 flaming torches at his head; and forward he 
 strode down the hollow way to the mead of
 
 246 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Norham, and, dreading capture worse than deatli 
 itself, he darted across the flat ground, flaming 
 like a meteor, and, dashing at once into the 
 foaming stream of the Tweed, began wading 
 across through a depth of water enough to have 
 drowned any ordinary man ; until at length, 
 partly by swashing, and partly by swimming, 
 during which last operation the lights he bore 
 on his head were extinguished, he made his way 
 fairly into Scotland. 
 
 His pursuers halted in amazement. The whole 
 time occupied in his escape seemed to have been 
 but as a few minutes. Fear once more fell upon 
 them, and they talked to one another in broken 
 sentences, and half-smothered voices. 
 
 " Surely," said one, " the Devil, whose ser- 
 vant he was, must have aided him." 
 
 " Ay, ay, that's clear enow," said another. 
 
 " He was stone-dead, and came miraculously 
 alive again," said a third. 
 
 " Nay," said a fourth, M he came not alive 
 again ; 'twas but the Devil that took possession 
 of his dead body." 
 
 " In good troth thou hast hit it, Gregory," 
 said a fifth, with an expression of horror ; " for 
 no one but the Devil himself could have broken 
 the cords that tied his hands, or kicked down 
 the drawbridge after such a fashion."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 247 
 
 " Didst see how he walked on the water ?" 
 cried a sixth. 
 
 " Ay," said a seventh, " and how he vanished 
 in the middle o* Tweed in a flash o' fire that 
 made the very water burn again ?" 
 
 Having thus wrought themselves into a be- 
 lief that the spectre they had been following 
 was no other than the Devil flying off with the 
 already exanimate body of Ancient Fenwick, 
 they trembled at the very idea of having pur- 
 sued him ; and they crept silently back to the 
 garrison, the blood in their veins freezing with 
 terror, and crossing themselves from time to 
 time as they went. 
 
 As for the Franciscan, he disappeared, no one 
 knew how.
 
 248 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 Sin John Assueton's fury and distraction 
 carried him on with great rapidity, until he 
 reached the banks of the Tweed, and his own 
 horse* as well as the horses of his small troop 
 of spearmen, were right glad to lave their smo- 
 king sides in its cool current, as he boldly swam 
 them to the English shore. He tarried but short 
 time by the way, to refresh either them or his 
 men ; and towards nightfall, found himself wind- 
 ing into a green glen, thickly wooded in some 
 parts, opening in smooth pasture in others, and 
 watered by one of those brisk streams that de- 
 scend into Northumberland from the Cheviot 
 hills. 
 
 The sight of those lofty elevations, now so 
 near him, brought the object of his hasty march 
 more freshly to his mind, too much agitated 
 hitherto by the violence of the various passions 
 that possessed it, to permit him to act or think 
 coolly. But he began now to reflect, that al-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 249 
 
 though he had learned that the Castle of Bums- 
 tower, to which Sir Mi'ers de Willoughby was 
 supposed to have carried off the Lady Isabelle, 
 lay somewhere among the intricacies of these 
 hills, his rage and impatience had never allowed 
 him to inquire further, or to advert to the very 
 obvious circumstance of the extent of the hilly 
 range, which was so great, that he might search 
 for many days before he could discover the spot 
 where it was situated. It was therefore abso- 
 lutely necessary that he should avail himself of 
 the very first opportunity which occurred of 
 procuring information, both as to the Castle he 
 was in search of, and the owner of it, of whom 
 he had in reality as yet learned nothing. He 
 rode slowly up the glen, therefore, in expecta- 
 tion of seeing some cottage, where he might 
 halt for a short time to gain intelligence, or of 
 meeting some peasant, from whom he might 
 adroitly gather the information he wanted, with- 
 out exciting suspicion as to the nature of his 
 errand. 
 
 Fortune seemed to be so far favourable to 
 him, that he had not ridden any great distance 
 ere he descried a forester, standing under a 
 wide -spreading oak, by the side of a little glade, 
 where the glen was narrowest. He had a cross- 
 l2
 
 250 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 bow in his hand, and appeared to be on the 
 watch for deer. 
 
 " Ho, forester," cried Assueton to him, 
 " methinks thou hast chosen a likely pass here 
 for the game ; hast thou sped to-day ?" 
 
 " Not so far amiss as to that," said the fo- 
 rester, carelessly leaving his stand, and loun- 
 ging towards the party, as if to reconnoitre 
 them. 
 
 " Dost thou hunt alone, my good fellow ?" 
 said the knight. 
 
 " N-nay," said the forester, with hesitation ; 
 " there be more of us in company a short way 
 off." 
 
 " Hast thou any cottage or place of shelter 
 hereabouts, where hungry travellers might have 
 a mouthful of food, with provender, and an hour's 
 rest for our weary beasts ?" demanded Assue- 
 ton. " Here's money for thee." 
 
 " As to a cottage like," replied the forester, 
 " I trow there be not many of them in these 
 wilds ; but an thou wilt yede thee wi' me, thou 
 shalt share the supper my comrades must be 
 cooking ere this time ; and as for thy beasts, 
 they canna be muckell to dole for, where the 
 grass grows aneath their feet. Thy money we 
 care not for." 
 
 " Thine offer is fair and kind, good forester," 

 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 251 
 
 said Assueton ; " we shall on with thee right 
 gladly, and give thee good thanks for thy syl- 
 van hospitality, such as it may be. Lead on 
 then." 
 
 The forester, without more words, walked 
 cleverly on before Sir John Assueton, who fol- 
 lowed him at the head of his party. As they 
 advanced a little way, the wooding of the glen 
 became much more dense, and rocks projecting 
 themselves from the base of the hills on either 
 side, rendered the passage in the bottom between 
 them and the stream excessively narrow, so that 
 the men of the party could only move on singly, 
 and were more than once obliged to dismount 
 to lead their horses. The way seemed to be very 
 long, and night came on to increase its diffi- 
 culties. Assueton' s impatience more than once 
 tempted him to complain of it ; but he restrain- 
 ed himself, lest his eagerness might excite sus- 
 picion that he had some secret and important 
 hostile object in view, and that he might thus 
 lose all chance of gaining the information he so 
 much wanted. He kept as close as he possibly 
 could to his guide, however, for he began to 
 have strange doubts that he might be leading 
 him into some ambush ; and he had resolved 
 within his own mind to seize and sacrifice him.
 
 252 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the instant he had reason to be convinced he 
 had betrayed them. 
 
 After forcing their way through a very wild 
 pass, where the rocks on both sides towered up 
 their bold and lofty fronts, the glen widened, and 
 the party entered a little gently-sloping glade or 
 holme, bounded by the high and thickly-wood- 
 ed banks, which here retired from the side of 
 the stream, and swept irregularly around it. A 
 blazing fire appeared among the trees. 
 
 " Ay," said the forester, " these are my com- 
 rades : I reckon we come in good time, for yon- 
 der be the supper a-cooking." 
 
 The party now crossed through the luxuriant 
 pasture, that, moistened with the evening dew, 
 was giving out a thousand mingled perfumes 
 from the wild flowers that grew in it, and spee- 
 dily came within view of about a dozen men, 
 clad in the same woodland garb worn by their 
 guide. Some of them were sitting about the 
 fire, engaged in roasting and broiling fragments 
 of venison ; while others were loitering among 
 the trees, or sitting under their shade. A num- 
 ber of cross-bows and long-bows hung from the 
 branches, several spears rested against their 
 stems ; and these, with swords, daggers, and 
 anelaces, seemed to compose the arms of this 
 party of hunters. They appeared to have had
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 253 
 
 good sport, for six or eight fat bucks were hang- 
 ing by the horns from the boughs overhead. 
 
 " Here is a gallant knight and his party," 
 said their guide to a man who seemed to be a 
 leader among them, " who would be glad of a 
 share of our supper." 
 
 . The person he addressed, and who came for- 
 ward to receive Assueton, was a tall and un- 
 commonly handsome man ; and although his 
 dress differed in no respect from that of the 
 others, except that he wore a more gaudy plume 
 in his hat, and that his baldrick, the sword sus- 
 pended from it. his belt and dagger, and the 
 bugle that hung from his shoulder, were all of 
 more costly materials and rarer workmanship. 
 But there was something in his appearance and 
 mien that might have graced knighthood itself. 
 He bowed courteously to Assueton. 
 
 " Sir Knight," said he, " wilt thou deign to 
 dismount from thy steed, and partake with us 
 in our woodland cheer ? Here," said he, turn- 
 ing to the people around him, " let more car- 
 cases be cut up ; there is no lack of provisions. 
 Will it please thee to rest, Sir Knight ?" 
 
 " I thank thee, good forester, for thy willing 
 hospitality," said Assueton, alighting, and gi- 
 ving his horse to his squire ; " I will rest me 
 on that green bank under the holly busket there,
 
 254« THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 and talk with thee to wile away time and be- 
 guile my hunger. This is a merry occupation 
 of thine," added he, after they had sat down 
 together. 
 
 " Ay," replied the forester, " right merry in 
 good sooth, were we left at freedom to enjoy it. 
 But, by the mass, that is not our case here, for 
 there wons in this vicinage a certain discour- 
 teous knight, who letteth no one kill a deer on 
 his ground that he may know of ; so we be for- 
 ced to steal hither, at times when we may ween 
 that he is absent, or least on the watch. The 
 red and roe-deer much abound in these glens ; 
 and, by the Rood, 'tis hard, methinks, that the 
 four-footed game should be given by nature for 
 man's food, and that he should be reft of his 
 right to take it." 
 
 " And who may this discourteous knight 
 be?" said Assueton, wishing to feel his way 
 with the stranger. 
 
 " His name," said the forester, " is Sir Miers 
 de Willoughby, of a truth, a most cruel and law- 
 less malfaitor, and as bold a Borderer as ever 
 rode through a moss. He rules everything here, 
 and gives honest folks the bit to champ, I pro- 
 mise thee. Would that some such gallant knight 
 as your worship might meet with him and hum-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 255 
 
 ble him, for verily he is a scourge to the coun- 
 try." 
 
 Sir John Assueton inwardly congratulated 
 himself upon his good luck in having thus so 
 fortunately stumbled on a man, who, having 
 himself suffered from De Willoughby's oppres- 
 sion, was manifestly so inimical to him : he 
 felt much inclined to speak out at once, but he 
 checked himself, and thought it wiser to pro- 
 ceed with caution. 
 
 " Is he so very wicked, then, this Sir Miers 
 de Willoughby of whom thou speakest ?" said 
 he to the forester. 
 
 " By the mass is he, Sir Knight," replied the 
 forester. " He will soar ye from his border, 
 keep like a falcon, and pounce on any prey that 
 may come within his ken ; and als he be so stark 
 as to others using his lands for their honest and 
 harmless occupation of hunting, by'r lady, he 
 minds not on what earth he stoops, if so be that 
 there be anything to clutch from off its surface. 
 'Twas but some three days ago that he yode 
 hence on some wicked emprise, for 'twas his 
 absence that led us hither ; and this morning, 
 as we lay concealed in these woodshaws, we 
 saw him and his men ride by this very spot, 
 bearing home with him some worthy man's 
 gentle cosset he had stowne away."
 
 256 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Assueton perfectly understood the forester 
 to have used the word cosset, a pet lamb, in a 
 metaphorical sense ; but, to draw him on, he 
 pretended to have taken him up literally. 
 
 " A cosset !" cried he, with feigned surprise. 
 " A poor pet lamb was but a wretched prey in- 
 deed for so rapacious a lorrel as thou would'st 
 make this same Sir Miers to be, good forester." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Sir Knight," replied the forester, 
 " I meant not in very simplicity a pet lamb, 
 but a fair damosel, who looked, meseemed, as 
 if she had been the gentle cosset of some fond 
 father. 'Twas a damosel, Sir Knight, a right 
 fair and beauteous damosel ; and she shrieked 
 from time to time in such piteous fashion, that, 
 by the Rood, it was clear she went not with him 
 willingly." 
 
 Assueton's blood boiled, so that it was with 
 difficulty he could longer restrain his fury. He, 
 however, kept it within such bounds as it might 
 well enough pass for the indignation natural to 
 a virtuous knight upon hearing of such foul out- 
 rage done to any damsel. 
 
 " Unworthy limb of knighthood," said he, 
 " thus to play the caitiff part of a vile lossel ! 
 Show me the way to his boure, and by the bless- 
 ed bones of the holy St Cuthbert, he shall dear- 
 ly rue his traiterie."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 257 
 
 " Marry, 'tis no wonder to see a virtuous 
 knight so enchafed at such actings," said the 
 forester ; " yet can the damosel be little to thee ; 
 and 'twere scarce, methinks, worth thy while 
 to step so far from thy path. Had she been thine 
 own lady, indeed " 
 
 " Nay," said Assueton, hastily, but endea- 
 vouring to conceal his emotion, " thou know- 
 est, good forester, that 'tis but my duty as a 
 true knight, to redress this foul wrong; and 
 whosoever the lady may be, and wheresoever I 
 may be bound, I must not scruple to step a little 
 out of my way to punish so wicked a coulpe." 
 
 " Right glad am I, Sir Knight," said the fo- 
 rester, " to see thee so ready to do battle against 
 this caitiff, Sir Miers, and full willing should I 
 be to conduct thee to the sacking of his tower ; 
 but in good verity, 'twere vain to go so accou- 
 tred and attended as thou art. He keeps spe- 
 cial good watch and ward, I promise thee, and 
 he is too much wont to have his quarters beat 
 up, not to be for ever on the alert. He hath 
 scouts stationed all around him, in such a man- 
 ner that no one may approach his stronghold of 
 Burnstower by day or by night withouten ken, 
 and he is straightway put on the alert long ere 
 he can be reached. If those who come against 
 him be strong and well armed, more than his
 
 258 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 force can overcome, then he hies him away to 
 the fastnesses of his mosses and hills, where no 
 one but the eagle may follow him, and leaves 
 only his barren walls to the fury of the besie- 
 gers. But if the party be small, and such as 
 his wiles may master, he is sure to lead them 
 into some ambush, and to put every man of 
 them to the sword. Trust me, wert thou to go 
 clad in steel, and with such a party of spear- 
 men at thy back, he would take the alarm, and 
 thou would'st either have thy journey and thy 
 trouble for thy guerdon, or thou and thy peo- 
 ple might fall by cruel traiterie." 
 
 " Then what, after all, may be the best means 
 of coming at him ?" said Assueton ; " for thou 
 hast but the more inflamed my desire to essay 
 the adventure." 
 
 The forester seemed to consider for a time — 
 " In truth," said he at length, " I see no other 
 way than one the which thou would'st spurn, 
 Sir Knight.' " 
 
 " Name it," said Assueton ; " depend on't, I 
 shall not be over nice in this affair." 
 
 " Wert thou," said the forester, " and, it 
 might be, no more than two of thy people, to 
 venture thither in disguise, with one or two of 
 us to guide thee, thou mightest peradventure 
 pass hither without begetting alarm, and be re-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 259 
 
 ceived into the Castle as lated and miswent tra- 
 vellers, lacking covert for the night. But then 
 all that would be but of small avail, for what 
 could'st thou do with thy single arm, and so 
 small a force to aid it ?" 
 
 " Nay, good forester," said Assueton, " be 
 it mine to see to that, and be it thine to bring 
 me thither. Knights are but born to conquer 
 difficulties, and, perdie, I have never yet seen 
 that which did not, with me, give greater zest 
 to the adventure I went upon. By the blessed 
 Rood, I shall with thee. Let us forthwith have 
 our disguises, then, and these two men of my 
 company," pointing to Riddel and Lindsay, 
 " shall share the glory of mine emprise. So 
 let us, I pr'ythee, snatch a hasty meal, and set 
 forward without delay." 
 
 " By the mass, but thou art a brave knight," 
 said the forester ; " yet doth it grieve me to see 
 thee go on so hopeless an errand. Nathless, I 
 shall not baulk thee, nor back of my word; 
 verily I shall wend with thee, to show thee the 
 way thither. But I would fain persuade thee 
 even yet to leave this undertaking untried." 
 
 " Nay," said Assueton, " I have said it, and 
 by God's aid I will do it, let the peril be what 
 it may ; so let us use dispatch, if it so please 
 thee."
 
 260 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Seeing that the bold and dauntless knight 
 was resolved, the forester ordered some of the 
 venison that Was by this time cooked to be set 
 before Assueton, and some also to be served to 
 those who were to accompany him ; and after 
 all had satisfied their hunger, Assueton doff- 
 ed his armour, clad himself in a suit of plain 
 Lincoln green, such as the foresters wore, and 
 unperceived by any one slipped his dagger in- 
 to his bosom. He then openly girt his trusty 
 sword by his side, and leaving orders with his 
 party to remain with the friendly foresters until 
 they should see him, or hear from him, he and 
 his two people, who were also disguised, mount- 
 ed their horses, and set off under the guidance 
 of the leader of the hunting party and two of his 
 men, whom he took with him, as he said, to 
 bear him company on his return. 

 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Their route lay up the glen, and the dark- 
 ness of the night, with the roughness of the 
 way, very much impeded their progress. At one 
 time they were led along the very margin of the 
 stream, and at another climhed diagonally up 
 the steep sides of the hills that bounded it, and 
 wound over far above, to avoid some impedi- 
 ment which blocked all passage below. Now 
 they penetrated extensive thickets of brush- 
 wood, and again wound among the tall stems 
 of luxuriant oaks, or passed, with greater ease 
 to themselves and their weary horses, over small 
 open glades among the woods. At length they 
 began to rise over the sides of the hills, to a 
 height so much beyond any that they had hi- 
 therto mounted, that Assueton thought the de- 
 viation strange and unaccountable, and was 
 tempted to put some questions to his guide. 
 
 " Whither dost thou lead us now, good fo-
 
 262 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 rester ?" said he ; " thou seemest to have aban- 
 doned the glen altogether, and methinks thou 
 art now resolved to soar to the very clouds. I 
 much question whether garron of mosstrooper 
 ever climbed such a house-wall as this." 
 
 " Sir Knight," replied the forester, " I but 
 intend to lead thee over the ridge of a hill here 
 by a curter cast. The glen maketh a wicked 
 wide courbe below, and goeth miles about. This 
 gate will save us leagues twayne, at the very 
 shortest reckoning. Trust me, I am well up to 
 all the hills and glens of these parts, by night 
 as well as by day." 
 
 " Nay, good forester," said Assueton, " I 
 doubt thee not ; but, by our Lady, this seemeth 
 to me to be a marvellous uncouth path." 
 
 " T'other, indeed, is better, Sir Knight," said 
 the forester; " but bad as this may be, 'twill 
 haine us a good hour's time of travel." 
 
 Assueton was satisfied with this explanation, 
 and the ground getting more level as they ad- 
 vanced, he soon discovered that they were cross- 
 ing a wild ridge of moorland, and hoped that 
 the impediments to a speedier progress would 
 be fewer. But the way seemed, if possible, 
 to be even more puzzling and difficult than 
 ever. They wound round in one direction, and 
 then went zigzag to the opposite point of the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 263 
 
 compass ; then they wormed their way through 
 bogs and mosses — then stretched away Heaven 
 knows where, and then making a little detour, 
 they (as it seemed to Assueton) returned again 
 in a line nearly parallel to that which they had 
 just pursued. Hours appeared to glide away in 
 this wearisome and endless maze, and Assue- 
 ton^ impatience became excessive. 
 
 " Good forester," said he, " methinks we are 
 never to get out of this enchanted labyrinth." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," said the forester, " 'tis 
 an enchanted labyrinth in good soberness ; for, 
 verily, full many a good steed hath been ygra- 
 ven in the flows that surround us. There be 
 quaking bogs here that would swallow a good- 
 sized tower. Nay, halt thee, Sir Knight, thou 
 must of needscost turn thee this gate again." 
 
 " By St Cuthbert," said Assueton, " meseems 
 it a miracle that thou should'st have memory 
 to help thee to thread the intricacies of so puz- 
 zling a path, maugre the darkness that yet pre- 
 vails." 
 
 " 'Tis indeed mirk as a coal mine," said the 
 forester, " but I look for the moon anon." 
 
 After better than half an hour more of such 
 travelling as we have described, they at length 
 wound down a very precipitous hill, where their 
 necks were in considerable peril, and found
 
 264 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 themselves again in the glen, and by the side 
 of its stream. As well as Assueton could guess, 
 they had now travelled fully three or four hours, 
 the greater part of which time they had spent 
 on the high ground. The state of their horses, 
 too, bore out his calculation, for they showed 
 symptoms of great exhaustion, from this so large 
 addition to the previous severe journey. They 
 pushed them on, however, as fast as the nature 
 of the ground would admit, the glen presenting 
 the same variety of woods, glades, and thickets, 
 it had formerly done. 
 
 At length they came to a place where the 
 hills approached on each side, and the glen nar- 
 rowed to a wild gorge, where all passage was 
 denied below, except for the stream, and they 
 were consequently again compelled to ascend 
 the abrupt banks by a diagonal path. But 
 they had no sooner gained the summit, than 
 the moon arose, and threw its silver light full 
 over the scene into which they were about to 
 advance. Above the gorge, the valley was split 
 into two distinct glens, or rather deep ravines, 
 that each poured out its stream, and these, uni- 
 ting together, formed that which they, had so 
 long traced upwards. Above the point of their 
 union arose a green-headed eminence, swelling 
 from among the rich woods that everywhere
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 265 
 
 clothed it, and all the other lower parts of the 
 space within their view. The round top of the 
 eminence was crowned with a rude Border 
 Tower ; and the whole was hacked, a good way 
 behind, by a semicircular range of hilly ridges. 
 The moonlight shone powerfully on the build- 
 ing, the keep of which seemed to be of no great 
 size, but very strong in itself; and the outworks, 
 consisting of massive walls defended here and 
 there by round towers, showed that it was a 
 stronghold where determined men might make 
 a powerful resistance. 
 
 " Yonder is the peel of Burnstower," said 
 the forester, pointing to it ; " thou must ford 
 the stream there below, under the hill whereon 
 it stands, and so make thy way up through the 
 woods by a narrow path, that will lead thee to 
 the yate. I shall yet go with thee as far as the 
 ford, to show thee the right gate through the wa- 
 ter ; but I must then bid thee farewell, nor canst 
 thou lack mine aid any longer." 
 
 " Good forester," said Assueton, " certes 
 thou hast merited the guerdon of my best thanks 
 for thine obliging and toilsome convoy. When 
 I join thee again, trust me they shall be cheer- 
 fully paid thee, together with what more solid 
 warison thou mayest see fit to accept, in token 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 266 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 of my gratitude. Meanwhile, I beseech thee 
 take good charge of my brave men." 
 
 " Nay, fear me not in that, Sir Knight," said 
 the forester ; "they shall be well looked after, 
 I promise thee* My men have doubtless al- 
 ready taken good care of them and of their 
 steeds too." 
 
 Having descended the hill, they pushed their 
 way through the opposing brushwood, and 
 reached the bank of one of the streams, imme- 
 diately above the spot where it united itself to 
 the other. The forester indicated the ford to 
 Assueton, and then took an abrupt leave, diving 
 into the thicket with his two followers. 
 
 Assueton stood for a moment on the brink of 
 the stream before he entered, and took that op- 
 portunity of telling his two attendants to be 
 particularly on their guard, to watch his eye, at- 
 tend to his signals, and be ready to act as these 
 might appear to suggest to them. They were 
 also to bear in mind, that for the present they 
 were to pass as equals. He then cautiously 
 entered the ford, and, followed by Riddel and 
 Lindsay, soon reached the farther bank. 
 
 They now found themselves on a low grassy 
 tongue of land, which shot out between the two 
 streams from the woods at the base of the emi- 
 nence the Castle stood on, and which, though
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 267 
 
 of considerable length, was nowhere more than 
 a few yards wide. Along this they pushed 
 their horses, as fast as the weary animals could 
 advance. A few trees straggled down over it 
 at the farther extremity, where it united itself 
 to the base of the hill ; and just as they had 
 entered among these, all their horses were at 
 one and the same moment tumbled headlong 
 on the ground. An instant shout arose from 
 the thickets on either side, and about a dozen 
 men sprang from them on the prostrate riders ; 
 and, after a short and ineffectual struggle on 
 their part, Assueton and his two attendants 
 were bound hand and foot, and blindfolded. 
 All this time not a word was spoken ; and ex- 
 cepting the shouts that were the signal of the 
 onset, not a sound was heard. But the prey 
 was no sooner fairly mastered, than a loud bu- 
 gle-blast was blown, and immediately answer- 
 ed by another, that rung from the woods at 
 some distance. The horses were then extri- 
 cated from the toils of ropes which had been 
 so treacherously though ingeniously employed 
 to ensure their prostration, and on regaining 
 their legs, their late riders were lifted up, and 
 laid across them like sacks, and they were led 
 by the villains who had captured them up the 
 steep and devious ascent, through the thick
 
 268 THE WOLFE OF EADENOCH. 
 
 wood, to the Castle. The party then entered 
 the gateway, as Assueton judged from the noise 
 made in raising the portcullis, and the prisoners 
 being lifted from their horses, were carried each 
 by two men into the main tower. 
 
 Whither they took his two attendants, Assue- 
 ton had no means of guessing ; but he was borne 
 up a long and winding stair, as he supposed to 
 the top of the building, and then through several 
 passages. There he heard the withdrawing of 
 rusty bolts, and the heavy creaking of hinges ; 
 and being set down on the floor of his prison, 
 his arms and legs were unbound, his eyes un- 
 covered, and he was left in utter darkness and 
 amazement. 
 
 After sitting^gfor some moments to recover 
 from the surprise occasioned by this sudden and 
 unlooked-for annihilation of all his plans, and of 
 all the hopes he had cherished from them, he 
 arose, and, before yielding to despair, groped 
 his way to the walls, and felt them anxiously 
 all round. Not a crevice or aperture could he 
 discover but the doorway, and that was blocked 
 by an impregnable door, crossed and recrossed 
 by powerful bars of iron, so that he saw no 
 hope of its being moved by any strength of hu- 
 man arm, unassisted by levers or other such 
 instruments. The walls and floor were of the
 
 THE V OLFE OF BADENOCH. 269 
 
 most solid masonry in every part ; yet he felt 
 the balmy air of a soft night blow upon his face, 
 and, on looking upwards, he could just descry 
 a faint glimmer of light, that broke with diffi- 
 culty through the enormous thickness of the 
 building, by a narrow window immediately over 
 where he then stood. This opening, however, 
 was quite beyond his reach, being at least a 
 dozen feet above him. 
 
 As he moved backwards to get from under 
 the wall where the window was, that he might 
 obtain a better view of it, his head came in con- 
 tact with something hanging behind him. He 
 turned round, but his eyes were not yet suffi- 
 ciently accustomed to the obscurity, to enable 
 him to discover anything more than that there 
 was some dark object suspended from above. He 
 put up his hands to ascertain what it was, and, 
 to his inexpressible horror, felt the stiffened 
 legs of a corpse, which swung backwards and 
 forwards at his touch. Bold and firm as he was, 
 Assueton started involuntarily back, and his 
 heart revolted at the thought that he was to be 
 so mated for the night. He retired to a corner, 
 where he had discovered a heap of straw, with a 
 coarse blanket, and he sat him down on it; but it 
 immediately occurred to him that this had pro- 
 bably been the bed of the unfortunate man who
 
 270 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 now dangled lifeless from the centre of the 
 vault, and he could sit on it no longer. That 
 the poor wretch had been put to death in the 
 very chamber which had been his prison, seemed 
 to argue a degree of hardened cruelty and sum- 
 mary vengeance in those in whose power he 
 had now himself the misfortune to be, that left 
 him little room to hope for much mercy at their 
 hands. 
 
 Having moved to an opposite corner, nearly 
 under the little window, he seated himself on 
 the floor, and gave up his mind to the full bit- 
 terness of its thoughts. The first recollection 
 that presented itself was that of the Lady Isa- 
 belle, torn from her home, her father, and him- 
 self, by an unprincipled and abandoned villain. 
 His reflections on this painful theme banished 
 every thought of his own captivity, as well as 
 every speculation as to what its result might 
 be, excepting, indeed, in so far as it might affect 
 the fate of her who was now the idol of his 
 heart. He ran over his past conduct, and see- 
 ing that he coidd now have no hope of being the 
 instrument of her rescue, he blamed himself in 
 a thousand ways. He accused himself bitterly 
 for not having sent back a messenger from the 
 place where he had met Sir Walter de Selby, 
 to inform Sir Patrick Hepborne the elder of the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 271 
 
 intelligence he had obtained from the Captain 
 of Norham ; then unavailing regrets and self- 
 accusations arose within him for having ne- 
 glected to obtain more full information from 
 Sir Walter, when he had it in his power to do 
 so ; but, above all, he cursed his folly for ha- 
 ving abandoned his stout-hearted spearmen, 
 who would have backed him against any foes 
 to the last drop of their blood. He turned over 
 the circumstances of his rencontre with the 
 foresters, and, recalling the whole conduct of 
 their leader, he now began to be more than 
 half suspicious that they had played him false. 
 This last reflection made him tremble for the 
 fate of his people whom he had left with them ; 
 and remembering his guide's parting assurance, 
 " that they should be well looked after, " he felt 
 disposed to interpret it in a very opposite sense 
 to that he had put upon it at the moment it 
 was uttered. He had no doubt, that, if the 
 foresters really were villains, as he had now so 
 much reason to believe, they would easily fall 
 on means to deceive his innocent men, nay, 
 perhaps to murder them in cold blood. 
 
 He then again recurred to the Lady Isabelle. 
 Why had he gone a-hunting on the day she was 
 carried off, when he had been repeatedly warn- 
 ed, by something within his own breast, that
 
 272 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 he ought to stay at home with her ? Alas ! 
 where was she now ? The question was agony 
 to him. Could she he within these walls ? To 
 know that she, indeed, really was so, would 
 have heen cheering to him even in his present 
 state of desponding uncertainty, as it might 
 have given him some frail hope of yet heing 
 of use to her. He listened for distant sounds. 
 Faint female shrieks came from some part of the 
 building far -below. Again he heard them yet 
 more distinctly ; and full of the maddening idea 
 that they came from the Lady Isabelle, he start- 
 ed up, unconscious of what he was doing, flew 
 like a madman to the door, and began beating 
 at it with his fists, screaming out, " Villains ! 
 murderers !" But his voice, and the noise of 
 his furious knocking, returned on his ear with 
 a deadened sound, and speedily convinced him 
 that nothing could be heard from the lofty, so- 
 litary, and massive walled prison in which he 
 was immured. 
 
 With a heart torn and distracted, and almost 
 bereft of reason, he paced the floor violently 
 backwards and forwards. His ear then caught, 
 from time to time, the distant and subdued 
 shouts of merriment and laughter. These again 
 stung him to fury. 
 
 " What !" cried he aloud, " do they make
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 273 
 
 sport of her purity and her misery ? Villains ! 
 demons ! hellhounds !" And he again raved 
 ahout his prison with yet greater fury than be- 
 fore, a thousand horrible ideas arising to his 
 heated and prolific imagination. 
 
 At length he flung himself on the floor, utter- 
 ly exhausted both in body and mind by the in- 
 tensity of his sufferings, and lay for some mo- 
 ments in a state of quiet, from absolute inability 
 to give further way to the extravagance of ac- 
 tion excited by his feelings. He had not been 
 long in this state, however, when the distant 
 and faint chanting of a female voice fell upon 
 his ear. He started, and raising himself upon 
 his elbow, listened anxiously, that he might 
 drink in the minutest portion of the sound which 
 reached him. Though evidently coming from 
 some far-off chamber below, he distinctly caught 
 the notes, which he recognized to be those of a 
 hymn to the Virgin, from the vesper service. 
 The melody was sweet and soothing to his lace- 
 rated soul. Again it stole on him. 
 
 " The voice," said he to himself, " that can 
 so employ itself, must come from one who may 
 be unhappy, but who cannot suppose herself to 
 be in any very immediate peril; nor, if her 
 mind had been so lately suffering urgent alarm, 
 could she have by this time composed it so far, 
 M 2
 
 274 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 as to be able to lift it to Heaven in strains so 
 gentle and placid." 
 
 Though immediately afterwards convinced of 
 the folly of such an idea, he, for a moment, al- 
 most persuaded himself that he recognized the 
 voice of the Lady Isabelle Hepborne in that of 
 the pious chantress. He threw himself upon 
 Ms knees, and offered up his fervent orisons for 
 help in his affliction. The voice came again 
 npon him — and again he fancied he knew it to 
 he that of her he loved ; but although he found 
 himself, in sound reason, obliged to discard all 
 idea of the possibility of such a recognition, yet 
 it clung to his broken spirit, and was as a heal- 
 ing balm to it, in despite of reason. 
 
 It produced one happy effect, however, by 
 causing his agonizing thoughts to give way, at 
 last, to the immense bodily and mental fatigue 
 he had undergone. He dropped asleep on the 
 bare pavement, notwithstanding the horrors that 
 hung over him, the uncertain fate that awaited 
 him, and the complication of misery by which 
 he was oppressed.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Sir John Assueton's sleep was deep and 
 uninterrupted until the first dawn of morning, 
 when he awoke, and rubbed his eye-lids, having, 
 for a moment, forgotten where he was, and all 
 that had befallen him. The first object that pre- 
 sented itself when he looked upwards, was the 
 figure and countenance of the dead man, hang- 
 ing almost immediately over the spot where he 
 lay. The features were horribly distorted and 
 discoloured, by the last agonies of the violent 
 death he had died ; the tongue was thrust out, 
 and the projected eye-balls were staring fear- 
 fully from their sockets. The sight was appal- 
 ling and heart-sickening. 
 
 He could now observe, that the dress of the 
 unfortunate man was that of a forester. The arms 
 were rudely tied behind the back, and the body 
 was suspended from a huge iron ring, that hung 
 loose in an enormous bolt of the same metal, 
 strongly built in vertically between the key-
 
 276 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 stones of the vault, the height of which was very 
 considerable. It seemed as if the wretched man 
 had been dragged from his couch of straw to 
 instant punishment, or rather perhaps murder ; 
 for portions of the straw yet littered the floor, 
 as if dragged along with him in his ineffectual 
 struggles, and some fragments of it still adhered 
 between his ankles, to the rough woollen hose 
 he wore, as if retained there by the last dying 
 convulsion that had pressed and twisted the 
 limbs unnaturally together. Then the fatal 
 rope was not like one intended for such a use. 
 It was thicker than seemed necessary, and look- 
 ed as if it had been hastily taken, as the readi- 
 est instrument for the murderous deed. After 
 passing through the ring, where it was fastened 
 by two or three turns, it stretched down diago- 
 nally to one corner of the place, where it lost 
 itself in an immense coil. It had manifestly 
 been hastily brought there, to effect the destruc- 
 tion of the unfortunate wretch, and afterwards 
 left on the floor uncut, that it might not be ren- 
 dered unfit for the purpose to which it had been 
 originally dedicated. 
 
 It may seem strange, that Assueton should 
 have derived anything like pleasure from a spec- 
 tacle so truly appalling ; but it is nevertheless 
 true, that a faint gleam of hope broke upon the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 277 
 
 miserable despair that had possessed him. He 
 saw that the coil of rope was of sufficient ex- 
 tent, to give him good reason to believe that, 
 when untwisted, it might reach to the base of 
 the tower, at the top of which he was now con- 
 fined, if he could only detach it from what went 
 upwards, and conceal it till night. But how 
 was he to sever it? He remembered that he 
 had concealed his dagger in his bosom at the 
 time he put on his disguise. Those who seized 
 and bound him had immediately deprived him 
 of his sword, but they had not suspected his 
 being possessed of any other weapon, and his 
 dagger, therefore, had escaped their notice. He 
 drew it joyfully forth ; but just as he was about 
 to divide the rope, he paused, and observing 
 that there were at least fourteen or sixteen feet 
 stretching diagonally between the coil and the 
 ring, he hesitated to cut it. To throw away so 
 considerable a portion of it, when perhaps that 
 very piece might be essential to the preserva- 
 tion of his life, would have been the height of 
 absurdity ; yet to get at that portion there was 
 but one way, and this was so disgusting, and so 
 repugnant to his feelings, that the very idea of 
 it made him shudder. 
 
 But liberty, and perhaps life, depended on it ; 
 and what will not the desire of liberty and life
 
 278 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 
 
 compel human nature to attempt ? To him both 
 were now more precious than ever, since they 
 might yet be the means of saving her, without 
 whom he could value neither. He hesitated 
 not a moment longer, but screwing up his re- 
 solution to the revolting alternative, laid hold 
 of the legs of the dead man, swung himself up 
 from the ground, and catching at his clothes, 
 at last got the rope within his gripe, and thus 
 continued to climb, hand over hand, until he 
 reached the fatal ring. Holding by one sinewy 
 arm, he drew forth his dagger, and was again 
 on the eve of cutting the rope close to the ring, 
 when prudence once more stopped him. He 
 had been from the first aware, that it was ab- 
 solutely necessary to leave the dead body hang- 
 ing, lest, when his jailors should visit him, they 
 might have their suspicion awakened by its re- 
 moval. What made him hesitate, then, whilst 
 hanging by one arm to the ring and bolt in the 
 arch of the vault, was the idea that, by loosen- 
 ing the turns that were made in it, he might 
 be enabled to hoist up the body a few feet high- 
 er, then to fasten the turns of the rope again, 
 and thus gain so many more feet of hope. All 
 this, with immense fatigue of arm, he effect- 
 ed, and then dividing the rope with his dag- 
 ger, and descending to the floor, he lifted up
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 279 
 
 the large coil, and removing the straw of the 
 bed, he hid it underneath, covering it up with 
 the greatest care. He was fully aware of the 
 possibility of its being missed from its place, 
 sought for, and removed from the concealment 
 he had put it into; but it was also possible, 
 that the wretches who had done the deed might 
 not be among those who should come to visit 
 him, in which case its absence could never at^ 
 tract their observation. 
 
 He now sat down to consider and arrange 
 his plans. He at once saw, that it would be 
 useless to attempt his descent while day-light 
 remained, or, indeed, while the people in the 
 Castle might be supposed to be still stirring, as, 
 if he did try it then, he must do so with hardly 
 a chance of escaping detection. To lessen the 
 risk of being observed and seized, therefore, it 
 was absolutely essential that he should post- 
 pone his enterprise until night. But then the 
 risk of his rope being discovered before night 
 crossed his mind : his judgment wavered, and 
 he was filled with the most cruel and perplex- 
 ing doubts. He remembered that the state of 
 the moon, which left the earlier part of the 
 night excessively dark, made that by far the 
 most favourable time to risk his fate ; and he at 
 length determined, that, a descent in day-light
 
 280 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 being perfectly hopeless, he must be content to 
 take his chance of the other alternative. But 
 what was he to do if the rope should be missed, 
 sought for, and detected ? After some consider- 
 ation, he resolved, that in that event he would 
 draw his dagger, spring unawares on those who 
 might visit him, and so make a desperate en- 
 deavour to effect his escape, by striking down 
 all that might oppose him. 
 
 But another and a different thought now oc- 
 curred to him. What if the very first visit that 
 might be paid him should be for the purpose of 
 taking down the murdered body from the ring, 
 only to hang him up in its place ? Brave as he 
 was, he shuddered at the contemplation of such 
 a fate. He had already often faced death in 
 bloody field, led on by glory and the laudable 
 thirst of fame ; but to be hung up like a dog by 
 the hands of murderous ruffians, in this lone 
 chamber, far from every human ear or eye but 
 those of his clownish and unfeeling execu- 
 tioners, who would take small account of him 
 after witnessing his passing agonies, or perhaps 
 leave him, as they had done the wretch who 
 had gone before him, till his place was wanted 
 for a successor, and then throw his half-con- 
 sumed body into some unholy spot, over which 
 his perturbed ghost might hover, seeking in vain
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 281 
 
 for repose, — this was to strip death of the fas- 
 cinating drapery which men have contrived to 
 throw over him, and to unveil all his terrors. 
 But he steeled himself for the worst, and, re- 
 solving to wait firmly, and to act as circum- 
 stances might suggest, he determined that, hap- 
 pen what might, he would sell his life dearly, 
 should he he reduced to the unhappy alternative 
 of doing so. 
 
 With his mind thus wound up, he sat him 
 down on the couch of straw, that he might ap- 
 pear unconcerned to any one who might enter ; 
 and there he remained, waiting patiently for 
 the issue. He had been seated in this way about 
 a couple of hours, when he heard the heavy tread 
 of feet approaching along the passages. The key 
 was inserted in the lock of the door, and con- 
 siderable force exerted before it could be turned. 
 
 " Be quick with you, old churl," cried an 
 impatient voice ; " thou wilt be all day working 
 at it." 
 
 The door half opened, and two or three heads 
 were thrust in at once. Seeing their prisoner 
 calmly seated on the straw at the farther wall, 
 four men entered. One of these, a thick, squat, 
 large-headed old man, with a rough, cloddish, 
 unfeeling countenance, and long, thick, grizzled 
 hair hanging about it, was clad in a close wool-
 
 282 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 len jerkin and hauselines, and appeared to be 
 the jailor, for several enormous keys hung from 
 divers straps attached to his leathern belt. He 
 stationed himself with his back at the door. The 
 other three men were younger, but the expres- 
 sion of their features betrayed such depraved 
 and lawless spirits, as might make them ready 
 instruments to perpetrate any cruelty or crime 
 at the mere nod of a master. Their dress was 
 similar to that in which the murdered body was 
 clothed. Two of them, armed with short swords 
 in their hands, placed themselves at the door, in 
 front of the old jailor, while the third, with a 
 pewter-covered dish under his left arm, an earth- 
 en jug of ale in his left hand, and his naked 
 sword in his right, advanced a little way, and 
 deposited the provisions on the pavement. Turn- 
 ing his eyes round, he beheld the dead body 
 hanging. 
 
 " Heyday, Daniel Throckle," said he, with a 
 careless laugh to the jailor, " how earnest thou 
 to leave our comrade Tim Ord here, to keep 
 watch over this young man all night ? By the 
 mass, methinks he was but a triste companion 
 for him." 
 
 " 'Twas none o' my doing, Master Ralpho 
 Proudfoot ; 'twas Wat Withe that did the deed 
 himsell. He got the key from me, and thou
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 283 
 
 knowest he doth not ever care overmuch, so he 
 gets his job done, whether the work-shop be 
 cleaned out or no. He thinks that be none o' 
 his business." 
 
 " Nay, but, fine fellow as he thinks himself, 
 he may come and take down his own rubbish 
 for me," said Ralpho Proudfoot ; " I clean out 
 after no sike cattle, I promise thee. An thou 
 likest to do his dirty work tkou mayest, seeing 
 thou art custodier of the place." Then turning 
 to Assueton, who had sat quite still all this time, 
 " Here, sir," said he, " is thy morning's meal 
 — better eat it whiles it be hot — thou mayest 
 not have a many deal of sike like ;" and as he 
 said so, he threw his eye sideways up towards 
 the dead man. " Thou seest we be sometimes 
 rather more curt than courteous ; — thou canst 
 not tell when it may be thy turn." 
 
 " Young man," said Assueton, composedly, 
 and still without rising from his sitting posture, 
 " canst thou tell me why I have been so trai- 
 torously seized and conveyed hither, and why I 
 am thus immured, and treated as a foul felon ?" 
 
 " Nay, as to being treated like a felon, young 
 man" replied Ralpho Proudfoot, evading his 
 question, and laying particular emphasis on the 
 words in italics, " meseems 'tis but ungrateful 
 of thee to say so, seeing I have brought thee a
 
 281 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 dish of hot steaks, cut from the rump of a good 
 Scottish ront ; and then for ale, never was bet- 
 ter brewed about the roots of the Cheviots, as 
 well thou knowest, honest Daniel Throckle." 
 
 The jailor replied by a significant chuckle, 
 indicating his perfect acknowledgment of Proud- 
 foot's assertion. 
 
 " Well," continued Proudfoot, " we may e'en 
 leave thee, young man, to the full enjoyment of 
 this pleasing sunshiny day, such as thou may'st 
 have on't through yonder window on high, for 
 thou may'st see even less on't to-morrow." And, 
 wheeling round, he was on the eve of departure, 
 when he suddenly stopped — " But hold," said 
 he, " had we not better ripe him, to see that he 
 hath nothing of weapon sort about him ? Come 
 forward, young man ; and do thou, old Daniel, 
 approach, and feel his hide all over, as thou 
 wouldst do a fat sheep fed for the slaughter. 
 And who knows how soon it may be his lot ? 
 Approach, I say : we shall stand by here, and 
 see that he doeth thee no harm." 
 
 Assueton perceived that resistance would be 
 vain, and he also knew that it was unnecessary. 
 Before they entered, he had taken the precau- 
 tion to remove his dagger from his bosom, and 
 conceal it among the straw near where he sat, 
 yet in such a manner as he could have easily
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 285 
 
 seized it had he seen any necessity for using 
 it. He arose indignantly, and then, with assu- 
 med carelessness, submitted to be searched ; not, 
 however, without considerable inward alarm, 
 that they might not be contented with the mere 
 examination of his person, but proceed to rum- 
 mage the straw also. Should they do so, all his 
 hopes were gone ; but his heart kept firm, and 
 he stood with so easy and indifferent an air, that 
 the villains were soon satisfied. 
 
 " No, no," cried Proudfoot, " I see all is 
 sicker. So a jolly morning to thee, young man. 
 Come, lads, let us be trooping. We have work 
 before us, as ye well know." 
 
 " Had I not better shake up his straw for 
 him ?" said one of the others ; " he may not be 
 used to make his own bed." 
 
 " Nay, nay," said Proudfoot, " he may learn 
 to make it then ; he can never learn younger, 
 I ween. Besides, hath he not Tim Ord there to 
 help him ? — ha ! ha ! ha ! By St Roque, but 
 they will have pleasant chat together." 
 
 " Nay, Daniel Throckle," said the other man, 
 " but thee shouldest come back ere long, and 
 remove this grim mate from his dortoure." 
 
 " Umph," said Throckle, as if in doubt ; " it's 
 a plaguy long stair to climb, and I may not get
 
 286 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 hands to help me. But, nathless, I'll see what 
 may be done. Wat Withe may peraunter " 
 
 " Come, come," cried Proudfoot, impatiently, 
 " we are wanted ere this. Off, I say — off;" and 
 with these words they all four left the prison ; 
 the door was bolted and barred with the utmost 
 precaution, and their heavy lumbering steps 
 were heard retreating along the passages. 
 
 It was strange, perhaps, but it was most true, 
 that the shutting of the rusty bolts sounded al- 
 most as sweetly in Assueton's ear, as if they 
 had been opened to give him liberty. The re- 
 lief he felt at the retreat of the four men was 
 so great, that, like a pious knight, he knelt 
 down and offered up his heartfelt gratitude, 
 in fervent thanksgivings to Heaven, that his 
 plans were as yet unfrustrated. He took up 
 the food that had been left with him, and made 
 a hearty and cheerful meal. He then began 
 turning in his mind the circumstances that 
 were likely to occur to him before night, and 
 again some cruel anticipations obtruded them- 
 selves. Were Throckle to return to remove the 
 body, perhaps it might be of little consequence ; 
 but if, as he seemed to hint at when he was in- 
 terrupted — if he should call in the aid of Wat 
 Withe, as they had nicknamed the executioner, 
 then all his schemes for escape must be ruined.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 28*7 
 
 Nay, what if the coil of rope, the villain had so 
 hastily taken, should happen to be wanted be- 
 fore night for the purpose it had been originally 
 intended for ? The thought was most alarming. 
 Assueton immediately removed the straw from 
 it, that he might examine it narrowly, and his 
 mind was very much relieved when he disco- 
 vered that it was everywhere quite rough and 
 new, as if it had never been used. But still no- 
 thing presented itself to him, to rid him of the 
 apprehension of the return of Watt Withe, who 
 could not fail to remark the disappearance of 
 the coil. A thousand times during the day he 
 fancied he heard steps approaching, and more 
 than once he grasped his dagger to prepare for 
 bloody work. But it was all fancy. The only 
 sound he heard was that of the trampling of 
 horses, the jingling of bridles, and the clatter- 
 ing of weapons, mingled with the voices of men, 
 as if some party was riding forth.
 
 288 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The time passed slowly and heavily until 
 within about an hour of nightfall, when steps 
 were again distinctly heard approaching Assue- 
 ton's prison. Much to his relief, however, they 
 seemed to be those of a single person ; some- 
 thing was put down on the pavement on the 
 outside ; the bolts were tardily withdrawn, and 
 the great head of Daniel Throckle alone appear- 
 ed through the partially opened door, as if to 
 ascertain in what part of the chamber his pri- 
 soner was, ere he should venture farther. See- 
 ing Assueton seated as formerly, on the straw, 
 he hastily pushed within the door-way vessels 
 containing food and drink, as before, and in- 
 stantly retreating, turned the bolts behind him, 
 and departed without uttering a word. 
 
 Now Assueton's hopes beat high, and again 
 
 on his knees he returned his fervent thanks to 
 
 Heaven. He then determined to avail himself 
 6
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 2gf) 
 
 of the small portion of day-light which yet re- 
 mained, to make everything ready for his escape. 
 
 Disgusting and revolting as it had been to 
 him, on the first discovery of the murdered 
 body, that it should have been left as his night- 
 ly and daily companion, he had now good rea- 
 son to be glad that it had been so ; for even if 
 its removal had not occasioned the discovery of 
 his appropriation of the coil of rope, without it 
 he could have had no means of reaching the 
 ring m the centre of the vault, the only thing 
 within it to which he could have attached the 
 *nd of Ins rope, and it would have been there 
 only to have mocked his hopes. 
 
 After he had succeeded in making it fast, he 
 had still an appalling difficulty before him; for 
 the window was so high above the floor of the 
 vault that it was quite beyond all reach. There 
 vyas, to be sure, a small fragment of rusty iron, 
 that projected an inch or two from the centre of 
 the sole of it, like the decayed remains of a 
 stanchion, that had once divided the space ver- 
 tically within; but it was little better than a 
 knob It yet remained to be proved, therefore, 
 whether he should succeed in throwing a part 
 of Ins rope over this frail pin of iron, so as to 
 furnish him with the means of pulling himself up 
 to the window; and he lost no time in making 
 
 VOL. I. N h
 
 290 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the experiment. But this, so absolutely essen- 
 tial part of his operations, he found most diffi- 
 cult to effect. He threw, cast, and jerked the 
 rope, trying every possible way he could think 
 of; but the piece of iron was so short, that al- 
 though he often succeeded in throwing the rope 
 over it, he could never manage to make it hold. 
 The day-light ebbed away fast, and still he la- 
 boured, but without success. At length -he 
 grew desperate, and threw the rope up time 
 after time with mad and senseless rapidity. It 
 became darker and darker till pitchy night clo- 
 sed in, yet still he persevered in throwing furi- 
 ously and at random ; bnt it was the perseve- 
 rance of despair, all attempt at skill being utter- 
 ly abandoned. At length, when he had almost 
 become frantic, it caught as he pulled back after 
 an accidental throw ; he felt it hold against him, 
 and keeping it down to the floor tight with one 
 foot, to prevent it from slipping, he laid the 
 whole weight of the coil upon it, and then drop- 
 ping on his knees, returned thanks to Heaven 
 for his success. It was but a small matter throw- 
 ing a coil of rope over a projecting fragment of 
 iron ; yet on that trifle depended all his hopes, 
 for by means of that small piece of iron alone 
 could he escape. 
 
 He now sat him down on the coil to wait pa-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 291 
 
 tiently for the hour when he might think it safe 
 to make his hold attempt. 
 
 Judging at length that the night was suffi- 
 ciently far advanced for his purpose, he offered 
 up a prayer for divine aid and protection, and 
 tying the blanket of the bed around him in 
 case of need, laid hold of the rope and hoisted 
 himself up by his arms, until he had reached 
 the window. Having lodged himself fairly in 
 its aperture, he discovered that the wall was at 
 least six or eight feet thick. He now laid him- 
 self on his side, with his feet hanging inwards, 
 and by slow degrees pulled up the rope, until 
 he got the whole coil deposited safely within 
 the small area of the window. The space was 
 barely sufficient to admit of his creeping easily 
 through. Altering his position, therefore, and 
 advancing his feet, he wormed himself for- 
 ward, when, just as he expected to thrust them 
 into the open air, he felt them suddenly arrest- 
 ed by a vertical bar of iron. His heart was 
 chilled by its touch. He tried the width of the 
 vacancies on either side of it, but neither af- 
 forded space enough to admit of the passage of 
 his body. 
 
 Much disheartened by this unexpected ob- 
 struction, he withdrew himself, and with great 
 difficulty again changed his position, and ad-
 
 292 THE WOLFE OF BADEN'OCH. 
 
 vanced bead foremost, until he brought his hands: 
 near enough to the bar to feel it all over. It 
 was much decayed by rust, but yet by far too 
 strong to be broken by the mere force of his 
 arm. After a little consideration, he drew his 
 dagger, and making use of its point, worked 
 away the lead and the stone where the lower 
 end of the stanchion was inserted; and after 
 labouring unceasingly for a considerable time, 
 he found he had weakened the stone and re- 
 moved the lead so much, that he had some 
 hopes of assailing it successfully with his^ feet. 
 He was now, therefore, obliged to retreat again 
 and change his position, so that he again pro- 
 jected his feet till they came in contact with the 
 bar. Having fixed himself firmly in the place 
 by means of his arms, that he might bring all his 
 orce to bear against it, he was about to strike vio- 
 lently at it with the soles of his feet, when he re- 
 membered that the sound might be heard below. 
 His situation made him fertile in expedients. 
 He slipped forward a part of the blanket, and 
 adjusting two or three folds of it over the bar, 
 he began to drive his feet furiously against it. 
 It gradually gave way before them, and then it 
 suddenly yielded entirely. He ceased work- 
 ing for an instant, and, to his no small alarm, 
 heard a rnece of the stone he had driven off fall
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 293 
 
 m the court-yard below. He listened anxiously 
 for a time, but no alarm seemed to have been 
 excited. He again felt at the bar with his feet. 
 and recommencing his attack upon it, after h 
 succession of hard blows, bent it so far out- 
 wards as to leave no doubt that he could pass 
 himself through the aperture. 
 
 Commending himself to God, then, he slip- 
 ped himself forward, and, committing his weight 
 gently to the rope, began descending by shift- 
 ing his hands alternately and slowly one below 
 the other, always pulling out more and more of 
 the coil of rope as he wanted it, until the end 
 of it being unwound, it fell perpendicularly be- 
 low him. Still he went on descending till, to 
 his no small dismay, he found that he had reach- 
 ed the last foot of its length. For an instant he 
 hung in awful doubt. He cast his eyes below, 
 but the night was so dark, that the ground be- 
 neath was invisible, and he could not possibly 
 calculate the height that yet remained. He 
 thought for a few moments ; and finally, resign- 
 ing himself to the care of Providence, loosen- 
 ed his grasp of the rope and fell. His fall was 
 dreadful, and his death must have been certain, 
 had not his descent been interrupted by a for- 
 tunate circumstance. The blanket he had wrap- 
 ped round him caught in the branches of a yew
 
 294 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 tree growing close to the wall, and although it 
 did not keep its hold, yet the force of the fall 
 was so much broken that he escaped compara- 
 tively uninjured. 
 
 He lay stunned for some moments under the 
 tree ; and then, recovering himself, he was about 
 to rise, when reflecting that he must proceed 
 with caution, he crept silently forth from his 
 covert, and listened to hear if there was any one 
 stirring. All was quiet. He then moved forward, 
 and, dark as the night was, he could yet perceive 
 the outer walls and towers of the building rising 
 against the pale glimmer of the sky. His first 
 step was to steal around the base of the keep, 
 that he might reconnoitre it in all directions ; 
 and, as he did so, he passed by its entrance, 
 which he found open. Wishing to examine far- 
 ther, he went on listening, but all was silent 
 around. At length, as he moved onwards to an- 
 other side of the building, he descried a light 
 breaking from a loop-hole window near the 
 foundation of the keep, and heard the sound of 
 human voices, with now and then a peal of bois- 
 terous laughter. He approached with extreme 
 caution and silence, until he was near enough 
 to see and hear all that passed within. 
 
 The place he looked down into appeared to 
 be a sort of cellar, being surrounded with huge
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 295 
 
 barrels placed against the walls, near one of 
 which, on an inverted tub, sat the old jailor, 
 Daniel Throckle, with a great wooden stoup of 
 ale on his knee, and with no small quantity of 
 the fumes of the same fluid in his brain, as was 
 evident from the manner in which his eyes ogled 
 in his head. Almost close by him stood a good- 
 looking wench in conversation with him ; and 
 the group was lighted by a clumsy iron-lamp 
 placed on the top of one of the largest of the 
 tuns. 
 
 " Coum, coum, Daeniel Throckle," said the 
 girl, " thee hast had enow o' that strong stuff; 
 that stoup but accloyeth thee. Blessed Mary ! 
 but thine eyes do look most fearsome askaunce 
 already." 
 
 " Nay, nay, my bellebone," replied Throckle, 
 " I mun ha' a wee drop more yet. Coum, now, 
 do sit thee down, and be buxom a bit, — a — a — 
 Thee knawest — a — that I loves thee dearly — he ! 
 he ! he ! Sit thee down, now, I say, — a — a ; sit 
 thee down, my soft, my soote virginal ! — By St 
 Cuthbert, there be not a he that yalt the gate 
 through sun and weet — a — a — that— a — a — he ! 
 he ! he ! — that loveth thee more than I do. — 
 Sit thee down, I say — a — a — and troll a roundel 
 with me. Hear ye, now, do but— a — a— do but 
 join thy sweet voice with mine. — Nay, then, an
 
 296 
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 thou wont, I mun e'en— a— a— sing by mysell 
 
 — a — a — 
 
 Oh I am the man, 
 
 That can empty a can, 
 And fill it again and again, ah ! 
 
 A— a— And empty and fill, 
 
 And the harley-juice swill, 
 Till a tun of the liquor I drain, ah ! 
 
 A — a — Then it lightens mine eye, 
 
 And my liard jokes fly, 
 And it warms my old blood into pleasure. 
 
 A — a — a — Then out comes my song. 
 
 Trolling glibly a — a — along, 
 And merrily clinks in the measure. 
 
 Oh — a — a — a — And then should I see 
 
 A sweet pusell like thee, 
 She catches mine eye, as I cock it ; 
 
 And then at her, gadzooks ! 
 
 I throw such winning looks, 
 As soon turn both of hers in the socket. 
 
 So then — a — a— — — 
 
 A murrain on't ! how should I forget the rest 
 on't?-- 
 
 So then I — a — a — then — i 
 
 The red fiend catch it, for I can't ! — So my 
 bonny mistress, Betty Burrel, do thee — a — do 
 thee sit thee down here, whiles I but drink this 
 single can — a — a — of double ale ; and, sin' we 
 canna sing the rest o' the stave, — a — a — sit thee 
 down, and let me kiss thee."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 297 
 
 " Na, na, Daeniel Throckle," said the girl ; 
 " thee knawest thou'rt ewer auld for me — 
 thou'rt ower auld to be make o' mine." 
 
 " Ower auld ! — a — a — thou scoffing — thou 
 scoffing giglet, thou!" cried Throckle. " Thou'lt 
 find me — a — kinder — a — thou'lt find me kinder 
 at least than that cross-grained, haughty knave 
 Ralpho Proudfoot. A pestilent rascal ! — Thou 
 knawest — a — a — a — thou knawest, I say, how 
 ill he used thee — a — but last night, no farther 
 gone. Did he not beat thee — a — yestreen — a — 
 till he made thee rout out like any Laverdale 
 eow, when — a — she hath been driven — a — 
 across the Border — a — and hath left her calf 
 behind her ?" 
 
 " In troth, Daeniel Throckle," said the wench, 
 " he did use me hard enow, that's certain, now 
 when a's done. But rise thee up, Daeniel. Be- 
 think thee, thou'rt a' that be left to guard the 
 Castle, an it be na mysell, and auld Harry 
 Haddon standing sentry at the yett. Ise war- 
 rant he's asleep or this time : — And what 'ud 
 coum o' us an the prisoners were to break 
 out ?" 
 
 " Phoo !" said Daniel, sticking one arm akim- 
 bo, and assuming the most ridiculous air of im- 
 portance — " Phoo ! I would not care that — a — 
 a — snap of my finger, look you now, for — a — a 
 n2
 
 298 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 — for the whole bunch of 'em. A stout, able- 
 bodied — a — courageous — a — warlikesome — a — 
 Southron like me — well fortified and charged 
 with potent double ale — against three lousy 
 Scottish louns ! Phoo ! I'd put 'em all down 
 with my thumb. But — a — a — but, look ye here, 
 my bonny Betty Burrel ; here they are — a — a — 
 all safe at my girdle. This mockell knave here," 
 continued he, laying hold of the keys that hung 
 from his belt, " this mockell knave — a — I call 
 Goliah ; he — a — a — he locks me up and maketh 
 me sicker — a — the tall dark wight — a — that 
 hath been put in durance in the hanging vault at 
 the top o* the keep : he's — a — he's fast enow, I 
 warrant thee, and, ha ! ha ! ha ! hath got jolly 
 company wi' him, I wot. Poor Tim Ord, thou 
 knawest — a — was strung up for traiterie ; and, 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! — sure I canna help loffen to but 
 think on't ; ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! he hangs yon- 
 der aside the poor Scottish knight they took 
 yestreen — a bonny jolly comrade for him to 
 spend the night wi', I trow." 
 
 « Poor Tim Ord !" said the girl, " thou gar'st 
 mine heart creep to think on hoo hasty they 
 war wi' 'im." 
 
 " Hasty," cried Throckle, "ay, I trow, he 
 lay not among his straw an hour — a — till Wat 
 Withe and some others broke his dreams, to
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 299 
 
 send him to a sounder sleep, ha ! ha ! ha ! But 
 — a — a — 'tis the gate, wench — a — 'tis the gate 
 that a* sike traitrous faitours should yede them." 
 
 " But what key is that other wi' the queer 
 courhed handle?" inquired the curious Betty 
 Burrel. 
 
 " Wilt thou — a* — a — wilt thou gie me a buss, 
 then, and I'll tell thee ?" said Throckle. 
 
 Betty Burrel advanced her head within his 
 reach. Old Throckle kissed her, and endea- 
 voured to detain her, but, after some little romp- 
 ing, she escaped. 
 
 " Tell me now," said she, " sin' I gied thee 
 the kiss." 
 
 " That courbe-hafted key," said Throckle, 
 lifting it up ; " that — a — a — I call — a — a — a — 
 I call Crooked-hold-him-fast : he locks the don- 
 jon vault at the end of the passage — a — the pas- 
 sage aneath the stair. There — a — there lie the 
 twy rogues wha were cotched i' the same trap 
 wi' the wight in the hanging vault. This third 
 key — a — this here is called Nicholas-nimble- 
 touch : he — a — he openeth the range of vaults 
 on the north side. They are tenantless ; but 
 an the Knight and his bandon have good luck, 
 they may be filled ere the morn's night. This — 
 a — this other key — a — I call Will-whirl-i'-the-
 
 800 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 wards — a : he opens — a — opens the dark vault 
 i' the middle, in which — a — in which is the 
 mouth o' the donjon pit. 
 
 " An' what be that sma' tiny key ?" said 
 Betty Burr el. 
 
 " That," said Throckle, " that— a— a— that is 
 merry Mrs Margery-of-the-mousetrap, though — 
 a — a — that is but an ill-bestowed name, seeing 
 that — a — a — it be's more of a bird-cage, I wis. 
 But — a — a — Mrs Margery keeps — she — a — she 
 keeps the door — a — the door of the ladies' room 
 — the ladies' room off the passage — a — the pas- 
 sage leading to the hall, thou knawest — a — thou 
 knawest there be's a linnet bird there encaged. 
 The Knight — a — the Knight can't at no rate 
 make her warble — a — warble as he would ha' 
 her. But she's but new caught — a — and she 
 may sing another measure — a — ay, ay, and 
 dance too, when he comes back again. Nay, 
 but now I ha' told thee all — a — sweet Mistress 
 Betty Burrel — a — sweet Betty, sit thee down — 
 a — a — a — and sing — a — a — sing one roundel. 
 Coum ! here's to thy health, my — a — a — my 
 bonny blossom." 
 
 He put the wooden stoup to his head, and 
 drained it to the bottom. 
 
 " A — a — " said he then, attempting to rise
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 301 
 
 and lay hold of Betty ; " a — a — coum — a — a— 
 ^it thee — a — a — a — sit thee down — sit thee 
 down — a — one roundel — one kiss — a — a — ." 
 
 " Nay, nay," cried Betty Burrel, moving 
 off, " I maun to my bed i' the kitchen, Master 
 Throckle ; I be wearisome tired and sleepy." 
 
 " Now, see," cried Throckle, standing up, 
 " now see — a — see what it is — a — see what it is 
 to be between liquor and love — a. Wise as thou 
 art, Master Daniel Throckle, thou be'st but as 
 the ass i' the fable between the tway hay-cocks 
 — a — Shalt thou after — a — shalt thou after the 
 Rownsy vail jade now? — or shalt thou — a — shalt 
 thou have one stoup more — ay — one stoup more ? 
 — Daniel, one stoup more will make thee a — 
 will make thee — a — one stoup the stouter. — 
 Coum, then — a." 
 
 He opened the spigot, and, holding the stoup 
 with both hands, tried to catch the ale as it spout- 
 ed forth, gallons of it spilling on the floor for 
 the drops that entered the mouth of the vessel. 
 
 " A murrain — a — a — a murrain on it, I say — 
 a — May I die — a — die of thirst — a — if the bar- 
 rel be not dronkelew — a — It canna — a — a — it 
 canna stand fast— a — a — stand fast only till I — 
 a — a — till I fill mine stoup — a — a — But hold ! 
 — a — a — hold, I say — it runs over now — a — a 
 — over now like a fountain. — Oh ! I am the man
 
 302 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 
 
 a — a — to empty a can — a — a — and fill it — a-— 
 a. — Hiccup — fill it again and again — ah ! — a — 
 a — so here goes." 
 
 And, leaving the spigot to run as it might, 
 he put the stoup to his head, and, drinking it 
 out, staggered forward a step or two towards 
 the door, and, losing his feet and his balance at 
 the same moment, fell backwards with a tre- 
 mendous crash on the pavement, where he lay 
 senseless in a sea of ale that deluged the floor.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 Assueton had no sooner witnessed the pro- 
 stration of Master Daniel Throckle, than he 
 hastened round to the door of the keep ; and, 
 having noted the part of the building where the 
 cellar lay, he slipped down a stair, and, groping 
 along a passage, was soon led to it by the light 
 of the lamp. He entered hastily, and, unbind- 
 ing the belt from the drunken beast's body, 
 made himself master of the keys. He then seized 
 the lamp, stole silently out by the door, and, 
 taking the directions Throckle had so gratui- 
 tously given him, explored a passage, at the 
 end of which he found a stair leading upwards. 
 Beneath it was the strongly-barred door of a 
 vault. Having singled out the key called Crook- 
 ed-hold-him-fast, he applied it to the door, and 
 found it answer perfectly to the lock. He turn- 
 ed the bolt, and, to his no small delight, his 
 lamp showed him his esquire Roger Riddel, and 
 Robert Lindsay, both sound asleep on separate
 
 304 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 heaps of straw. He gently waked first one, and 
 then the other; and, laying his finger on his 
 lips, he cautioned them to be perfectly silent. 
 The poor fellows were so confounded by their 
 unexpected deliverance, that they rubbed their 
 eyes, and could hardly believe that they were 
 really awake. 
 
 " Bestir thee, but not a word," said the 
 knight to them ; " the Castle is all our own. 
 There are but two men within the walls. One 
 I have left in a cellar, senseless as a hog, ruck- 
 ing and wallowing in his ale : from him we have 
 nothing to fear, but the other yet standeth sen- 
 tinel at the outward gate. So we must approach 
 him cautiously ; and when I whistle, pounce on 
 him like falcons. But there is yet a woman in 
 the place, whom we must first secure, to prevent 
 all chance of alarm." 
 
 " Yea," said Roger Riddel, gravely, " wo- 
 man's tongue be's a wicked weapon." 
 
 The knight and his followers hastened to find 
 out the kitchen ; and, having peeped in, they 
 descried Betty Burrel, either asleep, or pretend- 
 ing to be so ; and, remarking that the windows 
 were strongly barred, so that she could not 
 escape that way, they gently shut the door, and 
 turned the key in the lock. 
 
 They now ascended the stair, and, having
 
 THE WOLFE OF J3ADENOCH. 303 
 
 set down the lamp, Assueton, to guard against 
 all possibility of accident, took the large key 
 from the door of the keep, as they passed out. 
 They then stole towards the gateway, where, 
 after prying about for some time, they disco- 
 vered the watchful warder of the garrison, lying 
 within a door-way, sound asleep, on the steps 
 of the stair leading up to a barbican that over- 
 looked the gate. Assueton immediately sprang 
 on him, and threw the blanket over his head ; 
 and, having taken the keys of the gate from 
 him, they muffled him so completely up as to 
 stop his utterance, and, crossing his arms be- 
 hind his back, bound all tightly together with 
 Master Throckle's leathern belt. They then 
 hoisted the knave on the broad back of Roger 
 Riddel, who marched merrily away with his 
 burden, and deposited him in the vault, on the 
 very straw from which he had himself so lately 
 risen. Proceeding next to the cellar, they lifted 
 up the drunken jailor, who, being perfectly sense- 
 less, had run no small risk of being drowned 
 externally, as well as internally, by a flood of 
 ale ; and having carried him also to the vault* 
 and put him among the straw that had been 
 Robert Lindsay's bed, they turned Crooked- 
 hold-him-fast upon both of them.
 
 306 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 Lighting another lamp, which they had found 
 extinguished, the two squires then went to the 
 stables to look for horses. Meanwhile Assueton 
 ascended the stairs alone, to discover the ladies' 
 chamber of which Throckle had spoken, and, by 
 attending to the description the jailor had given, 
 soon discovered it. He tapped gently at the 
 door ; — a deep sigh came from within ; — he tap- 
 ped again. 
 
 " Who knocks tliere at this hour ?" said a 
 female voice. 
 
 The voice made Assueton's heart bound with 
 joy, for it was the voice of the Lady Isabelle 
 Hepborne. 
 
 " Who knocks there ? — who comes thus to 
 break the hour of rest, the only one I have been 
 blessed with since I entered these wicked and 
 impure walls. If it be thou, false and traitor- 
 ous knight, know thou may'st kill, but thou 
 canst never subdue me." 
 
 " Lady Isabelle," cried Assueton, in trans- 
 port, " it is no traitor ; it is I, who will dare to 
 call myself thy true and humble slave — thine 
 own faithful knight, who, by God's blessing, 
 has come to undo the bars of thy prison, and to 
 set thee free." 
 
 " Sir John Assueton," cried the fair Isabelle, 
 overpowered by amazement and joy — " Sir John
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 30T 
 
 Assueton ! — Blessed Virgin ! — and how earnest 
 thou here ? — But thou art in dreadful danger. 
 For mercy's sake — for my sake — I entreat thee 
 not to speak so loud," continued she, tripping 
 lightly towards the door, and whispering softly 
 through the key-hole ; "speak not so loud, lest 
 thou should' st be overheard and surprised by 
 some of the caitiff knight's cruel followers. I 
 will brave all danger to fly with thee." 
 
 " Nay, fairest lady," said Assueton, " thou 
 hast now but little cause of dread. The Castle, 
 and everything in it, is in my power ; but I am 
 rather meagrely attended, and 'twere better we 
 should lose as little time as may be. I shall 
 unlock thy door, and keep watch for thee in the 
 hall hard by, until thou art ready to wend with 
 me." 
 
 The knight accordingly passed into the hall, 
 where he found a long board, covered with the 
 wrecks of feast and wassail, everything in the 
 apartment betokening the riotous and reckless 
 life that was led by the libertine owner of the 
 place. The walls were hung round with arms 
 of various kinds, and, to his great surprise, he 
 perceived the very armour he had worn, and 
 which he had left with his people when he 
 changed his dress, together with his shield, 
 lance, and trusty sword, all forming a grand
 
 3Q£ THE WOLFE OF BaDENOCH. 
 
 trophy, at one end. He soon removed them from 
 their place, and speedily equipped himself like 
 a knight as he was ; and he had hardly done so, 
 when his eye caught the very baldrick and bu- 
 gle worn by the leader of the foresters who had 
 acted as his guide. He took them also down, and 
 hung them from his own neck, in memorial of 
 the treachery he had suffered. He then stood 
 anxiously listening, nor did he wait long un- 
 til he heard the light step of the Lady Isabelle, 
 dancing merrily along the passage. He flew to 
 *meet her, and the joy of both was too great to 
 be controlled. Yet they trifled not long to give 
 way to their feelings. Assueton gave his arm to 
 the fair prisoner, and they descended the stair 
 together. On reaching the court-yard, he found 
 Riddel and Lindsay busy in the stable. His 
 squire was employed in putting the furniture 
 and harness on the very steed the knight had 
 ridden from Hailes ; but what gave rise to most 
 unpleasant speculation in the mind of Assueton, 
 was the discovery that the horses and equip- 
 ments of his whole party were there. As he 
 looked at the steeds and trappings of his brave 
 spearmen, his heart sank within him at the 
 thought of the cruel death that treachery had 
 probably wrought on the gallant fellows who 
 had used them. A palfrey was soon selected and
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. SOi* 
 
 prepared for the Lady Isabelle ; and the other 
 three horses being ready, Assueton ordered them 
 to be led out. Before they mounted, however, 
 Roger Riddel, who never gave himself the 
 trouble of speaking except when he had some- 
 thing of importance that compelled him to use 
 his tongue, addressed his master. 
 
 " Methinks, your worship," said he, " we 
 should be the better of a lantern to light us on 
 our way till the moon rises." 
 
 " Go seek one, then," said Assueton ; " but 
 do not lose time, for it is but a chance thou shalt 
 find one." 
 
 " Fasten the horses to that hook, then, Rob," 
 said Riddel to Lindsay; " I shall want thee to 
 help me to light it." 
 
 The two men went into the keep-tower toge- 
 ther, where they remained some time, and at 
 length they came out, each bearing a burden on 
 his back. 
 
 66 What, in the name of St Andrew, bear est 
 tli*m there ?" demanded Assueton. 
 
 " 'Tis but the dronkelew jailor and the watch- 
 ful warden," said Riddel ; " methinks they will 
 lie better in the stable." 
 
 " Tut !" said Assueton peevishly, " why waste 
 our time with them ?" 
 
 But Roger and his comrade deposited their
 
 310 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 burdens quietly in the stable, and then returned 
 again into the keep-tower, where they remained 
 so very long that Assueton lost all patience. By 
 and by female shrieks were heard from within. 
 They became louder, and seemed to approach 
 the door of the keep, when out stalked Roger 
 Riddel with much composure, carrying Betty 
 Burrel like any infant in his arms. The dam- 
 sel, who was in her night attire, was wrapped 
 in a blanket, and was screaming, kicking, and 
 tearing the squire's face with her nails, like any 
 wild-cat. But the sedate Roger minded her 
 not, nor did her scratching in the least derange 
 the gravity of his walk. 
 
 " This is too much, Riddel," said Assueton, 
 loosing temper: " What absurd whim is this? 
 Is the Lady Isabelle Hepborne to be kept stand- 
 ing here all night, till thou shalt find a new bed 
 for Betty Burrel ?" 
 
 Roger turned gravely about, with the kick- 
 ing and scratching Betty Burrel still in his 
 arms — 
 
 " Surely," said he, " Sir Knight, thou hast 
 too much Christian charity in thee to see the 
 poor pusell burnt alive ?" 
 
 " Burnt !" cried Assueton with astonishment ; 
 " what mean ye ?" 
 
 But now came the explanation of all Roger
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 311 
 
 had said and done ; for volumes of smoke began 
 to burst from the different open loop-holes of 
 the keep, and to roll out at the door, sufficiently 
 explaining what Roger Riddel had meant by a 
 lantern. The squire hastily deposited the kick- 
 ing and screaming Betty Burrel in the stable, 
 to which there was no risk of the fire com- 
 municating, and locking the door, put the key 
 quietly into his pocket. The Lady Isabelle and 
 Assueton mounted, while the squire and Lind- 
 say went before them, to raise the portcullis and 
 open the gates; and the whole party sallied forth 
 from the walls, right glad to bid adieu to Burns- 
 tower. Their two attendants went before them, 
 leading their own horses down the hill, and 
 along the narrow tongue of land, towards the 
 ford, lest there might have been any such trap 
 in their way as they formerly fell into. But 
 all was clear, and they got through the ford 
 with perfect safety. 
 
 From the summit of the rising ground above 
 the ford, that is, from the same spot where the 
 moon had given Assueton the first and only view 
 of Burnstower, on the night of his approach, 
 they now looked back, and beheld the keep in- 
 volved in flames, that broke forth from every 
 opening in its sides, and forced their way through 
 various parts of its roof. The reader is already
 
 312 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 aware of the grandeur of the surrounding scene, 
 closely shut in all around by high backing hills, 
 and the two deep glens, with their streams uni- 
 tingunder the green-headed eminence, that arose 
 from the luxuriant forest, which everywhere co- 
 vered the lower grounds : let him conceive all 
 this, then, lighted up as it was by Roger Rid- 
 del's glorious lantern, which, as they continued 
 to look, began to shoot up jets of flame from its 
 summit, so high into the air that it seemed as 
 if the welkin itself was in some danger from 
 its contact, and he will have in his imagination 
 one of the most sublime spectacles that human 
 eye could well behold. 
 
 The party, however, stopped not long to look 
 at it, but urged onwards through the thickets 
 and sideling paths of the glen, now losing all 
 sight of the burning tower, and now recovering a 
 view of it, as they occasionally climbed upwards 
 to avoid some impassable obstruction below. 
 At length a turn of the glen shut it altogether 
 from their sight, and the place where it lay was 
 only indicated by the fiery-red field of sky im- 
 mediately over it. 
 
 Assueton resolved to follow the course of the 
 
 glen, and in doing so he found that the forester 
 
 had completely deceived him in regard to the 
 
 path, that below having occupied about one- 
 
 l
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 313 
 
 tenth part of the time which was consumed the 
 former night in unravelling the mazes of the hill- 
 road. The moon now arose to light them cheer- 
 ily on their way ; ohjects became more distinct ; 
 and, as they were crossing a little glade, they 
 observed a man running, as if to take shelter 
 under the trees. 
 
 " After him, Riddel," cried Assueton; M we 
 must know who and what he is." 
 
 The squire and Lindsay charged furiously 
 after the fugitive, and ere he could gain the 
 thicket, one rode up on each side of him, and 
 caught him. The Knight and Lady Isabelle 
 immediately came up, when, to their no small 
 delight, they discovered that it was a trooper of 
 Assueton's party, and, on interrogating him, 
 they learnt that all the others were lodged safe- 
 ly among the brushwood, at no great distance. 
 The man was instantly dispatched for them, and 
 when they appeared, the whole villainy of the 
 pretended foresters was explained. The knight 
 and his two attendants had no sooner left them, 
 than they were largely feasted with broiled ve- 
 nison, after which liberal libations of potent ale 
 had been administered to them ; and they now 
 firmly believed that the liquor had been drug- 
 ged with an opiate; for though the excessive 
 fatigue they had undergone might have account- 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 314 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ed for their being immediately overcome with 
 drowsiness, yet it could have furnished no ade- 
 quate explanation of their sleeping for the greater 
 part of next day, as they had all done to a man, 
 without once awakening. When at length they 
 did arise from their mossy pillows, their horses 
 and accoutrements, as well as the knight's ar- 
 mour, had vanished with the foresters, and no- 
 thing remained but part of the carcase of a deer, 
 left, as it appeared, to prevent them from star- 
 ving. In this helpless state the men were quite 
 at a loss what to do. To advance with the hope 
 of meeting their leader, even if he were not al- 
 ready the victim of a worse treachery than they 
 had experienced, would have been vain ; yet, 
 unarmed as they were, the brave fellows could 
 not entirely abandon him ; and after much he- 
 sitation they had at last resolved, towards even- 
 ing, to wander up the glen, to see what disco- 
 veries they could make. They had got thus far, 
 when the darkness of the night compelled them 
 to halt until the moon rose ; and the man whom 
 Assueton first descried, had been sent out by 
 the rest as a scout, to ascertain whether they 
 were yet safe in proceeding. 
 
 Assueton's mind being now relieved as to the 
 safety of the party, he resolved to send back 
 Lindsay to guide the spearmen to Burnstower,
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 315 
 
 that they might horse and arm themselves in 
 the stables. Meanwhile he proposed, that he, 
 the Lady Isabelle, and the squire, should halt 
 in the thickets, near the spot where they then 
 were, and wait patiently for their return. 
 
 " Stay," said Roger Riddel to one of the men, 
 as soon as he had heard his master's arrange- 
 ment, " stay, here is the key, and be sure thou 
 shuttest the stable-door after thee. Thou can'st 
 not mistake the way, even had'st thou no guide, 
 for there is a lantern burning in the castle of 
 Burnstower that enlighteneth the whole val- 
 ley."
 
 316 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The party led by Robert Lindsay marched 
 off, and Roger Riddel proceeded to seek out a 
 retired spot, where the Lady Isabelle might 
 enjoy a little rest. A mossy bank within the 
 shelter of the w T ood was soon discovered, and 
 there the knight and his fair companion seat- 
 ed themselves, whilst the squire secured their 
 horses at no great distance. Assueton was ex- 
 tremely desirous to learn the history of the lady's 
 capture, and she proceeded to satisfy him. 
 
 As she was passing through the woodlands, 
 on her return towards Hailes Castle, after part- 
 ing from her brother, she was suddenly sur- 
 rounded by Sir Miers de Willoughby's party, 
 seized, put on horseback, and carried rapidly 
 off. She was compelled to travel all that day 
 and all next night, halting only once or twice 
 for a very short time, to obtain necessary re- 
 freshment for the horses and people ; and early 
 next morning they arrived with her at the Cas-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 317 
 
 tie of Burnstower, where, although every com- 
 fort was provided for her, she was subjected 
 to confinement as a prisoner. Sir Miers de 
 Willoughby had taken every opportunity that 
 so rapid a journey afforded, to tease her with 
 offers of love and adoration; and after they 
 reached Burnstower, he had spent several hours 
 in making his offensive addresses to her. The 
 lady had repulsed him with a spirit and dignity 
 worthy the daughter of Sir Patrick Hepborne, 
 called upon him boldly to release her at his pe- 
 ril, and made a solemn appeal to Heaven against 
 his treachery and baseness. At length she was 
 relieved from his presence, by his being called 
 on some expedition, from which, fortunately 
 for her peace, he did not return till a very late 
 hour, and she saw no more of him that night. 
 But next morning, he came again to her apart- 
 ment, where he compelled her to listen for some 
 hours to addresses which she treated with scorn 
 and indignation. He became enraged, and, in 
 his fury, talked of humbling her pride by other 
 means than fair speeches, if he did not find her 
 more compliant on his return from an expedi- 
 tion he was about to proceed upon. She trem- 
 bled to hear him ; but fortunately his imme- 
 diate absence saved her from farther vexation,
 
 318 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 until she was finally rescued from the villain's 
 power by Sir John Assueton. 
 
 Having completed her narrative, the Lady 
 Isabelle anxiously demanded a similar satisfac- 
 tion from Assueton, who gave her all the par- 
 ticulars of his adventures, the recital being cha- 
 racterized by the modesty which was natural to 
 him. The lady shuddered and trembled alter- 
 nately at the perils to which he had been ex- 
 posed on her account, and her eyes gave forth 
 a plenteous shower of gladness and of gratitude 
 when he had finished. He seized the happy 
 moment for making a full declaration of his pas- 
 sion, and he was repaid for all his miseries, fa- 
 tigues, dangers, and anxieties, by the soft con- 
 fession he received from her. 
 
 After their mutual transports had in some 
 degree subsided, Assueton called Roger Riddel 
 from the spot where, with proper attention to 
 decorum, he had seated himself beyond earshot 
 of their conversation, and interrogated him as 
 to what had occurred to him and Lindsay. 
 Their story was short, and Roger, who was 
 always chary of his words, did not add to its 
 length by circumlocution. 
 
 " Why, Sir Knight," said he, " they carried 
 us like bundles of straw to the drearisome vault, 
 and locked us up in the dark. Next day came
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 319 
 
 oneRalpho Proudfoot, with divers rogues — Cai- 
 tiff lossel had some old pique at good Rob Lind- 
 say — swore he would now be ywreken on him 
 — threatened him with hanging — and would 
 have done it with his own hands then, but they 
 would not let him till he got his master's war- 
 rant — swore that he would get the warrant and 
 do execution on Rob to-morrow. So we got 
 beef and ale to breakfast and supper, and slept 
 till your honour waked us to wend with thee." 
 
 Sir John now prevailed on the Lady Isabelle 
 to take a short repose, whilst he and Riddel 
 watched over her safety. In a little time after- 
 wards, Robert Lindsay returned at the head of 
 his remounted cavalry. Assueton was now him- 
 self again, and, with spirits light as air, he and 
 the lady got into their saddles, and proceeded 
 slowly down the glen. To prevent all chance 
 of surprise, Robert Lindsay preceded them with 
 half the party as an advanced guard, whilst 
 Roger Riddel brought up the rear with the re- 
 mainder. 
 
 The night was so far spent, that day dawned 
 ere they had threaded the pass that formed 
 the entrance into the territory of Sir Miers 
 de Willoughby. The sun rose in all his glo- 
 ry, and threw a flood of golden light over the 
 romantic scenery they were passing through.
 
 320 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 All nature rejoiced under the benignant influ- 
 ence of his cheering rays ; a thousand birds 
 raised their happy wings and melodious voices 
 to heaven ; nay, all vegetable as well as ani- 
 mal life seemed to unite in one general choir 
 to pour out their grateful orisons. Nor did the 
 souls of the lovers refuse to join in the universal 
 feeling. They each experienced inwardly a joy 
 and a gratitude that surpassed all the power of 
 expression, but which was perhaps best uttered 
 in that silent, but not less fervent language, 
 used by the devout spirit, when, impressed with 
 a deep sense of the blessings it has received, it 
 rises in secret thanksgivings to its Creator. 
 Each being thus separately occupied in thought, 
 they rode gently on until they had cleared the 
 denies, and were entering the wider pastures, 
 where the space in the bottom was more ex- 
 tended, and the trees that clothed the sides of 
 the hills, or dropped down occasionally on the 
 more level ground, grew thinner and more 
 scattered. 
 
 As they were entering one of those little 
 plains, through which the stream they had fol- 
 lowed meandered, they were surprised by the 
 appearance of a party of armed horsemen, ap- 
 proaching from the other extremity of it. As- 
 sueton immediately called forward his esquire.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 321 
 
 " Ridclel," said he, " we know not as yet 
 whether those who come towards us may prove 
 friends or foes ; but be they whom they list, to 
 thy faithful charge do I consign the care and 
 protection of the Lady Isabelle ; leave not her 
 bridle-rein, whatever may betide. Take three of 
 the spearmen, and let her be always kept in the 
 midst. Should that bandon yonder, that cometh 
 so fast, prove to be hostile, remember thou art 
 in no wise to act offensively unless the lady be 
 attacked ; but be it thy duty, and that of those 
 I leave with thee, to think only of defending 
 her to the last extremity. I shall myself ride for- 
 ward with the rest, to see who these may be." 
 
 The Lady Isabelle grew pale with alarm, 
 partly because her lover was probably about to 
 incur danger, but even yet more, if possible, be- 
 cause, in the knight who was approaching at 
 the head of the troop, she already recognized 
 the figure and the arms of him from whose 
 power she had so lately escaped. 
 
 " Blessed Virgin protect us," cried she, " 'tis 
 the caitiff knight De Willoughby who advan- 
 ced!" 
 
 " Is it so ?" cried Assueton, his blood boiling 
 at the intelligence ; " then, by the Rood of St 
 Andrew, he shall not hence until I shall have 
 questioned him for his villainy. 1 ' 
 o 2
 
 322 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 He staid not to say more, but galloping for- 
 ward, he reined up his steed in the middle of 
 the way, and instantly addressed the opposite 
 leader. 
 
 " Halt !" cried he, in a voice of thunder ; 
 " halt, Sir Knight, if yet thou may est deserve 
 a title so honourable ; for, of a truth, thou dost 
 not, if thou art he whom I take thee to be. Say, 
 art thou, or art thou not, that malfaitour Sir 
 Miers cle Willoughby ?" 
 
 " Though I see no cause why I should re- 
 spond to a rude question rudely put, yet will 
 I never deny my name," replied the other. " I 
 am so hight ; and now what hast thou to say to 
 Sir Miers de Willoughby ?" 
 
 u That he no longer deserves to be called a 
 knight, but rather a caitiff robber," replied 
 Assueton. 
 
 " Robber !" retorted the other ; " dost thou 
 call me robber, that dost wear my baldrick and 
 bugle hanging from thy shoulder ?" 
 
 " Thine !" replied Assueton ; " if they be 
 thine, 'tis well thou hast noted them so ; I wear 
 them as the gage of my revenge ; and I have 
 sworn to wear them till thou payest dearly for 
 the wrong thou hast done to the virtuous Lady 
 Isabelle Hepborne, for I speak not of the base 
 treachery thou didst use towards myself."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 323 
 
 " Nay, then," replied De Willoughby, " it 
 seems thou art determined that we shall do in- 
 stant battle. Come on, then." 
 
 And so saying, he put his lance in the rest, 
 and ran his course at Assueton. The Scottish 
 knight couched his, and exclaiming aloud, "May 
 God and St Andrew defend the right," he put 
 spurs to his horse, and rushed at his opponent. 
 They met nearly mid- way. Sir Miers de Wil- 
 loughby's lance glanced aside from Assueton's 
 cuirass, without doing the firmly-seated knight 
 the smallest injury ; but Assueton's point en- 
 tering on one side, between the joinings of Sir 
 Miers's helmet and neck-piece, bore him head- 
 long from his saddle, and stretched him, grie- 
 vously wounded, on the plain. Meanwhile, be- 
 fore Assueton had time to recollect himself, on 
 came the party of De Willoughby, and with the 
 natural impression that he would dismount to 
 put their leader to death, charged him en masse. 
 His own spearmen rushed to his rescue, but 
 before they came, he had so well bestirred him- 
 self that he had prostrated three or four of the 
 enemy. The battle now became general ; but 
 though the numbers were on the other side, yet 
 the victory was very soon achieved by the prow- 
 ess of Assueton and his people, who left not a 
 man before them, all, save one only, being either
 
 324 THE WOLFE OF BADEN OCH. 
 
 thrown to the ground, or forced to seek safety 
 in flight. 
 
 That one, however, was Ralpho Proudfoot, 
 who at the first onset had singled out Robert 
 Lindsay, with a bloody thirst of long-cherished 
 hatred. Their spears having been splintered 
 in the shock, he had grappled Lindsay by the 
 neck, and the latter seizing his antagonist in his 
 turn, they were both at once dragged from their 
 horses. Rising eagerly at the same moment, 
 however, they drew their swords and attacked 
 each other. Some of Lindsay's comrades ha- 
 ving now no antagonist of their own to oppose, 
 were about to assist him. 
 
 " Keep off," cried he immediately, " keep off, 
 my friends, if ye love me ; one man is enow in 
 all conscience, upon one man : so let him kill 
 me if he can, but interfere not between us." 
 
 They rained down their blows on each other 
 with tremendous force, and the combat hung 
 doubtful for a considerable time. Proudfoot's 
 expression of countenance was savage and de- 
 vilish. He tried various manoeuvres to break 
 through Lindsay's cool determined guards, but 
 without effect ; and being more desirous of 
 wounding his adversary than of saving himself, 
 be received some severe thrusts. At length, as 
 he attempted to throw his point in on Lindsay's
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 325 
 
 body, he received a cut from him that laid his 
 arm open from the shoulder to the wrist, and 
 at once rendered it useless. The sword dropped 
 from his hand, and fainting from the loss of 
 blood that poured from his other wounds, he 
 staggered back a few paces, and fell senseless 
 on the ground. The generous Lindsay, forget- 
 ting the brutal threats Proudfoot had uttered 
 against him, ran up to his assistance. 
 
 " He was my companion when we were 
 boys," cried he ; " oh, let me save him if I 
 can." 
 
 And so saying, he ran to the stream, filled his 
 morrion with water, and poured it on Proud- 
 foot's face. He then bathed his wounds, and 
 bound up his arm, and tried to stanch the 
 bleeding from the thrusts he had given him. 
 Nor were his pious and merciful exertions un- 
 attended with success. Proudfoot opened his 
 eyes, and, his senses returning to him, gazed 
 with silent wonder in the face of the man, who 
 had a moment before fought so manfully against 
 him, and who was now so humanely employed 
 in endeavouring to save his life, and assuage the 
 acuteness of his pains. His own villainous and 
 cruel determinations against Lindsay, which he 
 had been contemplating having it in his power 
 to carry into execution that very night, now
 
 326 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 rushed upon his mind. His conscience, long 
 hardened by guilt and atrocity, was at once 
 melted by that single, but bright ray of good- 
 ness, which darted on it from the anxious eye 
 of Lindsay ; and days long since past recur- 
 ring to his memory, he remembered what he 
 had been, and burst into an agony of tears. 
 
 Assueton had no sooner rid himself of his 
 enemies, than he went to assist the wounded 
 and discomfited Sir Miers de Willoughby ; and 
 on unlacing his helmet, discovered, to his no 
 small surprise, the features of the very forester 
 who had guided him to Burns tower. 
 
 The evidence of Sir Miers de Willoughby's 
 villainy was now complete ; yet was not the 
 gallant Assueton's compassion for his hapless 
 state one atom diminished by the discovery. 
 The wound in his neck, though not mortal, bled 
 most profusely, and he lay in a swoon from the 
 quantity of blood he had already lost. The 
 Lady Isabelle and the esquire now coming up, 
 every means were used to stop the effusion, 
 and, happily, with success, but he still remain- 
 ed insensible. Assueton, therefore, ordered his 
 people to catch some of the horses of those who 
 had fallen ; and having placed De Willoughby, 
 Proudfoot, and one or two others of whose re- 
 covery there seemed to be good hope, across
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 327 
 
 their saddles, they proceeded cheerily onwards, 
 and after some hours slow travel, brought them 
 safely to Carham, and lodged them under the 
 care of the Black Canons of its Abbey. 
 
 Having rested and refreshed themselves and 
 their horses there, they crossed the Tweed, and 
 being impatient to return to Hailes, that they 
 might relieve the anxious mind of the elder Sir 
 Patrick Hepborne, they arrived there by forced 
 marches. 
 
 The joy of Sir Patrick at the unexpected re- 
 turn of his daughter may be conceived. He had, 
 as he resolved, gone in pursuit of Assueton, and 
 had used every means in his power to discover 
 the direction in which the Lady Isabelle had 
 been carried ; but all his efforts had been fruit- 
 less — and they found him in the deepest de- 
 spair. It is easy to guess what happiness smi- 
 led upon that night's banquet.
 
 328 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Our history now returns to the younger Sir 
 Patrick Hepborne, whom we left about to com- 
 mence his journey towards the North. He had 
 no sooner parted from his sister the Lady Isa- 
 belle, and joined his esquire and cortege, under 
 the trees by the side of the Tyne, than he espied 
 a handsome youth, clad in the attire of a page, 
 who came riding through the grove towards a 
 ford of the river. He was mounted on a sorry 
 hackney, carrying his valise behind him, and 
 guided by a clown, who walked by his bridle. 
 The boy showed symptoms of much amazement 
 and dismay on finding himself thus so unex- 
 pectedly surrounded by a body of armed men ; 
 and he Would have dropped from his horse, from 
 sheer apprehension, had not Sir Patrick's kind 
 and courteous salutation gradually banished his 
 alarm. 
 
 " Who art thou, and whither goest thou,
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 329 
 
 young man ?" demanded the knight, in a gentle 
 tone and manner. 
 
 " I am a truant boy, Sir Knight," replied 
 the youth, in a trembling voice ; "I have fled 
 from home, that I might see somewhat of the 
 world." 
 
 " And where may be thy home ?" demanded 
 Sir Patrick. 
 
 " On the English bank of the Tweed," re- 
 plied the boy. 
 
 " Ha !" exclaimed Sir Patrick, " and why 
 hast thou chosen to travel into Scotland, rather 
 than to explore the southern parts of thine own 
 country ?" 
 
 " Verily, because I judged that there was 
 less chance of my being looked for on this side 
 the Border," replied the boy. " Moreover, the 
 pea<;e that now prevails hath made either side 
 safe enow, I hope, for travel." 
 
 " Nay, that as it may happen," said the 
 Knight. " But why didst thou run away from 
 thy friends, young man ? Was it that thou 
 wert evil-entreated ?" 
 
 " Nay, rather, Sir Knight, that I was over 
 charily cockered and cared for," replied the 
 boy ; " more especially by my mother, at home, 
 who, for dread of hurt befalling me, would give 
 me no license to disport myself at liberty with
 
 330 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 other youths. I was, as it were, but a page of 
 dames. But, sooth to say, I have been long 
 tired of dames and damosels, and knitting, and 
 broidery, and all the little silly services of wo- 
 men." 
 
 " Nay, in truth, thou art of an age for some- 
 thing more stirring," replied Sir Patrick ; " a 
 youth of thine years should have to do with 
 gay steeds, and armour, and 'tendance upon 
 knights." 
 
 " Such are, indeed, the toys that my heart 
 doth most pant for," replied the boy; " and 
 such is mine excuse for quitting home. I sigli 
 for the gay sight of glittering tourneys, and 
 pageants of arms, and would fain learn the no- 
 ble trade of chivalry." 
 
 * If thou hast no scruple to serve a Scottish 
 knight," replied Sir Patrick, " that is, so long 
 as until the outbreak of war may call on thee 
 to appear beneath the standard of thy native 
 England, I shall willingly give thee a place 
 among my followers ; and, by St Genevieve, 
 thou dost come to me in a good time, too, as 
 to feats of arms, being that I am now on my 
 way to the grand tournament to be held on the 
 Mead of St John's. So, wilt thou yede with 
 me thither, my young Courfine ?" The boy 
 made no reply, but hung his head, and looked
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 331 
 
 abashed for some moments. " Ha ! what say- 
 est thou ?" continued the knight ; " wilt thou 
 wend with me, or no ? Thine answer speedily, 
 yea or nay, young man, for I must be gone." 
 
 " Yea, most joyfully will I be of thy compa- 
 ny, Sir Knight," replied the boy, his eyes glis- 
 tening with delight; " and while peace may 
 endure between our countries, I will be thy 
 true and faithful page, were it unto the death." 
 
 " 'Tis well, young man," replied Sir Patrick ; 
 " but thou hast, as yet, forgotten to possess me 
 of thy name and parentage." 
 
 " My name, Sir Knight," replied the boy, with 
 some confusion and hesitation — " my name is 
 Maurice de Grey — my father, Sir Hargrave de 
 Grey, is Captain of the Border castle of Werk 
 — and the gallant old Sir Walter de Selby, cap- 
 tain of the other Border strength of Norham, is 
 mine uncle." 
 
 " Ha ! is it so ?" exclaimed Hepborne, with 
 great surprise and considerable agitation — 
 
 " Then thou art cousin to the La ? then 
 
 thou art nevoy to Sir Walter de Selby, art 
 thou? Nay, now I do look at thee again, thou 
 hast, methinks, a certain cast of the features of 
 his family. Perdie, he is a most honourable sib 
 to thee. Of a truth thou art come of a good 
 kindred, and if thou wilt be advised by me,
 
 332 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 sweet youth, thou wilt straightway hie thee 
 back again to thine afflicted mother, doubtless 
 ere this grievously bywoxan with sorrow for 
 loss of thee. ,, 
 
 " Nay, good Sir Knight, I dare not now ad- 
 venture to return," replied the boy; " and sith 
 thou hast told me of that tourney, verily thou 
 hast so much enhanced my desire to go with 
 thee, that nothing but thy refusal of what thou 
 hast vouchsafed to promise me shall now hin- 
 der me." 
 
 " Had I earlier known of whom thou art 
 come, young man," replied Sir Patrick grave- 
 ly, "I had been less rash in persuading thee 
 with me, or in 'gaging my promise to take thee ; 
 but sith that my word hath already passed, it 
 shall assuredly be kept; nor shall thy father 
 or mother have cause to regret that thou hast 
 thus chanced to fall into my hands. Come, 
 then, let us have no more words, but do thou 
 dismiss thy rustic guide, and follow me without 
 more ado." 
 
 The youth bowed obedience, and taking the 
 peasant aside, gave him the reward which his 
 services had merited, and, after talking with 
 him for some little time, sent him away, and 
 prepared to follow his new master. Meanwhile
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 333 
 
 Sir Patrick called Mortimer Sang, and gave 
 him strict charges to care for the boy. 
 
 " Be it thy duty," said he to him, " to see 
 that the young falcon he well bestowed by the 
 way. Meseems him but a tender brauncher as 
 yet; he must not be killed in the reclaiming. 
 Let him be gently entreated, and kindly dealt 
 with, until he do come readily to the hand." 
 
 All being now in readiness, the troop moved 
 forward ; and Sir Patrick Hepborne, who wish- 
 ed to know something more of his newly ac- 
 quired page, made the boy ride beside him, that 
 they might talk together by the way. Mau- 
 rice displayed all the bashfulness of a stripling 
 when he first mixes among men. He hung his 
 head much ; and although the knight's eye could 
 often detect his in the act of gazing at him, 
 when he thought he was himself unobserved, 
 yet he could never stand his master's look in 
 return, but dropped his head on his bosom. The 
 knight, however, found him a lad of intelli- 
 gence and good sense much beyond his years, 
 and ere they had reached Edinburgh, the boy 
 had perfectly succeeded in winning Sir Pa- 
 trick's good affections towards him. 
 
 On their arrival in the capital, Sir Patrick 
 bestowed on the page a beautiful milk-white 
 palfrey, of the most perfect symmetry of form
 
 334- THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 and docility of temper, and added rich furniture 
 of velvet and gold to complete the gift. He ac- 
 coutred him also with a baldrick, and sword and 
 dagger, of rare and curious workmanship — pre- 
 sents which seemed to have the usual effect of 
 such warlike toys on young minds, when the 
 boy is naturally proud of assuming the symbols 
 of virility. He fervently kissed the generous 
 hand that gave them, and blushed as he did so ; 
 then mounting his palfrey, rode with the knight 
 up the High Mercat Street, to the admiration 
 of all those who beheld him. The very popu- 
 lace cheered them as they passed along, and all 
 agreed, that a handsomer knight or a more beau- 
 tiful page had never graced the crown of their 
 causeway. 
 
 Yet though the boy seemed to yield to the joy 
 inspired by the possession of these new and pre- 
 cious treasures, his general aspect was rather 
 melancholy than otherwise, and Hepborne that 
 very evening caught him in tears. He dried 
 his eyes in haste, however, as soon as he saw 
 that he was observed, and lifting his long dark 
 eye-lashes, beamed a smile of sunshine into the 
 anxiously inquiring face of his master. 
 
 " What ails thee, Maurice ?" said Hepborne, 
 kindly taking his hand — " what ails thee, my 
 boy ? Thy hand trembles, and thy cheeks flush
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 335 
 
 —nay, the very alabaster of thine unsullied 
 forehead partakes of the crimson that overrun- 
 neth thy countenance. 'Tis the fever of home- 
 leaving that hath seized thee, and thou weepest 
 for thy mother, whom thou hast left behind 
 thee ; silly youth," said he, chucking him gently 
 under the chin, " 'tis the penalty thou must pay 
 for thy naughtiness in leaving them. Doubtless 
 thou hast made them weep too. But say if thou 
 would'st yet return? for if thou dost, one of 
 mine attendants shall wend with thee, and see 
 thee safe to Werk ; and " 
 
 " Nay, good Sir Knight," cried the boy, in- 
 terrupting him, " though I weep for them, yet 
 would I not return to Werk, but forward fare 
 with thee." 
 
 "Nay," said Hepborne, " unless thou should'st 
 repent thee of thy folly, young man, I shall leave 
 thy disease to run its own course, and to find 
 its own cure. And of a truth, I must confess, I 
 should part with thee with sorrow." 
 
 " Then am I happy," cried the boy, with a 
 sudden expression of delight : " Would that we 
 might never part !" 
 
 " We shall never part whilst thou mayest 
 fancy my company," said Hepborne, kissing his 
 cheek kindly, and infinitely pleased with the 
 unfeigned attachment the boy already showed
 
 336 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 him. " But youth is fickle, and I should not 
 choose to bind thy volatile heart longer than it 
 may be willing; for it may change anon." 
 
 The boy looked suddenly to heaven, crossed 
 his hands over his breast, and said earnestly, 
 " I am not one given to change, Sir Knight ; 
 thou shalt find me ever faithful and true to 
 thee.' , 
 
 After leaving Edinburgh, Hepborne travelled 
 by St Johnstoun, and presented himself before 
 King Robert the Second at Scone, where he 
 then happened to be holding his court. The 
 venerable monarch received him in the most 
 gracious and flattering manner. 
 
 " Thy renommie hath outrun thy tardy home- 
 ward step, Sir Knight," said his Majesty, " for 
 we have already heard of thy gallant deeds 
 abroad. Perdie, we did much envy our faithful 
 ally and brother of France, and did grudge him 
 the possession of one of the most precious jewels 
 of our court, and one of the stoutest defences of 
 our throne. We rejoice, therefore, to have reco- 
 vered what of so good right belongeth to us, aud 
 we hope thou wilt readily yield to our command, 
 that thou should'st remain about our royal per- 
 son. Since old age hath come heavily upon us, 
 marry, we the more lack such stanch and trusty 
 props." 
 
 7
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 337 
 
 " My most gracious Liege, " said Hepborne, 
 " I shall not be wanting in my duty of obedience 
 to your royal and gratifying mandate. At pre- 
 sent I go to attend this tourney of my Lord of 
 Moray's, and I go the more gladly, that I may 
 have an opportunity of meeting with my peers of 
 the baronage, of Scottish chivauncie, whom my 
 absence in France hath hitherto prevented my 
 knowing. Having your royal leave to follow 
 out mine intent, I shall straightway render my- 
 self in your grace's presence, to bow to your 
 royal pleasure." 
 
 " By doing so, Sir Patrick," said the King, 
 " thou wilt much affect us to thee. We have of 
 late had less of thy worthy father's attendance on 
 our person than we could have wished. Man- 
 suete as he is in manners, sage in council, and 
 lion-hearted in the field, we should wish to see 
 him always in our train. But we grieve for the 
 sad cause of his retirement. Thy virtuous mo- 
 ther's sudden death weighed heavily on him, 
 yet must he forget his grief. Let a trentall of 
 masses be said for her soul ; — he must bestir 
 himself anon, and restore to us and to his coun- 
 try the use of those talents, of that virtue and 
 bravery with which he hath been so eminent- 
 ly blessed, and which were given him for our 
 glory and Scotland's defence. If thou goest by 
 VOL. i. p
 
 338 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 the most curt and direct way into Moray-land, 
 thou wilt pass by our son Alexander Earl of 
 Buchan's Castle of Lochyndorbe. Him must 
 thou visit, and tell him that we ourselves did 
 urge thee to claim his hospitality." 
 
 Hepborne readily promised that he would 
 obey his Majesty's injunctions in that respect, 
 and took his leave, being charged with a letter 
 for the earl, from the King, under his own pri- 
 vate signet. 
 
 His route lay northwards, through the centre 
 of Scotland. As he journeyed onwards, through 
 deep valleys and endless forests, and over high, 
 wide, and barren w T astes, he compared in his 
 own mind the face of the country with the fer- 
 tile regions of France, which he had so lately 
 left. But still, these were the mountains of his 
 father-land that rose before his eye, and that 
 name allied them to his heart by ties infinitely 
 stronger than the tame surface of cultivation 
 could have imposed. His soul soared aloft to 
 the summits of the snow-topt Grampians, and 
 the hardy and untameable spirit of Scotland 
 seemed to sit enthroned among their mists, and 
 to bid him welcome as a son. 
 
 He made each day's journey so easy, on ac- 
 count of the tender page, that a week had nearly 
 elapsed ere he found himself in the upper part
 
 THE WOOLFE OF BADENOCH. 339 
 
 of the valley of the Dee. It was about sunset 
 when he reached a miserable-looking house, 
 which had been described to him as one accus- 
 tomed to give entertainment to travellers. It 
 was situated under some lofty pines on the edge 
 of the forest. The owner of this mansion was 
 a Celt ; a tall, stout, athletic man of middle age, 
 clad in the garb of the mountaineers. Having 
 served in the wars against the English, he had 
 acquired enough of the Southron tongue to ena- 
 ble Hepborne to hold converse with him. The 
 knight, and the page, whom, notwithstanding 
 his injunction to Mortimer Sang, he had yet 
 kept always within his own eye, were ushered 
 together into a large sod-built apartment, where 
 a cheerful fire of wood burned in the middle of 
 the floor. The squire and the rest of the party 
 were bestowed in a long narrow building of the 
 same materials, attached to one end of it. The 
 night had been chilly on the high grounds they 
 had crossed, and the fire was agreeable. They 
 sat them down therefore on wooden settles close 
 to it, and the rude servants of their host has- 
 tened to put green boughs across the fire, and 
 to lay down steaks of the flesh of the red-deer 
 to be cooked on them. 
 
 Meanwhile the host entered with a wooden 
 stoup in his hand, and poured out for them to
 
 340 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 drink, into a small two-eared vessel of the same 
 material. The liquor was a sort of spirit, made 
 partly from certain roots, and partly from grain ; 
 and was harsh and potent, but rather invigo- 
 rating. Hepborne partook of it, but the page 
 would on no account taste it. 
 
 " Fu !" said Duncan MacErchar, for that 
 was their host's name, " fu ! fat for will she no 
 drink ?" 
 
 " He is right," said Hepborne ; " at his age, 
 water should be his only beverage." 
 
 The host then went with his stoup to offer 
 some of its contents to the knight's followers, 
 most of whom he found less scrupulous than 
 the page. During his conversation with the 
 men, he soon learned who was their master ; 
 but he had no sooner heard the name of Hep- 
 borne, than he became half frantic with joy, 
 and hastily returned into the place where Sir 
 Patrick was sitting. 
 
 " Master Duncan MacErchar," said Hep- 
 borne to him as he entered, " thou must e'en 
 procure me some mountaineer who may guide 
 me into Moray-land. I be but a stranger in 
 these northern regions, and verily our way 
 among the mountains hath been longer than it 
 ought, for we have been often miswent. More- 
 over, I am altogether ignorant of thy Celtic
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 341 
 
 leden, so that when we have had the good for- 
 tune to meet with people by the way, we have 
 not been able to profit by the information they 
 could give us." 
 
 " Ugh !" cried MacErchar, with a strong 
 expression of joy, and rubbing his hands as he 
 spoke ; " but she'll go with her hersell, an nae- 
 body else can be gotten to attend her. Ugh ay, 
 surely she'll do that and twenty times more for 
 ony Hepborne, and most of all for the son of 
 the noble, and brave, and worthy Sir Patrick, 
 and weel her part. Och ay, surely !" 
 
 " And how comest thou to be so very friendly 
 to the Hepbornes, and, above all, to our fa- 
 mily ?" demanded Sir Patrick. 
 
 " Blessings be upon her !" said MacErchar, 
 i( she did serve mony a day with her father, the 
 good and the brave Sir Patrick against the Eng- 
 lish, and mony was the time she did fight at her 
 ain back. She would die hersell for Sir Patrick, 
 or for ony flesh o' his." 
 
 Hepborne's heart immediately warmed to the 
 honest Celt ; he shook him cordially by the 
 hand, and MacErchar's eyes glistened with plea- 
 sure. 
 
 " Depend on it, Master MacErchar," said 
 he, " my father shall know thine attachment to 
 him."
 
 34:2 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 " Ou fye," said MacErchar, " it would be 
 an honour and a pleasure for her to see Sir Pa- 
 trick again, to be sure ! — ugh ay !" And he 
 stopped, because he seemed to lack language to 
 express all he felt. 
 
 " Thou livest in a wild spot here," said Hep- 
 borne ; " but thou art a soldier, and hast tra- 
 velled." 
 
 " Ou ay, troth she hath done that," said 
 Duncan, with a look of conscious pride ; " troth 
 hath she travelled mony a bonny mile in Eng- 
 land, not to talk o' Ireland, where she did help 
 to take Carlinyford. Troth she hath seen New- 
 castle, and all thereabouts, for she was with the 
 brave Archembald Douglas, the Grim Lord of 
 Galloway. Och ! oich ! it was fine sport ! — 
 She lived on the fat o' the land yon time ; and, 
 u-hugh ! what spulzie ! — ay, ay, he ! he ! he !" 
 
 " Thou didst march into England, then, with 
 the French auxiliaries who came over to St 
 Johnstoun under Jean de Vian, Conte de Va- 
 lentinois ?" demanded Sir Patrick. 
 
 " Ou ay, troth she was with the French- 
 mens a long time," said MacErchar. — " Pent 
 parley Frenchy, hoot ay can she. Fair befall 
 them, they helped her to beleaguer and to sack 
 two or three bonny castles. U-hugh ! what 
 bonny spuilzie ! — sure, sure !"
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 343 
 
 He laid his finger with great significancy 
 against his nose, and, having first shut the door, 
 he lifted a brand from the fire, and went to one 
 end of the apartment. There he removed a 
 parcel of faggots, that lay carelessly heaped up 
 against the wall, and, lifting a rude frame of 
 wattle that was beneath them, uncovered an 
 excavation in the earthen floor, from which he 
 brought out a massive silver flagon, one or two 
 small silver mazers, and several other pieces of 
 valuable spoil ; and besides these, he produced 
 a plain black bugle-horn, and two or three coarse 
 swords and daggers. 
 
 " Troth she would not show them to every- 
 body," said he ; " but she be's an honourable 
 knight, and Sir Patrick's son ; — she hath no 
 fears to show the bonny things to her. But she 
 has not had them out for mony a day syne.' , 
 
 Hepborne bestowed due admiration on those 
 well-earned fruits of Master Duncan MacEr- 
 char's military hardships and dangers. Though 
 of less actual value to the owner than the wood- 
 en vessel from which he had so liberally dealt 
 out his hospitable cup at meeting, yet there was 
 something noble in the pride he took in show- 
 ing them. It was evident that the glory of the 
 manner of their acquisition gave them their 
 chief value in his eyes ; for it was not those of
 
 344< THE WOLFE OE BADENOCH. 
 
 most intrinsic worth that were estimated the 
 highest by him. 
 
 " See this," said he, lifting the plain black 
 bugle- horn ; " this be the best prize of them 
 all. She took this hersell off a loon that fought 
 and tuilzied with her hand to hand : but troth 
 she tumbled him at the hinder-end of the bicker. 
 Fye, fye, but he was a sorrowful mockel stout 
 loon. — This swords, and this daggers, were all 
 ta'en off the loons she killed with her nane 
 hand. — But uve, uve ! she maunna be tellin' on 
 her, though troth she needna fear Sir Patrick 
 Hepborne's son. But if some of the folks in 
 these parts heard of this things, uve, uve ! they 
 wouldna be long here." 
 
 Saying this, he hastily restored the several 
 articles of spoil to the grave that had held them, 
 and putting down the wattle over them, he 
 threw back the billets into a careless heap 
 against the wall. 
 
 " Thy treasure is so great, Master MacEr- 
 char," said Hepborne, " that thou art doubtless 
 satisfied, and wilt never again tempt thy fate 
 in the field?" 
 
 " Hoot, toot !" cried MacErchar, " troth, 
 she'll be there again or lang ; she maun see 
 more o' the Southrons yet or she dies. But
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADESTOCH. 345 
 
 uve, uve ! what for is there nothing yet for her 
 to eat ?" 
 
 He then burst out in a torrent of eloquence 
 in his own language, which soon brought his 
 ragged attendants about him, and the best that 
 he could afford was put on a table before Sir 
 Patrick and the page. Cakes made of rough 
 ground oatmeal, milk, cheese, butter, steaks of 
 deer's flesh, with various other viands, and abun- 
 dance of ale, appeared in rapid succession, and 
 both knight and page feasted admirably after 
 their day's exercise. Hepborne insisted on their 
 host sitting down and partaking with them, 
 which he did immediately, with a degree of in- 
 dependent dignity that impressed Sir Patrick 
 yet more strongly in his favour. 
 
 p2
 
 346 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 As they sat socially at their meal, they were 
 suddenly interrupted by the door being burst 
 open, when two gigantic and very savage-look- 
 ing men entered, in most uncouth and wild dra- 
 pery. They were clothed in woollen plaids of 
 various colours and of enormous amplitude, and 
 these were wrapt round their bodies, and kept 
 tight by a belt of raw leather, with the hair on 
 it, leaving the skirts to hang half-way down 
 their naked thighs, while the upper part above 
 the belt was thrown loosely over the shoulder, 
 so as to give to their muscular arms and hairy 
 knees the full freedom of nakedness. Their 
 heads also were bare, except that they had the 
 copious covering which nature had provided for 
 them, the one having strong curly black hair, 
 and the other red of similar roughness, hanging 
 in matted locks over their features and about 
 their ears. The forests which nature had plant- 
 ed on their faces, chins, and necks too, had
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 347 
 
 been allowed to grow, untamed by shears ; their 
 legs were covered half way to the knee by strips 
 of raw skin twisted round them, and their feet 
 were defended by a kind of shoes made of un- 
 tanned hides. Each had a dirk in his girdle, 
 and a pouch of skin suspended before, while 
 across their backs were slung bows and bunch- 
 es of arrows. In their hands they brandished 
 long lances, and several recently taken wolves' 
 skins were thrown over their shoulders, but 
 rather for carriage than covering. Five or six 
 large wiry-haired wolf-dogs entered along with 
 them. 
 
 MacErchar instantly started up when they 
 appeared, and began speaking loudly and hastily 
 to them in their own tongue, waving them from 
 time to time to retire, and at length opened the 
 door, and showed them the way to the other 
 apartment. 
 
 " Who may be these two savage-looking 
 men ?" demanded Hepborne of his host as he 
 entered. 
 
 " Troth, she no kens them, Sir Patrick," 
 replied MacErchar, " she never saw them afore ; 
 but they tells her that they he's hunters from 
 the north side of this mountains here." 
 
 " Live they in the way that I must needs
 
 348 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 wend to-morrow towards Moraylancl ?" asked 
 Hepborne. 
 
 " Uch, ay," replied MacErchar ; " but mind 
 not that, Sir Patrick, for hersell will go wi' thee 
 the morn." 
 
 " Nay," said Hepborne, " that may not be ; 
 that is, if these men are to return whence they 
 came, and that their road and mine run nearly 
 in the same direction. Perdie, I cannot in that 
 case suffer thee to yede so far with me unne- 
 cessarily, when their guidance may suffice. 
 Thou shalt give them knowledge of the point 
 I wish to reach, together with all necessary 
 directions touching the places where we may 
 best halt, and spend the night ; and they shall 
 receive a handsome guerdon from me when they 
 shall have brought me and mine in safety to 
 the Castle of Lochyndorbe, whither I am first 
 bound." 
 
 " Uu-huch ! of a truth she would like to go 
 with her," said MacErchar ; " but troth, after 
 all, she must confess that she kens but little o' 
 the way beyond her ain hills there. Weel would 
 it be her pairt to wend wi' her ; but if yon loons 
 ken the gate into Morayland, (as doubtless they 
 have been there mony a time, an she does not 
 mistake them,) they will be better guides, after
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 349 
 
 all. But what an she should ask some ques- 
 tions at them ?" 
 
 " Thou hadst better do so," said Hepborne ; 
 " best ask them whence they come, and what 
 parts of the country they know, before thou 
 dost teach them the object of thy questions." 
 
 " Troth, and she's right there," said Duncan 
 MacErchar ; " this salvage loons are not just to 
 lippen till ; weel does she ken them ; and uve, 
 uve ! she maun take special care to look sharp 
 after them gin she should yede wi' them ; they 
 are but little chancy in troth. But she'll call 
 them in now, and see what the loons will say." 
 
 The two uncouth-looking men were accord- 
 ingly brought in. They made no obeisance, 
 but stood like a couple of huge rocks, immo- 
 vable, with all their thickets and woods upon 
 them. They even beetled over the tall and 
 sturdy form of Duncan MacErchar, who, though 
 above the middle size, might have passed as a 
 little man when placed beside those gigantic 
 figures. Duncan put several questions to them 
 in their own language, which they answered, 
 but always before doing so they seemed to con- 
 sult each other's countenances, and then both 
 answered in the same breath. They eyed the 
 knight and his page from time to time, as the 
 inhabitants of all secluded and wild regions are
 
 350 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 naturally apt to stare at strangers. After a good 
 deal of colloquy had passed, MacErchar turned 
 to Hepborne, — 
 
 " Sir Patrick," said he, " these men ken 
 every inch of the country from here to the Frith 
 of Moray. Shall she now ask them if they be 
 willing to guide her honour to Lochyndorbe ?" 
 
 "Do so, I beseech thee," said Hepborne, " and 
 tell them I will give them gold when they bring 
 me thither." 
 
 MacErchar again addressed them in their own 
 language. The men seemed to nod assent to 
 the proposals he made them ; and after a few 
 more words had passed between them, — 
 
 " Uch, Sir Patrick," said lie, " they be very 
 willing for the job. They'll bring her there in 
 two days. They say that she must be off by 
 sunrise in the morning." 
 
 This Sir Patrick readily undertook ; and 
 Duncan MacErchar having wet the treaty with 
 a draught of the spirits from his stoup, of which 
 he poured out liberally to each, the men retired. 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne then signified a wish to 
 go to his repose. Two heather-beds of inviting 
 firmness and elasticity were already prepared at 
 the two extremities of the chamber where they 
 were ; and the knight having occupied the one.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 351 
 
 and the page the other, both were very soon 
 sound asleep. 
 
 About the middle of the night, Sir Patrick 
 was awakened by a noise. He raised himself 
 suddenly, and looking towards the door, whence 
 it seemed to have proceeded, he saw that it was 
 open. One or two of the great rough wolf-dogs 
 came slowly in, looking over their shoulders, as 
 if expecting some one to follow them — and ma- 
 king a turn or two round the expiring fire, and 
 smelling about them for a little while, walked 
 out again. Hepborne arose and shut the door, 
 and then threw himself again within his blan- 
 kets. He lay for some time awake, to see whe- 
 ther the wolf-dogs would repeat their unplea- 
 sant intrusion ; and finding that there was no 
 appearance of their doing so, he again resigned 
 himself to the sweets of oblivion. 
 
 He had lain some time in this state, when he 
 was a second time awakened, he knew not how, 
 but he heard as if there were footsteps in the 
 place. The fire had now fallen so low, that he 
 could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmer- 
 ing moon-beam that made its way in, he saw 
 that the door was again open. As he looked to- 
 wards it, he thought he perceived something like 
 a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had 
 done before, and going to the door, he again shut
 
 352 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 it ; and that the wolf-clogs might no more tor- 
 ment him, he piled up the rustic table he had 
 supped on, and some of the stools and settles 
 against it. The precautions he thus took were 
 effectual, for the dogs were no more troublesome 
 to him all night ; and the first interruption his 
 slumbers experienced, was from the overthrow 
 of the whole materials of his barricado. and the 
 exclamation of " Uve ! uve !" that burst from 
 Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose 
 of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hep- 
 borne explained the cause of his having so for- 
 tified the door. 
 
 " Uch ay," said MacErchar, "they be's power- 
 some brutes — powersome brutes, in troth, and 
 plaguy cunning. I'se warrant they smelt the 
 smell of the rosten deer's flesh, and that brought 
 them in. But they got little for their pains, the 
 ragged rascals — not but they are bonny tykes, 
 poor beasts ! and troth, 'tis better to have ane 
 o' them in the house than the wolves themselves, 
 that we're sometimes plagued with." 
 
 The host approached the side of Hepborne's 
 couch, with his everlasting stoup in his right 
 hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and pour- 
 ed him out of the spirits it contained. The 
 Knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar re- 
 tired to see that his morning's meal was pro-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 353 
 
 perly provided. It was no less copiously and 
 comfortably supplied, according to his means, 
 than the supper of the previous evening had 
 been. 
 
 At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his 
 master's orders ; and when Hepborne asked him 
 how he and his people had fared, he learned 
 that they had been treated with everything the 
 good host could procure for them. Oats were 
 not to be had for the horses ; but, in addition to 
 the grass that was cut for them, Master Mac- 
 Erchar had himself carried a large sack of meal 
 to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the 
 animals had with some difficulty been forced in, 
 and he had most liberally supplied them with 
 his own hands. He went round all the men of 
 Hepborne' s party, and gave each his morning's 
 cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that 
 it was impossible he could do enough from his 
 small means, for the knight and every person 
 and animal belonging to him. 
 
 When the horses were brought out, Hepborne 
 called MacErchar to him, and offered him, from 
 his purse, ten times as much money as the value 
 of his night's entertainment and lodging would 
 have cost. 
 
 " Uve ! uve !" said Duncan, sore hurt, and 
 half offended : " uve ! uve ! Sir Patrick ! Hoot,
 
 854 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 no. What ! take money from the son of Sir Pa- 
 trick Hepborne, the son o' the noble brave knight 
 that she has followed mony a days ! — take mo- 
 ney from his son for a bit paltry piece and a 
 drink ! — Na ! na ! — Uve ! uve ! — Ou fye ! on 
 fye ! — na, na ! — Troth, she's no just so poor or 
 so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve ! uve ! 
 Surely !" 
 
 Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had 
 done. He would have rather put his hand in 
 the fire than have hurt feelings that were so ho- 
 nourable to Duncan MacErchar ; and he almost 
 began to wish that his purse had been there, ere 
 it had been the means of giving pain to so noble 
 a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to re- 
 medy the evil ; for, putting his purse sheepishly 
 in his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, 
 and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, 
 to the health, happiness, and prosperity of Mas- 
 ter Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the moun- 
 taineer heartily by the hand — 
 
 " May we meet again, my worthy friend," 
 said he ; "and wherever it be, let me not pass 
 thee by unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and 
 may the blessing of St Andrew be about thee !" 
 
 This courteous and kind behaviour complete- 
 ly salved the wound Hepborne had so unwit- 
 tingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 355 
 
 it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to 
 express his joy. 
 
 " Och, oich ! God's blessing, and the Vir- 
 gin's blessing be about her. Och, och ! Sir 
 Patrick ! uu-uch ! God's blessing, and the Vir- 
 gin's blessing — and uch-uch ! — and, Sir Pa- 
 trick — Sure, sure ! ou ay — uu — u !" 
 
 His English failed him entirely, and he re- 
 sorted to that language in which he was most 
 fluent. Hepborne mounted his horse, and wa- 
 ving him another farewell, rode on to overtake 
 his guides, who were standing on a distant 
 eminence waiting for him ; and as he receded 
 from the humble mansion of Master Duncan 
 MacErchar, he for several minutes distinguish- 
 ed his voice vociferating in pleased but unintel- 
 ligible accents.
 
 356 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne and the Page, fol- 
 lowed by Mortimer Sang and the rest of the 
 party, rode slowly on after their savage gnides, 
 along sidelong paths worn in the steep acclivi- 
 ties of the mountains, by the deer, wild bisons, 
 and other animals then abounding in the wil- 
 dernesses of Scotland. The fir forests appeared 
 endless ; the trees were of the most gigantic sta- 
 ture, and might have been of an age coeval with 
 that second creation that sprung up over the 
 surface of the renovated and newly fructified 
 earth, after the subsiding waters had left their 
 fertilizing mud behind them. Long hairy moss 
 hung streaming from their lateral branches, 
 which, dried by the lack of air and moisture 
 occasioned by the increasing growth of the 
 shade above, had died from the very vigour of 
 the plant they were attached to. As Hepborne 
 beheld the two mountaineers striding before 
 him in their rough attire, winding among their
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 357 
 
 enormous scaly trunks, or standing on some 
 rocky point above, leaning against one of them, 
 to wait for the slow ascent of himself and his 
 party, he could not help comparing them with 
 those vegetable giants, and indulging his fancy 
 in the whimsical notion, that they were as two 
 of them, animated and endowed with the powers 
 of locomotion. The ground they travelled over 
 was infinitely varied in surface, hills and hol- 
 lows, knolls, gullies, rivers, and lakes; but all 
 was forest, never-ending forest. Sometimes, 
 indeed, they crossed large tracts of ground, 
 where, to open a space for pasture, or to banish 
 the wolves, or to admit a more extended view 
 around for purposes of hunting, or perhaps by 
 some accidental fire, the forest had been burnt. 
 There the huge trunks of the trees, charred black 
 by the flames, and standing deprived of every- 
 thing but a few of their larger limbs, added to 
 the savage scenery around. 
 
 Before entering one of these wastes, in a lit- 
 tle plain lying in the bottom of a valley, where 
 the devastation had been arrested in its progress 
 by some cause, before it had been carried to any 
 great extent, their guides descried a herd of 
 the wild bisons, which were natives of Scotland 
 for ages after the period we are now speaking 
 uf. The animals were feeding at no very great
 
 35S THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 distance, and the mountaineers were instant- 
 ly all eagerness to get at them. Pointing them 
 out to Hepborne, they made signs that he and 
 his party should halt. He complied with their 
 wishes; and they immediately secured their 
 dogs to the trees, to prevent the risk of their 
 giving any premature alarm, and, setting off 
 with inconceivable speed through the skirting 
 wood that grew on the side of the mountain, 
 wore soon lost to view. Hepborne kept his eye 
 on the herd. They were of a pure milk-white 
 hue, and, as the sun was reflected from their 
 glossy sides, they appeared still more brilliant, 
 from contrast with the blackened ruins of the 
 burnt pines among which they were pasturing. 
 At their head was a noble bull with a magnifi- 
 cent mane. 
 
 As Hepborne and the page were admiring 
 the beauty and symmetry of this leader of the 
 herd, noting the immense strength indicated 
 by the thickness and depth of his chest, with 
 the lightness and sprightliness of his head, and 
 his upright and spreading horns, of a white ri- 
 valling that of ivory in lustre, and tipt with 
 points of jet black, they observed a fat cow 
 near to him suddenly fall to the ground, by an 
 arrow from the covert of the trees, while an- 
 other having been lodged in his flank at the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 359 
 
 same moment, he started aside, and bounded 
 off in a wide circuit with great swiftness, and 
 the whole herd being alarmed, darted after him. 
 Out rushed the mountaineers from their con- 
 cealment, and making for the wounded cow, 
 soon dispatched her with their spears. 
 
 They then attempted to creep nearer to the 
 herd, and even succeeded in lodging more than 
 one arrow in the bull; but as none of them 
 took effect in a vital part, they only served to 
 madden the animal. He turned, and, ere they 
 wist, charged them with a fury and speed that 
 left them hardly time to make their escape. 
 They ran towards the place where Hepborne 
 and his party were concealed ; and just as the 
 knight moved forward into the open ground, 
 they succeeded in getting up into trees. Sir 
 Patrick's manoeuvre had the desired effect in 
 checking the attack of the bisons, for they stop- 
 ped short in the middle of their career, gazed 
 at the party, and then, led by the bull at their 
 head, again galloped off in a wide circle, sweep- 
 ing round a second time towards the knight, 
 and coming to a sudden stand beyond bow-shot. 
 After remaining at rest for some minutes, with 
 their heads all turned towards the party, the 
 bull began pawing the ground, and bellowing
 
 360 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 aloud, after which he charged forward half the 
 distance, and then halted. 
 
 Hephorne, seeing him thus detached from his 
 followers, put his lance in the rest, and was pre- 
 paring to attack him ; but just as he was rising 
 in his stirrups, and was about to give his horse 
 the spur, the page, with a countenance pale as 
 death, and a hand trembling with apprehension, 
 seized his bridle-rein, and looking anxiously in 
 his face — 
 
 " Do not peril thy life, Sir Knight," said he 
 — " do not, I beseech thee, peril thy life against 
 a vulgar beast, where thou canst gain no ho- 
 nour ; do not, for the sake of the blessed Vir- 
 gin — do not essay so dangerous and unprofit- 
 able an adventure." 
 
 " Pshaw," said Hepborne, vexed with tho 
 notion that the boy was betraying pusillanimity ; 
 " is that the face, are those the looks, and is 
 that the pallid hue of fear, thou dost mean to 
 put on, as the proofs of thy fitness for deeds of 
 manhood and warlike encounter ?" 
 
 The page dropped his head, ashamed and 
 hurt by his master's chiding; but still he did 
 not let go the rein — 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," said he calmly, " I did 
 but argue that thy prowess, shown upon a vile 
 brute, were but lost. Rather let me attempt to
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 361 
 
 attack yonder salvage : he better befits mine 
 unpractised arm than thine honoured lance, 
 which hath overthrown puissant knights." 
 
 " Tush, boy," said Sir Patrick, somewhat 
 better pleased to see the spirit that lurked in 
 the youth, " thou art much too young, and 
 thine arm is as yet too feeble to fit thee for 
 encounter with yonder huge mass of thewes 
 and muscles. Stand by, my dear boy, and let 
 me pass." 
 
 He gave his palfrey the spur, and sprang for- 
 ward against the bull. The page couched his 
 slender lance, to which a pennon was attached, 
 and bravely followed the knight in the charge, 
 as fast as his palfrey could gallop. The bull 
 seeing Hepborne coming on him, bellowed aloud, 
 and, putting down his nose to the ground, he 
 shut his eyes, and darted forward against his 
 assailant. Hepborne wheeled his horse suddenly 
 out of his way, and, with great adroitness, ran 
 his lance through him as he passed him. But 
 his manoeuvre, though manifesting excellent 
 judgment, and admirable skill and horseman- 
 ship, had nearly proved fatal to the page, whose 
 palfrey, coming up in a straight line behind that 
 of the knight, and seeing the bull coming direct- 
 ly upon him, sprang to the side, and by that 
 means unhorsing the boy, left him lying on the 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 362 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 ground, in the very path of the infuriated beast. 
 In agony from his wound, the creature imme- 
 diately proceeded to attack the youth with his 
 horns. But the page having kept hold of his 
 spear, with great presence of mind ran its point, 
 with the flapping pennon attached to it, right 
 into the animal's eyes. The creature instantly 
 retreated a few steps, and before he could renew 
 his attack, he was overpowered by the knight 
 and his party, who immediately surrounded him, 
 and was killed by at least a dozen spear-thrusts 
 at once. A general charge was now made against 
 the rest, that still stood at a distance, crowded 
 together in a knot; when the whole of them, 
 wheeling suddenly round, galloped off with the 
 utmost swiftness, and were lost in the depths 
 of the forest. 
 
 Hepborne leaped from his horse, and ran 
 anxiously to assist Maurice de Grey, who still 
 lay on the ground, apparently faint from the 
 fall he had had, and perhaps, too, partly from 
 the alarm he had been in. He raised him up, 
 upon which the boy burst into tears. 
 
 " Art thou hurt, Maurice ?" demanded Hep- 
 borne, with alarm. 
 
 " Nay," said the boy, " I am not hurt." 
 
 " Fye on thee, then," said Hepborne ; " let 
 not tears sully the glory thou hast but now
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 363 
 
 earned by thy manly attempt in so boldly riding 
 to my rescue. Verily thou wilt be a brave lad 
 anon. Be assured, my beloved boy," continued 
 he, as he warmly embraced him, " I feel as 
 grateful for thine affectionate exertions in my 
 behalf as if I now owed my life to them. But 
 dry up thy tears, and let them not henceforth 
 well out so frequently, lest thy manhood and 
 courage may be questioned." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," said the boy, " these are 
 not the tears of cowardice ; they are the tears 
 of gratitude to Heaven for thy safety ; and me- 
 thinks they are less dishonourable to me," con- 
 tinued he, with an arch smile of satisfaction, 
 " since I see that thine own manly cheek is 
 somewhat moistened." 
 
 Hepborne said no more, but turned away has- 
 tily, for he felt that what the boy said was true. 
 He had experienced very great alarm for Mau- 
 rice's life, and the relief he received by seeing 
 him in safety, operating in conjunction with the 
 thought that the danger the page had thrown 
 himself into had been occasioned by a mistaken 
 zeal to defend him from the bull, grappled his 
 generous heart, and filled his eyes with a mois- 
 ture he could not restrain. 
 
 The two mountaineers proceeded to skin the 
 animals, a work which they performed with
 
 364 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 great expertness ; then cutting off the finer parts 
 of the flesh, and carefully extracting the tallow, 
 they rolled them up in the hides ; and each lift- 
 ing one of them on his brawny shoulders, pro- 
 ceeded on their journey, after allowing their 
 hungry dogs to gorge themselves on the re- 
 mainder. 
 
 The knight and his party were now led up 
 some of those wild glens which bring down tri- 
 butary streams to the river Dee, and they gra- 
 dually began to climb the southern side of that 
 lofty range of mountains, separating its valley 
 from that of the Spey. They soon rose above 
 the region of forest, and continued to ascend by 
 zigzag paths, where the horses found a difficult 
 and precarious footing, and where the riders 
 were often compelled to dismount. The fatigue 
 to both men and animals was so great, that some 
 of the latter frequently slipped down, and were 
 with great labour recovered from the hazard 
 they were thrown into. At length, after unre- 
 mitting and toilsome exertions, they found them- 
 selves on the very ridge of the mountain group, 
 from which they enjoyed a view backwards 
 over many leagues of the wild but romantic 
 country they had travelled through during the 
 previous days. 
 
 They now crossed an extensive plain, the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 365 
 
 greatest part of which was covered with a har- 
 dened glacier, while two high tops reared them- 
 selves on either side, covered with glazed snow, 
 that reflected the sun-beams with dazzling 
 brightness. The passage across this stretch of 
 table-land was difficult, the horses frequently 
 slipping, and often falling, till, at length, they 
 came suddenly to the edge of a precipice, whence 
 they looked down into one of the most sublime 
 scenes that nature can well present. 
 
 The long and narrow trough of a glen, bound- 
 ed on both sides by tremendously precipitous 
 rocks, rising from a depth that made the head 
 giddy to overlook it, stretched from under them 
 in nearly a straight line for perhaps six or seven 
 miles, being cooped in between the two highest 
 points of the Grampians. The bottom of the 
 nearer and more savage part of this singular 
 hollow among the mountains, was so completely 
 filled with the waters of the wild Loch Aven, 
 as to leave but little shore on either side, and 
 that little was in most places inclined in a steep 
 slope, and covered with mountainous fragments, 
 that had fallen during a succession of ages from 
 the overhanging cliffs. A detachment of pines, 
 from the lower forests, came straggling up the 
 more distant part of the glen, and some of them 
 had even established themselves here and there
 
 366 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 in scattered groups, and uncouthly-shaped sin- 
 gle trees, along the sides of the lake, or among 
 the rocks arising from it. The long sheet of wa- 
 ter lay unruffled amidst the uninterrupted quiet 
 that prevailed, and, receiving no other image 
 than that of the sky above, assumed a tinge 
 of the deepest and darkest blue. The glacier 
 they stood on, and which hung over the brow 
 of the cliff, gave rise to two very considerable 
 streams, which threw themselves roaring over 
 the rocks, dashing and breaking into an infinite 
 variety of forms, and shooting headlong into the 
 lake below. 
 
 The sun was now sinking rapidly in the west, 
 and night was fast approaching. The great ele- 
 vation they had gained, and the solitary wilder- 
 ness of alpine country that surrounded them, 
 almost excluded the possibility of any human 
 habitation being within their reach. Hepborne 
 became anxiously solicitous for the page Mau- 
 rice de Grey, who had for a considerable time 
 been manifesting excessive fatigue. Their dumb 
 guides seemed to stand as if uncertain how to 
 proceed, and Hepborne's anxiety increased. He 
 endeavoured to question them by signs, as to 
 where they intended the party to halt for the 
 night. With some difficulty he succeeded in 
 making them understand him, and they then
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 367 
 
 pointed out a piece of green ground, looped in 
 by a sweep of the river, that escaped from the 
 farther end of the lake. The spot seemed to he 
 sheltered by surrounding pine-trees, and wore 
 in every respect a most inviting aspect. But if 
 they had been endowed with wings, and could 
 have taken the flight of eagles from the region 
 of the clouds where they then were, the distance 
 must have been five or six miles. Taking into 
 calculation, therefore, the immense circuit they 
 must make with the horses in order to gain the 
 bottom of the glen beyond the lake, which must 
 necessarily quadruple the direct distance, toge- 
 ther with the toilsome nature of the way, Sir 
 Patrick saw that Maurice de Grey must sink 
 under the pressure of fatigue before one-twen- 
 tieth part of it could be performed. He was 
 therefore thrown into a state of the utmost per- 
 plexity, for the cold was so great where they 
 then were, that it was absolutely impossible 
 they could remain there during the night, with- 
 out the risk of being frozen to death. 
 
 One of the guides, observing Hepborne's un- 
 easiness and doubt, approached him, and pointed 
 almost perpendicularly downwards to a place 
 near the upper end of the lake, where the mass- 
 es of rock lay thickest and hugest. The knight 
 could not comprehend him at first, but the man,
 
 368 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 taking up two or three rough angular stones, 
 placed them on the ground, close to each other, 
 in the form of an irregular circle, everywhere 
 entire, except in one point, where the space of 
 about the width of one of them was left vacant ; 
 and then, lifting up a stone of a cubical shape, 
 and of much greater size, placed the flat base of 
 it on the top of the others, so as entirely to cover 
 them and the little area they enclosed. Having 
 made Hepborne observe that he could thrust his 
 hand in at the point where the circle had been 
 left incomplete, and that he could move it in 
 the cavity under the flat base of the stone, he 
 again pointed downwards to the same spot he 
 had indicated near the upper end of the lake, 
 and at last succeeded in calling Hepborne's at- 
 tention to one of the fallen crags, much larger 
 than the rest, but which, from the immensity 
 of the height they were above it, looked like a 
 mere handful. The guide no sooner saw that 
 the knight's eye had distinguished the object he 
 wished them to notice, than he turned and point- 
 ed to the mimic erection he had formed on the 
 ground, and at length made him comprehend, 
 that the fallen crag below was similarly poised, 
 and afforded a like cavernous shelter beneath it. 
 At the same time he indicated a zigzag path, 
 that led precipitously down the cliffs, like a
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 369 
 
 stair among the rocks, between the two foaming 
 cataracts. This was altogether impracticable for 
 the horses, it is true, but it was sufficiently fea- 
 sible, though hazardous enough, for active pe- 
 destrians. The guide separated Hepborne and 
 Maurice de Grey from the rest of the party, 
 and then pointing to the men and horses, swept 
 his extended finger round from them to the dis- 
 tant green spot beyond the end of the lake ; and 
 this he did in such a manner as to make the 
 knight at once understand, that he meant to pro- 
 pose that the party should proceed thither by a 
 circuitous route, under the guidance of his com- 
 panion, whilst he should himself conduct Hep- 
 borne, and his already over-fatigued page, di- 
 rectly down to the sheltering stone below, where 
 they might have comfortable lodging for the 
 night. He further signified to Hepborne, that 
 the horses might be brought for a considerable 
 way up the lake, to meet him in the morning. 
 
 2 2
 
 370 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 So much time had been lost in this mute kind 
 of conversation, that the night was fast approach- 
 ing, and Sir Patrick saw that he must now come 
 to a speedy decision. The plan suggested by 
 the guide seemed to be the best that could be 
 followed, under all the circumstances, and he 
 at once determined to adopt it. At the same 
 time, he by no means relished this division of 
 forces, and, remembering the caution he had 
 received from Duncan MacErchar, he called 
 Mortimer Sang aside, and gave him very par- 
 ticular injunctions to be on the alert, and to 
 take care that his people kept a sharp watch over 
 the mountaineer who was to guide them, and to 
 be sure to environ him in such a manner as to 
 make it impossible for him to dart off on a sud- 
 den, and leave them in the dark, in the midst 
 of these unknown deserts. Had they once safely 
 arrived at the green spot, where there was a 
 temporary though uninhabited hunting-hut, and
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 371 
 
 plenty of grass for the horses, he had no fear of 
 his being able to join them with the page next 
 morning ; for the trough of the glen was so di- 
 rect between the two points, where they were 
 separately to spend the night, that it was im- 
 possible to mistake the way from the one to the 
 other. Mortimer Sang engaged to prevent all 
 chance of the savage mountaineer escaping. He 
 produced from one of the baggage -horses a large 
 wallet, containing provisions enough for the 
 whole party, which the good and mindful Mas- 
 ter Duncan MacErchar had provided for them, 
 altogether unknown to Hepborne. From it he 
 took some cakes, cheese, butter, and other eat- 
 ables, with a small flask filled from the host's 
 stoup of spirits ; these were added to their 
 guide's burden of the flesh of the wild bisons 
 they had slain ; and, bidding one another God 
 speed, the party, under Sang, with one of the 
 Celts, and all the dogs, departed to pursue their 
 long and weary way. 
 
 Maurice de Grey had sat all this while on the 
 ground, very much exhausted; and when he 
 arose to proceed, he had become so stiff, that 
 Hepborne began to be alarmed for him. The 
 poor boy, however, no sooner remarked the un- 
 happy countenance of his master than he made 
 an attempt to rouse himself to exertion, and ap-
 
 312 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 proaching the edge of the precipice, lie com- 
 menced his descent after the guide, with totter- 
 ing and timid steps, dropping from one pointed 
 rock to another, and steadying himself from time 
 to time, as well as he could, by means of his 
 lance, as he quivered on the precarious footing 
 the rough sides of the cliffs afforded. The height 
 was sufficiently terrific when contemplated from 
 above : but as they descended, the depth beneath 
 them seemed to be increased, rather than dimi- 
 nished, by the very progress they had made. It 
 grew upon them, and became more and more aw- 
 ful at every step. The crags, too, hung over their 
 heads, as if threatening to part from their native 
 mountains, as myriads had done before, and to 
 crush the exhausted travellers into nothing be- 
 neath their ruins. They went down and down, 
 but the lake and the bottom of the valley appear- 
 ed still to recede from them. The way became 
 more hazardous. To have looked up or down, 
 would have required the eye and the head of a 
 chamois. A projecting ledge increased the peril 
 of the path, and the page, tired to death, and 
 giddy from the terrific situation he saw himself 
 fixed in, clung to a point of the rock, and looked 
 in Hepborne's face, perfectly unable to proceed 
 or to utter a word. There he remained, panting 
 as if he would have expired. The Knight was
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 373 
 
 filled with apprehension lest the boy should faint, 
 and fall headlong down, and the guide was so 
 much in advance, that he alone could give aid to 
 the page. Yet how was he to pass the boy, so 
 as to put himself into a position where he could 
 assist him ? He saw the path re-appearing from 
 under the projecting ledge, a little to one side 
 of the place where the page hung in awful sus- 
 pense, and taking one instantaneous glance at 
 it, he leaped boldly downwards. He vibrated 
 for a moment on the brink ; and his feet having 
 dislodged a great loose fragment of the rock, it 
 went thundering downwards, awakening all the 
 dormant echoes of the glen. He caught at a 
 bunch of heath with both his hands ; and he had 
 hardly recovered his equilibrium, when Maurico 
 de Grey, believing, in his trepidation, that the 
 noise he had heard announced the fall and de- 
 struction of his master, uttered a faint scream, 
 and dropped senseless from the point of rock he 
 had held by. Hepborne sprang forward, and 
 caught him in his arms. Afraid lest the boy 
 might die before he could reach the Shelter- 
 ing-Stone, he shouted to the guide, and waving 
 him back, took from him the bottle, and put 
 it to the page's lips. The spirits revived him, 
 and he opened his eyes in terror, but imme-
 
 374 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 diately smiled when he saw that Hepbome was 
 safe. 
 
 Sir Patrick now put his left arm around 
 the page's body, and swinging him upwards, 
 seated him on his left shoulder, keeping him 
 firmly there, whilst, with his right hand, he 
 employed his lance to support and steady his 
 ticklish steps. The timorous page clasped the 
 neck of his master with all his energy, and in 
 this way the knight descended with his burden. 
 Many were the difficulties he had to encounter. 
 In one place, he was compelled to leap despe- 
 rately over one of the cataracts, where the small- 
 est slip, or miscalculation of distance, must have 
 proved the destruction of both. At length he 
 reached the bottom in safety, and there the page, 
 having recovered from his terror, found breath 
 to pour forth his gratitude to his master. He 
 now regained his spirit and strength so much, 
 that he declared himself perfectly able to pro- 
 ceed over the rough ground that lay between 
 them and the Sheltering-Stone ; but Hepbome 
 bore him onwards, until he had deposited him on 
 the spot where they were destined to halt for the 
 night. The grateful Maurice threw himself on 
 his knees before the knight, as he was wiping 
 his manly brow, and embraced his athletic limbs 
 from a feeling of fervent gratitude for his safety.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 375 
 
 Sir Patrick now proceeded to examine the 
 curious natural habitation they were to be hou- 
 sed in. The fallen crag, which had appeared 
 so trifling from the lofty elevation whence they 
 had first viewed it, now rose before them in 
 magnitude so enormous as almost to appear 
 capable of bearing a castle upon its shoulders. 
 The mimic copy of it constructed by the guide, 
 furnished an accurate representation of the mode 
 in which it was poised on the lesser blocks it 
 had fallen upon. These served as walls to sup- 
 port it, as well as to close in the chamber be- 
 neath ; and they were surrounded so thickly with 
 smaller fragments of debris, that no air or light 
 could penetrate between them, except in one or 
 two places. On one side there was a narrow 
 passage, of two or three yards in length, leading 
 inwards between the stones and other rubbish, 
 and of height sufficient to permit a man to enter 
 without stooping very much. The space with- 
 in, dry and warm, was capable of containing a 
 dozen or twenty people with great ease. It was 
 partially lighted by one or two small apertures 
 between the stones, and the roof, formed of the 
 under surface of the great mass of rock, was 
 perfectly even and horizontal. It presented a 
 most inviting place of shelter, and it seemed to 
 have been not unfrequently used as such, for in
 
 3T8 THE WOLFE OF EADENOCH. 
 
 one corner there was a heap of dried bog-fir, 
 and in another the remains of a heather-bed. 
 
 The mountaineer carefully deposited his bur- 
 dens within the entrance, and then set about col- 
 lecting dry heather, and portions of drift-wood, 
 which he found about the edges of the lake ; and 
 he soon brought together as much fuel as might 
 have kept up a good fire for two or three days. 
 Having piled up some of it in a heap, he inter- 
 spersed it with pieces of the dry bog-fir, and 
 then groping in his pouch, produced a flint and 
 steel, with which he struck a light, and soon 
 kindled up a cheerful blaze. He then began to 
 cut steaks of the flesh of the wild bison, and 
 when the wood had been sufficiently reduced 
 to the state of live charcoal, he proceeded to 
 broil them over the embers, on pieces of green 
 heather plucked and prepared for the purpose. 
 Meanwhile the knight and the page seated them- 
 selves near the fire. 
 
 " How fares it with thee now, Maurice ?" 
 demanded Sir Patrick kindly, as he watched 
 the cloud that was stealing over the boy's fair 
 brow, and the moisture that was gathering un- 
 der his long eye-lashes, as he sat with his eyes 
 fixed in a fit of absence upon the ground — 
 " What ails thee, my boy ? Say, dost thou re- 
 pent thee of thy rashness in having exchanged
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 377 
 
 the softer duties and lighter labours of a page 
 of dames, for the toils, dangers, and hardships 
 befalling him who followeth the noble profes- 
 sion of arms ? Trust me, thy path hath been 
 flowery as yet, compared to what thou must 
 expect to meet with. Methinks thou lookest as 
 if thy spirit had flown homewards, and that it 
 were hovering over the gay apartment where 
 thy mother and her maidens may be employed 
 in plying the nimble needle, charged with au- 
 reate thread, or sewing pales upon their gor- 
 geous paraments." 
 
 " Nay, Sir Knight," said Maurice de Grey, 
 " my thoughts were but partly of those at home. 
 Doubtless they have ere this ceased to think of 
 their truant boy !" He sighed heavily, and the 
 tears rolled down his cheeks. 
 
 " But why dost thou sigh so ?" demanded 
 Sir Patrick, " and what maketh thy brow to 
 wear clouds upon it, like yonder high and snow- 
 white summit ? and why weepest thou like 
 yonder mountain side, that poureth down its 
 double stream into the glen ? Perdie ! surely 
 thou canst not be in love at so unripe an age ? 
 Yet, of a truth, those mysterious symptoms of 
 abstraction and sorrow thou dost so often dis- 
 play, when thou art left alone to thine own 
 thoughts, would all persuade me that thou art."
 
 378 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 The page held down his head, blushed, and 
 sighed deeply, but said nothing. 
 
 " Is silence, then, confession with thee, Mau- 
 rice ?" demanded Hepborne. 
 
 The page wiped his streaming eyes, and raised 
 them with a soft and melancholy smile, till they 
 met those of his master, when he again sighed, 
 and dropping them with renewed blushes to the 
 ground, " I am indeed in love," said the boy, 
 " most unhappily in love, since I burn with 
 unrequited passion. I did indeed believe, vain- 
 ly believe, that I was beloved ; but, alas ! how 
 cruelly was I deceived ! I found that what I 
 had mistaken for the pure flame was but the 
 wanton flashing of a light and careless heart, 
 that made no account of the pangs it inflicted 
 on mine that was sincere." 
 
 The page's eyes filled again, and he sighed 
 as if his heart would have burst. Sir Patrick 
 Hepborne sighed too ; for Maurice, whilst tell- 
 ing of his unhappy love, had touched his own 
 case most nearly. 
 
 " Poor boy," said he kindly, and full of sym- 
 pathy for the youth ; " poor boy, I pity thee. I 
 do indeed most sincerely feel for thee, that thou 
 should'st have already begun, at so early an 
 age, to rue the smart of unrequited or unhappy 
 love. Trust me," continued the knight, sigh-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 379 
 
 ing deeply, " trust me, I know its bitterness 
 too well not to feel for thee." And again he 
 sighed heavily. 
 
 " Then thou too hast loved unhappily, Sir 
 Knight ?" inquired the page earnestly. 
 
 " Ay, boy," said Hepborne sadly, " loved ! 
 — nay, what do I say — loved ! — I still love — 
 love without hope. 'Tis a cruel destiny." 
 
 " And hast thou never prospered in love ?" 
 asked Maurice ; " hast thou never fancied that 
 thou hadst awakened the warm flame of love, 
 and that thou wert thyself an object adored ?" 
 
 " Nay, boy," said Hepborne, " thou inquirest 
 too curiously. Yet will I confess that I have 
 had vanity enough to believe that I had excited 
 love, or something wearing its semblance ; but 
 then she that did show it was altogether heart- 
 less, and I valued the cold and deceitful beam 
 but as the glimmering marsh-fire." 
 
 Maurice de Grey made no reply, but hung 
 down his head in silence upon his breast, and 
 again relapsed into the dream he had been in- 
 dulging when Hepborne first roused him. The 
 knight, too, ceased to have any desire to pro- 
 long the conversation. His mind had laid hold 
 of the end of a chain of association, that gra- 
 dually unfolded itself in a succession of tender 
 remembrances. He indulged himself by giving
 
 380 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 way to them, and consequently he also dropped 
 into a musing fit. Both were disturbed by their 
 savage guide, who, having finished his unso- 
 phisticated cookery, now made signs to them to 
 approach and eat. 
 
 Love, however fervent, cannot starve, but 
 must give way to the vulgar but irresistible 
 claims of hunger. The day's fatigue had been 
 long, they were faint for want, and the odour 
 of the smoking hot steaks was most inviting. 
 They speedily obeyed the summons, therefore, 
 and made a very satisfactory meal. Maurice 
 de Grey had no sooner satisfied the cravings of 
 nature, than, worn out by his exertions, and 
 overpowered by sleep, he wrapped himself up 
 in his mantle, and throwing himself on the 
 heather, under the projecting side of the huge 
 rock, his senses were instantly steeped in sweet 
 oblivion. 
 
 Sir Patrick Hepborne regarded the youth 
 with envy. His own thoughts did not as yet 
 admit of his yielding to the gentle influence of 
 sleep. He tried to divert them by watching 
 the decline of the day, and following the slow 
 ascent of the shadows as they crept up the rug- 
 ged faces of the eastern precipices, eating away 
 the light before them. A bright rose-coloured 
 glow rested for a time on the summits, tinging
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 381 
 
 even their glazed snows with its warm tint ; but 
 in a few minutes it also departed, like the ani- 
 mating soul from the fair face of dying beauty, 
 leaving everything cold, and pale, and cheer- 
 less ; and darkness came thickly down upon the 
 deep and gloomy glen. In the meantime, the 
 mountaineer had been busying himself in ga- 
 thering dry heath, and in carrying it in under 
 the Shelter-Stone, for the purpose of making 
 beds for the knight and the page. 
 
 While the guide was thus employed, Hep- 
 borne sat musing at the fire, listlessly and al- 
 most unconsciously supplying it with fuel from 
 time to time, and gazing at the fragments of 
 wood as they were gradually consumed. His 
 back was towards the entrance-passage of the 
 place where the mountaineer was occupied, and 
 the page lay to his right hand, under the sha- 
 dow of the rock. 
 
 As Sir Patrick sat thus absorbed in thought, 
 he suddenly received a tremendous blow on 
 his head, that partly stunned him, and almost 
 knocked him forwards into the flames. The 
 weight and force of it was such, that, had he 
 not had his steel cap on, his brains must have 
 been knocked out. Before he could rise to 
 defend himself, the blow was repeated with 
 dreadful clang upon the metal, and he was 
 7
 
 382 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 brought down upon his knees ; but ere it fell 
 a third time on him, a piercing shriek arose, 
 and a struggle ensued behind him. Having by 
 this time gathered his strength and senses suffi- 
 ciently to turn round, he beheld the horrible 
 countenance of their savage guide glaring over 
 him, his eye-balls red from the reflection of the 
 fire, his lips expanded, his teeth set together, 
 and a ponderous stone lifted in both hands, 
 with which he was essaying to fell him to the 
 earth by a third blow. But his arms were pi- 
 nioned behind, and it was the feeble page who 
 held them. Hepborne scrambled to get to his 
 feet, but weakened by the blows he had already 
 received, his efforts to rise were vain. The 
 murderous ruffian, furious with disappointment, 
 struggled hard, and at length, seeing that he 
 could not rid himself of the faithful Maurice 
 whilst he continued to hold the stone, he quick- 
 ly dropped it, and, turning fiercely round on 
 the boy, groped for his dirk. Already was it 
 half unsheathed, when the gleam of a bright 
 spear-head came flashing forth from the obscu- 
 rity on one side, and with the quickness of 
 thought it drank the life's blood from the sa- 
 vage heart of the assassin. Down rolled the 
 monster upon the ground, his ferocious coun- 
 tenance illumined by the light from the blazing
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 383 
 
 wood. In the agony of death his teeth ground 
 against each other; his right hand, that still 
 clenched the handle of the dirk, drew it forth 
 with convulsive grasp, and raising it, as if for a 
 last effort of destruction, brought it down with a 
 force that buried the whole length of its blade in 
 the harmless earth. Hepborne looked up to see 
 from what friendly hand his preservation and 
 that of the courageous boy had so miraculously 
 come, when to his astonishment he beheld Dun- 
 can MacErchar standing before him. 
 
 " Och, oich !" cried the worthy Highlander, 
 " Och, oich ! what a Providence ! — what a mer- 
 cy ! — what a good lucks it was that she was 
 brought here !" 
 
 " A Providence indeed !" cried Hepborne, 
 crossing himself, and offering up a short but 
 fervent ejaculation of gratitude to God ; " it 
 seems indeed to have been a most marked in- 
 terposition of Providence in our favour. Yet 
 am I not the less grateful to thee for being the 
 blessed instrument in the hands of the Almigh- 
 ty, in saving not only my life, but that of the 
 generous noble boy yonder, who had so nearly 
 sacrificed his own in my defence. Maurice de 
 Grey, come to mine arms ; take the poor thanks 
 of thy grateful master for his safety, for to thy 
 courage, in the first place, his thanks are due.
 
 384., THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 Trust me, boy, thou wilt one day be a brave 
 knight ; and to make thee all that chivalry may 
 require of thee shall be mine earnest care." 
 
 Whether it was that the boy's stock of reso- 
 lution had been expended in his effort, or that 
 he was deeply affected by his master's com- 
 mendation, it is not easy to determine ; but he 
 shrank from the knight's embrace, and burst- 
 ing into tears, hurried within the Shelter-Stone.
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 385 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 "By what miracle, good mine host," said Sir 
 Patrick Hepborne to Master Duncan MacEr- 
 char — " by what miracle do I see thee in this 
 wilderness, so far from thine own dwelling?" 
 
 " Uch ! uch ! miracle truly, miracle truly, 
 that she's brought here; for who could have 
 thought that the false faitours and traitrous 
 loons would have led her honour this round- 
 about gate, that they might knock out her 
 brains at the Shelter- Stone of Loch Aven ? An 
 it had not been for Donald and Angus, her two 
 cushins, that hunts the hills, and kens all the 
 roads of these scoundrels, she would never have 
 thought of coming round about over the very 
 shoulders of the mountains to seek after them. 
 But — uve ! uve ! where's the t'other rascals ? 
 and where's her honour's men, and beasts ?" 
 
 Hepborne explained the cause and circum- 
 stances of their separation. 
 " Uch ! uch !" cried MacErchar ; " uve ! uve ! 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 386 THE WOLFE OT BADENOCH. 
 
 — then, Holy St Barnabas, I wish that the 
 t' others scoundrels may not have them after 
 all ; so she shall have more miles to travel, and 
 another villains to stickit yet ! Uve ! uve !" 
 
 And then changing his tongue, he began with 
 great volubility to address, in his own language, 
 his cousins, who now appeared. They replied 
 to him in the same dialect, and then he seemed 
 to tell them the particulars of the late adven- 
 ture, for he pointed to the dead body of the 
 ruffian on the ground, while his actions corre- 
 sponded with the tale he was telling, and seem- 
 ed to be explanatory of it. The two men held 
 up their bands, and listened with open mouths 
 to his narration. He then took up a flaming 
 brand from the fire, and, followed by his two 
 cousins, proceeded to explore the passage lead- 
 ing into the chamber of the Shelter Stone, 
 whence they soon returned with the burden of 
 wolf-skins which the ruffian guide had car- 
 ried. Duncan MacErchar threw it down on 
 the ground near the fire, and as it fell — 
 
 " Troth," said he, with a joyful expression of 
 countenance — " troth but she jingles; she'll 
 warrants there be's something in her. Sure ! 
 sure !" 
 
 With this he went on his knees, and began 
 eagerly to undo the numerous fastenings of hide -
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 387 
 
 thongs which tied the wolf-skins together, and 
 which, as Hephorne himself had noticed, had 
 been closely bound up ever since they started in 
 the morning, though the other guide carried his 
 hanging loose, as both had done the night be- 
 fore. The knots were reticulated and decussa- 
 ted in such a manner, as to afford no bad idea 
 of that of Gordias. 
 
 " Hoof !" said Master MacErchar impatient- 
 ly, after working at them with his nails for 
 some minutes without the least effect; " sorrow 
 be in their fingers that tied her ; though troth 
 she needs not say that now," added he in pa- 
 renthesis. " Poof ! that will not do neither ; 
 but sorrow be in her an she'll not settle her ; 
 she'll do for her, or she'll wonders at her." And 
 unsheathing his dirk, he ripped up the fasten- 
 ings, wolf-skins and all, and to the astonish- 
 ment of Hepborne rolled out from their preg- 
 nant womb the whole of the glittering valua- 
 bles, the fruit of his English campaigns. 
 
 " Och, oich !" cried MacErchar with a joy- 
 ful countenance, forgetting everything in the 
 delight he felt at recovering his treasure — " och, 
 ay ! blessings on her braw siller stoup, and 
 blessings on her bonny mazers ; she be's all 
 here. Ay, ay ! — och, oich ! — ou ay, every one." 
 
 The mystery of Master Duncan MacErchar's
 
 388 THE WOLFE OF BADENOGH. 
 
 hasty journey, and unlooked-for appearance at 
 Loch Aven, was now explained. His sharp- 
 eared cousin, Angus MacErchar, had heen loi- 
 tering about the door at the time of the de- 
 parture of the knight and his attendants in 
 the morning, and hearing something clinking 
 in the Celt's bundle of wolf-skins as he pass- 
 ed, but seeing no cause to suspect anything 
 wrong, as regarded his kinsman's goods, he ne- 
 glected to notice the circumstance until some 
 time after they were gone, when he happened 
 to mention, rather accidentally than otherwise, 
 that he thought the rogues had been thieving 
 somewhere, for he had heard the noise of metal 
 pots in the bundle of one of them. Duncan 
 MacErchar took immediate alarm. Without 
 saying a word, he ran to his secret deposit, and, 
 having removed the heap of billets, and the 
 wattle trap-door, discovered, with horror and 
 dismay, that his treasures were gone. It was 
 some small comfort to him, that they had not 
 found it convenient to carry away what he most 
 valued ; and he bestowed a friendly kiss upon 
 the black bugle, and the swords and daggers 
 that were still there ; but the whole of the sil- 
 ver vessels were stolen. What was to be done ? 
 He was compelled to tell his cousins of his af- 
 flicting loss, that he might consult them as to
 
 THE WOLFE OP BADENOCH. 
 
 what steps were to be taken. They advised 
 instant pursuit ; but well knowing the men and 
 their habits, they felt persuaded that the thieves 
 would carefully avoid the most direct path, and 
 guessed that, in order to mislead their pursuers, 
 they would likely take the circuitous and fa- 
 tiguing mountain-route by Loch Aven. Taking 
 the advice and assistance of his cousins, there- 
 fore, Master Duncan MacErchar set off hot foot 
 after the rogues, and he was soon convinced of 
 the sagacity of his cousins' counsels, for they 
 frequently came upon the track of the party 
 where the ground was soft, or wet enough to re- 
 ceive the prints of the horses' feet; and when 
 they came to the ridge of the mountains, they 
 traced them easily and expeditiously over the 
 hardened snow. It was dark ere they reached 
 the brink of the precipice overhanging the lake ; 
 but Angus and Donald were now aware of their 
 probable destination, and the fire they saw burn- 
 ing near the Shelter-Stone, made them resolve 
 to visit it in the first place. They lost no time 
 in descending, the two lads being well acquaint- 
 ed with the dangerous path ; and no sooner had 
 Master Duncan MacErchar set his foot in the 
 glen, than, eager to get at the thief, he ran on 
 before his companions. And lucky was it, as 
 we have seen, that he did so ; for if he had been 
 r 2
 
 390 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 but a few minutes later, both Sir Patrick Hep- 
 borne and Maurice de Grey must have been 
 murdered by the villain whom he slew. 
 
 Hepborne now became extremely anxious 
 about the safety of the party under the gui- 
 dance of the other ruffian. For the attack of 
 one man against so many, he had nothing to 
 fear ; but he dreaded the possibility of the trai- 
 tor escaping from them before he had conduct- 
 ed them to their destined place of halt for the 
 night, and so leaving them helpless on the wild 
 and pathless mountain, to perish of cold. He 
 had nothing for it, however, but to comfort 
 himself with his knowledge of Sang's sagacity 
 and presence of mind. 
 
 Master Duncan MacErchar, with his two 
 cousins, now hastened to cut off a supper for 
 themselves from the bison beef, which they 
 quickly broiled ; and after their hunger had 
 been appeased, the whole party began to think 
 of bestowing themselves to enjoy a short repose. 
 Before doing so, however, Hepborne proposed 
 that they should bury the dead body. This was 
 accordingly done, and from the debris of the 
 fallen rocks a cairn was heaped upon it, suffi- 
 ciently large to prevent the wolves from attack- 
 ing it. 
 
 The page, wrapped in his mantle, was already 
 sound asleep within the snug chamber of the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 391 
 
 Shelter-Stone, and Sir Patrick lost no time in 
 seeking rest in the same comfortable quarters ; 
 but the three hardy Highlanders, preferring the 
 open air, rolled themselves up, each in his web 
 of plaiding, and laid themselves in different 
 places, under the projecting base of the enor- 
 mous fallen rock, and all were soon buried in 
 refreshing slumber. 
 
 It happened, however, that Duncan Mac- 
 Erchar had by accident chosen the spot nearest 
 the passage of entrance. The fire had fallen so 
 low as to leave only the red glow of charcoal ; 
 but the night, which was already far spent, was 
 partially illuminated by the light of the moon, 
 which had now arisen, though not yet high 
 enough to show its orb to those in the bottom 
 of the glen. He was suddenly awakened by a 
 footstep near him, and, looking up, beheld a 
 dark figure approaching. With wonderful pre- 
 sence of mind, he demanded, in a low whisper, 
 and in his native language, who went there, 
 and was immediately answered by the voice of 
 the other guide, who had gone forward with 
 Hepborne's party, and who, mistaking Mac- 
 Erchar for his companion in iniquity, held the 
 following dialogue with him, here translated 
 into English. 
 
 " Hast thou done it, Cormack ?"
 
 392 THE WOLFE OF BADEtfOCtf. 
 
 " Nay," replied Duncan, " it is but now they 
 are gone to sleep, and I fear they are not yet 
 sound enough. What hast thou done with the 
 party of men and their horses ?" 
 
 " I left them all safe at the bothy," replied 
 the other, " and if we had this job finished, we 
 might go that way, and carry off two or three 
 of the best of their horses and trappings while 
 they are asleep, and we can kill the others, to 
 prevent any of them from having the means of 
 following us when they awake. But come, why 
 should we delay now ? — they must be asleep ere 
 this ; — let us in on them — creep towards them 
 on our knees, and stab them without noise : — 
 then all their booty is our own." 
 
 " You foul murderer !" cried Duncan Mac- 
 Erchar, springing at him, his right hand ex- 
 tended with the intention of making him prison- 
 er. The astonished ruffian stepped back a pace, 
 as Duncan rushed upon him, and, seizing his 
 outstretched hand, endeavoured to keep him at 
 a distance. Both drew their dirks, and a furious 
 struggle ensued. Each endeavoured to keep off 
 the other, with outstretched arm, and powerful 
 exertion, yet each was desirous to avail himself 
 of the first favourable chance that might offer, 
 to bury the lethal weapon he brandished in the 
 bosom of his antagonist. The ruffian had the
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 393 
 
 decided advantage, for it was his right hand that 
 was free, while MacErchar held his dirk with 
 his left. They tugged, and pushed stoutly against 
 each other, and each alternately made a vain 
 effort to strike his opponent. The brave Mac- 
 Erchar might have easily called for help, hut he 
 scorned to seek aid against any single man. 
 They still struggled, frequently shifting their 
 ground by the violence of their exertions, yet 
 neither gaining the least advantage over the 
 other, when, all at once, MacErchar found him- 
 self attacked behind by a new and very formi- 
 dable enemy. This was one of the great rough 
 wolf-dogs, which, having come up at that mo- 
 ment, and observed his master struggling with 
 Duncan, sprang upon his back, and seized him 
 by the right shoulder. The ruffian, seeing him- 
 self so ably supported, and thinking that the 
 victory was now entirely in his hands, bent his 
 elbow so as to permit him to close upon his ad- 
 versary, and made an attempt to stab MacErchar 
 in the breast; but the sturdy and undaunted 
 hero, in defiance of the pain he experienced from 
 the bites of the dog, raised his left arm, and 
 after receiving the stab in the fleshy part of it, 
 instantly returned it into the very heart of his 
 enemy, who, uttering a single groan, fell dead 
 upon the spot. But the dog still kept his hold,
 
 394 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 until MacErchar, putting his hand backwards, 
 drove the dirk two or three times into his body, 
 and shook him off dead upon the lifeless corpse 
 of his master. 
 
 " Heich !" cried he, very much toil-spent — 
 " Foof ! — Donald — Angus — Uve, uve ! — Won't 
 they be hearing her ?" 
 
 His two cousins, who had been fast asleep at 
 the end of the Shelter-Stone, now came hastily 
 round, making a great noise, which roused Sir 
 Patrick, who instantly seized his sword, and 
 rushed out to ascertain what the alarm was. 
 
 " Och, oich !" continued Duncan, much fa- 
 tigued, " oich ! and sure she has had a hard 
 tuilzie o't !" 
 
 " What, in the name of the blessed Virgin, 
 has happened ?" cried Hepborne, eagerly. 
 
 " Fu ! nothing after all," cried Duncan, " no- 
 thing — only that t'other villains came up here 
 from t'others end of the loch, and wanted to 
 murder Sir Patrick and his page ; and so she 
 grabbled at her, and had a sore tuilzie with her, 
 and sure she hath stickit her dead at last. But — 
 uve ! uve ! — she was near worried with her 
 mockell dog ; she settled her too, though, and 
 yonder they are both lying dead together. But 
 troth she must go and get some sleep now, and 
 she hopes that she'll have no more disturbance, 
 wi' a sorrow to them."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 395 
 
 " But, my good friend," said the knight, 
 " thine arm bleeds profusely, better have it tied 
 up ; nay, thy shoulder seems to be torn too." 
 
 " Fu, poof !" said MacErchar carelessly, " her 
 arm be's naething but a scart ; she has had 
 worse before from a thorn bush ; and her shoul- 
 der is but a nip, that will be well or the morn." 
 
 So saying, he wrapped his plaid around him, 
 and rolling himself under the base of the stone 
 where he had lain before, he composed himself 
 to sleep again, and the others followed his ex- 
 ample. The knight also retired to his singular 
 bed-chamber, and all were very soon quiet. 
 
 As MacErchar had hoped, they lay undis- 
 turbed until daybreak, when they arose, shook 
 themselves, and were soon joined by Hepborne 
 from within. The sun had just appeared above 
 the eastern mountain-tops, and was pouring a 
 flood of glory down among the savage scenery 
 of the glen. MacErchar and his two cousins 
 were busily engaged in renovating the fire ; and 
 as Sir Patrick was about to join them, his ears 
 were attracted by the low moans of a dog, v which, 
 beginning at the bottom of the scale of his voice, 
 gradually ascended through its whole compass, 
 and ended in a prolonged howl. He cast his 
 eyes towards the spot whence it proceeded ; 
 there lay the dead body of the ruffian murderer,
 
 396 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 with the dog that died with him in his defence 
 stretched across him stiff; and hy his side sat 
 two more of the dogs, that, having followed 
 some chase as he came up the glen, had not fall- 
 en upon his track again until early in the morn- 
 ing, and had but just traced it out, when it 
 brought them to his inanimate corpse. There 
 they sat howling incessantly over him, alternate- 
 ly licking his face, his hands, and his death- 
 wound. Their howl was returned from the sur- 
 rounding rocks, but it was also answered from 
 no great distance ; and on going round the end 
 of the Shelter-Stone, he beheld another dog sit- 
 ting on the top of the cairn they had piled over 
 the dead body of the first man who was killed, 
 scraping earnestly with his feet, and moaning 
 and howling in unison with the two others. 
 Hepborne went towards him, and did all he 
 could to coax him away from the spot ; but the 
 attached and afflicted creature would not move. 
 The howling continued, and would have been 
 melancholy enough in any situation ; but in a 
 spot so savage and lonely, and prolonged as it 
 was by the surrounding echoes, it increased the 
 dismal and dreary effect of the scenery. Hep- 
 borne caHed the MacErchars, and proposed to 
 them that they should bury the dead body which 
 lay exposed on the ground. They readily as-
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 397 
 
 sen ted, and approached it for the purpose of 
 lifting and carrying it to the same spot where 
 they had deposited the other ; but Angus and 
 Donald had no sooner attempted to lay hold of 
 it, than both the dogs flew at them, and they 
 were glad to relinquish the attempt, seeing they 
 could carry it into effect by no other means than 
 that of killing the two faithful animals in the 
 first place, and this Hepborne would on no ac- 
 count permit. 
 
 " Verily he was a foul traiterous murderer,'' 
 said the knight ; " but he was their master. His 
 hand was kind and merciful to them, what- 
 ever it might have been to others. Of a truth, 
 a faithful dog is the only friend who seeth not 
 a fault in him to whom he is attached. Poor 
 fellows ! let them not be injured, I entreat thee." 
 
 Some food was now prepared for breakfast, 
 and Maurice de Grey, who had made but one 
 sleep during the night, was called to partake 
 of it. They repeatedly tried to tempt the dogs 
 with the most inviting morsels of the meat, but 
 none of them would touch it when thrown to 
 them, and, altogether regardless of it, they still 
 continued to howl piteously. 
 
 Hepborne now resolved to proceed to join his 
 party. Duncan MacErchar had already ordered 
 his cousin Angus, who was perfectly well ac- 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 398 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 
 
 quainted with the way, to go with the knight as 
 his guide, and not to leave him until he should 
 see him safe into a part of the country where he 
 would he heyond all difficulty. Sir Patrick was 
 much grieved to be compelled to part with him 
 who had been so miraculously instrumental in 
 saving his life. He took off his baldrick and 
 sword, and putting them upon Duncan, — 
 
 " Wear this," said he, " wear this for my 
 sake, mine excellent friend — wear it as a poor 
 mark of the gratitude I owe thee for having 
 saved me from foul and traiterous murder. I 
 yet hope to bestow some more worthy wari- 
 son." 
 
 " Och, oich !" cried Duncan, " oich, this is 
 too much from her honour — too much trouble 
 indeed. Fye, but she's a bonny sword; but 
 what will hersell do for want of her ? Ou, ay — 
 sure, sure !" 
 
 " I have others as good among my baggage, 5 * 
 said Hepborne. 
 
 " But thou didst save two lives," said Mau- 
 rice de Grey, running forward, and taking 
 Duncan's hand; " thou didst save my life also ; 
 nay, thou didst save mine twice, by saving Sir 
 Patrick's. Receive my poor thanks also, most 
 worthy Master MacErchar, and do thou wear 
 this jewelled brooch for my sake."
 
 THE WOLFE OF BADENOCH. 399 
 
 " Och, oich !" said Duncan, •* too much trou- 
 ble for her — too much trouble, young Sir Pages 
 — too much trouble, surely; but an ever she pairt 
 with the sword or the bonny brooch, may she 
 pairt with her life at the same time." 
 
 They now prepared themselves for taking 
 their different routes, and Hepborne reminding 
 MacErchar of the injunction he had formerly 
 given him, to be sure to claim his acquaintance 
 wherever they should meet, and giving him 
 a last hearty shake of the hand, they parted, 
 and waving to each other their " Heaven bless- 
 thee !" and u May the blessed Virgin be with* 
 her honour !" set out on their respective jour- 
 neys. 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 PRINTED BY JAMES BALLANTYXE & CO.