With all these delightful and exhilarating thoughts glowing in his breast, how could that wild and darksome road, or indeed any road, be tedious to our honest goodman? For, as to the evil spirits with whom his beloved Keatie was in conjunction, the idea had died away like a thing of the imagination, and he barely spent a thought upon it. He crossed the Meggat about eleven o’clock in the night, just as the waning moon began to peep over the hills to the south-east of the lake,—but such scenes, and such adventures, are not worth a farthing, unless described and related in the language of the country to which they are peculiar.
“I fand I was come again into the country o’ the fairies an’ the spirits,” said Walter; “an’ there was nae denying o’t; for when I saw the bit crookit moon come stealing o’er the kipps o’ Bowerhope-Law, an’ thraw her dead yellow light on the hills o’ Meggat, I fand the very nature an’ the heart within me changed. A’ the hills on the tae side o’ the loch war as dark as pitch, an’ the tither side had that ill-hued colour on’t, as if they had been a’ rowed in their windling sheets; an’ then the shadow o’ the moon it gaed bobbing an’ quivering up the loch fornent me, like a streek o’ cauld fire. In spite o’ my teeth I turned eiry, an’ the mair I feucht against it I grew the eiryer, for whenever the spirits come near ane, that kind o’ feeling comes on.
“Weel, just as I was gaun round the end o’ the Wedder-Law, a wee bit aboon the head o’ the Braken Wood, I sees a white thing on the road afore me. At the first it appeared to be gaun away, but at length I saw it coming nearer an’ nearer me, keeping aye a little aboon the road till I came amaist close to it, an’ then it stood stane-still an’ glowred at me. What in the wide world can it be that is here at sic an untimely time o’ night as this? thinks I to mysel. However, I steps aye on, an’ wasna gaun to mak nor meddle wi’t ava, till at last, just as I was gaun by, it says in a soft low voice,—“Wow, friend, but ye gang late the night!”
“Faith, no muckle later than yoursel,” quo’ I, “gin it be your will.”
“O’er late on sic a night!” quoth the creature again; “o’er late on Hallow E’en, an’ that ye will find.”
“It elyed away o’er the brow, an’ I saw nae mair o’t. “Lord sauf us! quo’ I to mysel, is this Hallow-E’en? I wish I war safe at hame, or in amang Christian creatures o’ ony kind!—Or had I but my fine dog Reaver wi’ me, to let me ken when the fairies are coming near me—Goodness to the day! I may be amang the mids o’ them ere ever I ken what I’m doing.” A’ the stories that ever I heard about fairies in my life came linkin into my mind ane after anither, and I almaist thought I was already on my road to the Fairy-land, an’ to be paid away to hell, like a kane-cock, at the end o’ seven years. I likit the boding o’ the apparition I had met wi’ unco ill, but yet I had some hopes that I was o’er muckle, an’ o’er heavy metal for the fairies. Hout, thinks I, what need I be sae feared? They’ll never take away ane o’ my size to be a fairy—Od, I wad be the daftest-like fairy ever was seen.
“I had naething for’t but to stride on as fast as I could, an’ on I comes till I comes to the bit brae at the side o’ the Ox-Cleuch-Lea, an’ there I heard something fistling amang the brakens, an’ making a kind o’ wheenge, wheenge, wheenging, that gart a’ my heart loup to my mouth; an’ what was this but my poor dog Reaver, coming creeping on his wame, an’ sae fain to meet me again that he hardly kend what he was doing. I took him up in my arms an’ clappit him, an’ said a’ the kind things to him that I could, an’ O sic a wark an’ fidgetting as he made! But yet I couldna help thinking there was a kind o’ doufness and mellancholly in his looks. What ails ye, Reaver man? quo’ I. I wish a’ may be weel about Chapelhope the night; but ye canna tell me that, poor fallaw, or else ye wad. He sometimes lickit my stocking wi’ his tongue, an’ sometimes my hand, but he wadna gang away afore me as he used to do, cocking his tail sae massy like; an’ I feared sair that a’ wasna right about hame, an’ can hardly tell ony body how I felt,—fock’s ain are aye their ain!
“At length I came amaist close to the bit brow o’ the Lang Bank that brought me in sight o’ my ain house, but when I lookit ower my shoulder Reaver was fled. I grew fearder than ever, an’ wistna what to think; an’ wi’ that I sees a queer-like shapen thing standing straight on the road afore me. Now, thinks I, this is the Brownie o’ Bodsbeck; I wadna face him for a’ the warld; I maun try to gie him the slip. Sae I slides aff the road, an’ down a bit howe into the side o’ the loch, thinking I wad get up within the brae out o’ sight o’ him—But aha! there was he standing straight afore me on the shore. I clamb the brae again, and sae did he. Now, thinks I, his plan is first to pit me out o’ my reason, an’ then wear me into the loch and drown me; I’ll keep an open side wi’ him. Sae up the hill I scrambles wi’ a’ my speed, an’ doun again, and up again, five or six times; but still he keepit straight afore me. By this time I was come by degrees very near him, an’ waxed quite desperate, an desperation made me crouse. ‘In the name o’ God,’ cries I, ‘what are ye that winna let me by to my ain house?”
“Did you see a woman on your way?” said the creature in a deep solemn voice.
“Yes, I did,” answered I.