"Daughter of my love, and child of many misfortunes, be thou comforted," said the friar; "for though the wicked triumph for a space in their iniquity, yet shall they not thrive. They who refuse to do justice to the innocent and upright in heart shall perish in their sin, and pass away as the smoke that is driven by the wind. Therefore, my daughter, be thou comforted; and that thy heart may be cheered, I will show thee a wonder of my art,—a wonder so great that whosoever seeth it his heart shall melt within him; and whosoever heareth of it his ears shall tingle. Come, whoso listeth, forth into the open air, and I will do it in the sight of heaven and of man."
The friar then lifting up his huge portmanteau, went forth to the large paved gateway that surrounded the whole of the uppermost arches of the castle. It was so ample as to be like a small field, for it covered all the castle, save four small pointed turrets, and the square apartment which the party now left, that rose like a shapeless dome above all. In one corner of this level battlement there stood a leaden vessel that had once been used as a cistern. To that the friar went; and, laying down his huge walise, he took from thence a handful of blackish sand, and strinkled it all around the battlement on the one side to the opposite corner. He then stood and looked awfully around him. He looked to the heavens, but they were shrouded in a dark hideous cloud that now covered the mountains, and hung lowering over the uppermost spire of the castle. Neither the Cope-Law nor the hill of Eildon could be seen, nor could aught be seen save the dark and troubled cloud. The scene was truly impressive; and when the rest saw the friar looking on it with such apparent dread, all of them looked abroad with him, and whispered to one another, "He's gaun to be about some awesome enchantment now."
The friar covered up his pormanteau with the leaden vessel, and then desired the Master to bring any weight he chose, and heap it on its bottom, which he had now turned uppermost, and, at one word or sign, he would make his goat-skin wallet carry the vessel, and all such weight, round the battlements of the castle.
The Master, and every one present, pronounced the thing to be impossible,—the steward grinned in derision,—and, after mocking and taunting the friar on his art in the most gross and provoking terms, he proffered to hold down the leaden tub, wallet and altogether, or to forfeit his head if he failed. Then laying himself over it, in the attitude of holding it down, he called on the friar to proceed, and give him the promised canter round the walls, which he well deserved, he said, not only for his kindness to them all, and to their Miss in particular, but also for his kind intentions. Then he scoffed aloud, crying out, "Now thou poor vain fool and liar, be as good as thy word, and give me, an it were, but one hobble."
"God do so to me, and more also," said the friar, "if I do not give thee such a hobble as eye hath not seen!"
With that he struck a spark of fire among the black sand, as the rest supposed it to be, that lay among his feet. The sand caught fire,—the flame ran sputtering around the western battlement,—and the next moment the steward and his tub bolted away into the firmament in a tremendous flash of fire, and with a sound so loud that it shook the castle to its foundations. Some averred that they saw, through the fire and smoke, a momentary glance of him and the cistern both, as they pierced the cloud towards the north; but nothing further was heard or seen,—and, in a second of time, all was quite and gloomy above and around as it had been before.
CHAPTER IV.
The wind blew as 'twould blawn it's last,
The thickening showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleam the darkness swallowed,
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellowed;
That night a child might understand
The deil had business on his hand!
Long was it before any of the astonished spectators opened their lips. The shock had almost deprived them of sense, sight, and motion; and when they began to articulate, it was only to utter short exclamations, and names of saints. Tam Craik was the first who ventured a remark, which was in the following words:—"By the Lord Robin!" (meaning, it was supposed, the king,) "The deil has flown away wi' him bodily in a flash o' fire!"