“My peur bairn’s doon-hearted wid yon darkling wedding, and that ne’er do weel o’a Jenny Owlet,” said David.
When Betsy recovered, which was not for a considerable time, she told her father her fears, and entreated him to go to the bridge.
“It was aw nonsense,” he said, “and no but fancy! The lad had na mickle to say for his sel, to be sure, bit he was no sic a feul as aw that; and if there had been ony body faud i’ the water, of a mischance, it wad be owr late tle help them noo.”
However, to satisfy his daughter, he walked down the road; but returned, saying, he could see nout. “It was no but yon Jenny Owlet again, or may be a wild duck; there plenty o’ them i’ the Senbee vale. And, what’s mare,” he added, “I wadend care an’ we had twa on them noo, twirling afoor this rouser.”
So saying, he placed himself in his own large chair before the said rouser, which he roused still more, with a gigantic poker, as was his invariable custom; while his wife laid on the board smoking dishes, one of which was graced, if not by two wild ducks, by two good tame geese. Henry, mean time, was preparing, scientifically, a large bowl of punch; to which was added, on the present occasion, several bottles of choice wine, purloined from the cellars of Lodore House.
In the morning, the miller who lives near to where the river ——, after wandering through the vale of S— B—, and passing under the bridge of which we have spoken, empties itself into the sea, found, stopped in its course, as it floated towards the ocean, by his mill-dam, the body of poor John Dixon. And Betsy was long before she could get it out of her mind, how his heart had beat against her hand so short a time before it lay still, and cold, in the mill-stream.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
“My soul is tormented
With fear! Ah, they are dead!”