"Here, beldam—deyvil's kind," cried Hatteraick in his harshest voice, "have you brought me the brandy and news of my people?"
"Here is the flask for you," answered Meg, passing it to him; "but as for your crew, they are all cut down and scattered by the redcoats!"
"Storm and wetter, ye hag," he cried, "ye bring ill news. This coast is fatal to me! And what of Glossin?"
"Ye missed your stroke there," she said; "ye have nothing to expect from him!"
"Hagel," cried the ruffian, "if only I had him by the throat! He has led me to perdition—men lost, boat lost, credit lost. I dare never show my face in Flushing again!"
"You will never need!" croaked the gipsy.
Meg's sombre prophecy startled Hatteraick. He looked up suddenly.
"What is that you say, witch? And what are you doing there?" he cried. Meg dropped a firebrand steeped in spirit upon some loose flax. Instantly a tall column of brilliant wavering light filled the cave.
"Ye will never need to go to Flushing," she said, "because 'The Hour's come and the Man!'"
At the signal, Bertram and Dandie Dinmont, springing over the brushwood, rushed upon Hatteraick. Hazlewood, not knowing the plan of assault, was a moment later. The ruffian instantly understood that he had been betrayed, and the first brunt of his anger fell upon Meg Merrilies, at whose breast he fired a pistol point-blank. She fell with a shriek which was partly the sudden pain of the wound, and partly a shout of triumphant laughter.
