This was well enough arranged in the old woman, gentlemen. Caius Julius Cæsar himself could not have made better dispositions to have prevented a night surprise. But, as our immortal bard, William Shakespeare, hath it, in the words which he hath put into the mouth of the lively Rosalind, time goes at different paces with different individuals. Upon this occasion it certainly went fast enough with Robin Stuart and Mary Rose. For, though their minds were for a short time crossed occasionally by very fearful visions of the past, of some of which they dared hardly to speak to each other, yet these were soon banished altogether by their mutual smiles, and by the ardent and endearing expressions which they went on interchanging together. Swift flew the minutes, and their conversation was still waxing more and more interesting. They were seated close together; and, as their tender dialogue became more intensely moving, Robin’s arm had unconsciously found its way around Mary’s waist, whilst hers had fallen carelessly over his shoulder, and had accidentally carried with it the folds of his plaid, which she had not yet thrown off. The cheerful gleam from the blazing moss-fir faggots threw a strong effect of light from the ample chimney over their figures. They indeed believed, from their inaccurate calculation, that this their felicity had endured for some short half hour only, whilst, by the drowsy account of old Mysie, who had sat nodding, and every now and then catching her head up to save it, if she possibly could, from dropping irrecoverably into the lap of Morpheus, the god of sleep, four good hours had gone by. As the truth probably lay between, I shall take the mean of these two extremes, and therefore I may say, with some degree of confidence, that about two hours had yelapsed when she at last yielded to the soporific influence, and fell into a sleep so profound, that ere it had endured for ten minutes, ten cannons or ten claps of thunder could hardly have awakened her; and whilst matters were in this state the door of the apartment where Robin and Mary were so comfortably seated as I have just described them to be,—the door of the apartment was suddenly opened, and Donald Rose himself, covered with mud from neck to heel, and with a countenance pale and haggard as death, entered,—followed, gentlemen, still stranger to tell, by—Harry Stuart, the herd of the Limekilns! The surprise by which the lovers were thus taken was perfectly complete. Their presence of mind was altogether gone. They started up together at once, without even attempting to unfold or withdraw their arms from the different positions which they had respectively assumed, whilst the drapery of the plaid hung over both of them, mingled with the garlands which they still wore. They stood as if they had been converted into statues.
“Gude keep us a’ frae evil!” cried Donald Rose the moment he entered, whilst, to their utter astonishment, he started back as he said so, his eyes glaring at them with a ghastly look of fear and horror that was much too natural not to be perfectly genuine. “Gude keep us frae a’ evil, are ye wraiths or are ye real? The same plaid! the same garlands! and the same guise! Speak! speak! what are ye? But I see,” continued he, after a pause, during which he recovered himself a little; “I see, Gude be thankit! that ye are baith flesh and bluid.”
“Aye, flesh and bluid we are,” said Robin Stuart, summoning up all his resolution and speaking in a determined tone. “We are flesh and bluid truly, and I trust that we shall soon be one flesh and one bluid too! Our souls are already as one! sae let not ane auld man’s avarice rend asunder twa leal hearts already joined by Heeven!”
“Joined by Heeven, indeed, Rabby!” replied old Rose, with a solemn and mysterious air; “and Heeven forbid that sic a miserable vratch as I am sould daur to interfere. What Heeven hath joined let not man put asunder! O bairns! bairns!” continued he, as he swopped himself down into his great oaken elbow chair, as if quite overcome with fatigue both of body and mind; “och, bairns! bairns! what ane awfu’ gliff I hae gotten this blessed night! As I was on my road hame frae the market—an’ at a decent hour, too,—for the drover an’ me had but three half mutchkins a-piece whan we pairted at Grantown—whan I was on my road hame, as I was sayin’, an’ just as I was gaein’ to pass round this end o’ the Witches’ Loch, to cross at the bit fuirdy yonder, what does I see, it gars my very flesh a’ creep again to think on’t—what does I see, I say, but your twa figures, as plain as I see ye baith at this precious moment, in thay very garments ye hae on, an’ wi’ thay very garlands about your necks, an’ shouthers, an’ breasts, an’ baith claspit thegither, as ye war just yenoo whan I came in. I say, I saw ye baith in that very guise, an’ in that very pouster, comin’ skimmin’ o’er the surface o’ the deep water o’ the loch, wi’ that very red plaid aboon ye baith for a sail. But, Gude proteck us a’!—what think ye?—The full moon was just risen in the east, an’ her very light was shinin’ through the twa spirits, an’ aboot them there was a kind o’ a glory, just like unto the mony coloured brugh that ye hae nae doot aften seen about the moon hersel’. Och me, it wuz a grusome sight! I wish I may e’er won ower wi’t!”
Robin and Mary exchanged intelligent glances with each other during this part of old Rose’s narrative; but he was too much overpowered with what he had seen, and too full of his subject, to observe what passed between them.
“Tak a wee drap o’ this, father,” said Mary, handing him a brimming cuach; “you will be muckle the better o’t.”
“Thank ye, thank ye, my bonny bairn!” said the farmer, giving her back the empty cuach, and kindly patting her head as he did so. “I’m sure, my dauty, it was ill my pairt to cross ye as I did. But, stay!—whaur was I?—Weel, ye see, just as the twa speerits war comin’ whush athort the loch upon me far faster than ony wild duke could flee,—the very dumb brute that I was on started back wi’ fear, whurled aboot in a moment, an’ whuppit me awa’ back o’er the moss in spite o’ mysel’, regairdless o’ ony road; and I trow I never stoppit till I wuz on the t’ither side o’ Craig Bey, whar, by good luck, I forgathered wi’ Harry o’ the Limekilns there—fear, like death, will pit oot the fire o’ the auldest feud; and whan Harry heard the cause o’ my flight,—for whan he met me I was fleein’ like a muir-cock down the wund,—I say, whan Harry heard o’ what an a sight I had seen, an’ he bein’, as it were, in some degree conneckit wi’ it, as weel as mysel’, I trow he wuz as glad to hae me wi’ him as I wuz to hae him wi me, wi’ the houp o’ keepin’ aff waur company. Harry had nae better wull to gae by the Witches’ Loch than I had, and sae we cam’ ower by the short cut through the lang moss thegither. A bonny road, truly, for sic an afu’ late hour of the night, for a’ that we had the moon, as ye may see well eneugh by the dabbled state o’ my trews. I’m sure my puir beast ’ill no be able to crawl the morn after a’ the gliffin’, an’ galloppin’, aye, an’ I may say soomin’ too, that he has had, for I hae some doots gif there be ae moss hole atween Craig Bey an’ this hoose that he has na’ had to swatter through.”
“Let me get dry stockin’s for ye, father,” said Mary.
“Na, my dauty, its no worth while for a’ the time!” replied Donald. “An’ noo, Harry, man,” continued he, turning to his companion, who had been all this while standing near the door, “cum ben, man, an’ sit doon; what for dinna ye sit doon? An’ noo, I say, although ye are but a poor man, Harry, an’ no just sae weel come by deschent as I am, wha, as ye are maybe awaur, am come o’ a cousin sax times removed of the Laird of Kilravock himself, which a’ the warld kens to be ane o’ the maist auncientest families in Scotland,—I say, though ye are no just descended frae siccan honourable forebears, yet ye are ane honest man.”
“I trust that I am sae, neebour,” said Harry modestly, but with his head yereck, as ane honest man’s always should be.