“There is something very strange in this,” said Patrick Stewart. “But this will never do. We cannot tarry here long without the certainty of being overtaken by the whole body of the Catteranes. By this time they must be well on their way in pursuit of us.”
“Holy Virgin! what will become of us if we should fall into their hands?” cried the Lady Catherine, in an agony of distress.
“Fear not, my love!” said Patrick Stewart; “I will forthwith fathom this mystery. I will see whence these horrible screams proceed.”
“Nay, Sir Patrick, tempt not thy fate,” cried Michael. “If thou dost, thou goest to thy certain destruction.”
“Oh stir not, dear Patrick!” cried the Lady Catherine, starting up from the litter, and endeavouring to detain him. “Do not attempt so great, so dreadful a danger.”
“Catherine, my dearest!” said Patrick, fondly taking her hands in his; “listen to reason, I entreat thee. The danger that presses on us from behind is imminent, and more than what two swords, good as they may be, could by any means save thee from. And since God hath given us strength to flee from it, he will not forsake me in a conflict with the powers of hell, should they stand in my way. I go forward in his holy name, then; have no fear for me therefore. Rest thine arm upon Michael, dearest—tell thy beads, and may the blessed Virgin hover over thee to protect thee! As for you, Michael, draw your claymore, and stir not a step from the lady till I call thee.”
Patrick Stewart now crossed himself, and then strode, slowly and resolutely, along the narrow ledge of rock towards the roaring lynn, repeating a paternoster as he went. The moon was by this time high in the heavens, and its beams produced a faint tinge of the rainbow’s hues, as they played among the mists that arose from the waterfall. The shrieks that came from below were now loud and incessant, and might have quailed the stoutest heart. But still Patrick advanced firmly, till he stood upon a shelving rock, forming the very verge of the roaring cataract, whence he could throw his eyes directly downwards, through the shooting foam, into the abyss below. Far down, in the midst of the rising vapour, and apparently suspended in it, close by the edge of the descending column of water, he could distinguish a dark object. New and more piercing screams arose from it. He bent forward, and looked yet more intently. To his no inconsiderable dismay, he beheld a fearful head rear itself, as it were from out of it; the long hair by which it was covered, and the immense beard that flowed from the chin, hanging down, drenched by the surrounding moisture, and the eyes glaring fearfully in the moonlight, whilst the terrific screams were inconceivably augmented. Appalled as he was by this most unaccountable apparition, Patrick was shifting his position, in order to lean yet more forward, that he might the better contemplate it, when the toe of his sandal grazed against something that had nearly destroyed his equilibrium, and sent him headlong over the rock. Having, with some difficulty, recovered himself, he stooped down to ascertain what had tripped him, when he found, to his surprise, that it was a rope. He now remembered, that the feudal tenant of the neighbouring ground, who owed service to his father, Sir Allan, was accustomed to hang a conical creel, or large rude basket, by the edge of the fall, for the purpose of catching the salmon that fell into it, after failing in their vain attempts to leap up.
“Ho, there!” cried Patrick Stewart, in that voice of thunder, which he required to exert in order to overcome the continuous roar of the cataract.
“Oh, help! help! help!” cried the fearful head from below.
“Man or demon, I will see what thou art!” cried Patrick, stooping down to lay hold of the rope, with the intention of making an attempt to pull up the creel.