He had lain some time in this state when he was a second time awakened, he knew not how, but he heard as if there were footsteps in the place. The fire had now fallen so low that he could see nothing by its light, but by a glimmering moonbeam that made its way in he saw that the door was again open. As he looked towards it, he thought he perceived something like a dog glide outwards. He started up, as he had done before, and, going to the door, he again shut it; and, that the wolf-dogs might no more torment him, he piled up the rustic table he had supped on, and some of the stools and settles against it. The precautions he thus took were effectual, for the dogs were no more troublesome to him all night; and the first interruption his slumbers experienced was from the overthrow of the whole materials of his barricado, and the exclamation of “Uve! uve!” that burst from Duncan MacErchar, who came for the purpose [[183]]of rousing him to prosecute his journey. Hepborne explained the cause of his having so fortified the door.
“Uch ay,” said MacErchar, “they be’s powersome brutes—powersome brutes, in troth, and plaguy cunning. I’se warrant they smelt the smell of the rosten deer’s flesh, and that brought them in. But they got little for their pains, the ragged rascals—not but they are bonny tykes, poor beasts! and troth, ’tis better to have ane o’ them in the house than the wolves themselves, that we’re sometimes plagued with.”
The host approached the side of Hepborne’s couch, with his everlasting stoup in his right hand, and the wooden cup in his left, and poured him out of the spirits it contained. The knight sipped a little, and then MacErchar retired to see that his morning’s meal was properly provided. It was no less copiously and comfortably supplied, according to his means, than the supper of the previous evening had been.
At length Mortimer Sang came to receive his master’s orders; and when Hepborne asked him how he and his people had fared, he learned that they had been treated with every thing the good host could procure for them. Oats were not to be had for the horses; but, in addition to the grass that was cut for them, Master MacErchar had himself carried a large sack of meal to the stables and out-houses of turf, where the animals had with some difficulty been forced in, and he had most liberally supplied them with his own hands. He went round all the men of Hepborne’s party, and gave each his morning’s cup of spirits. In short, he seemed to think that it was impossible he could do enough from his small means, for the knight and every person and animal belonging to him.
When the horses were brought out, Hepborne called MacErchar to him, and offered him, from his purse, ten times as much money as the value of his night’s entertainment and lodging would have cost.
“Uve! uve!” said Duncan, sore hurt, and half offended; “uve! uve! Sir Patrick! Hoot no. What! take money from the son of Sir Patrick Hepborne, the son o’ the noble brave knight that she has followed mony a days!—take money from his son for a bit paltry piece and a drink!—Na! na!—Uve! uve!—Ou fye! ou fye!—na, na!—Troth, she’s no just so poor or so pitiful as that comes to yet. Uve! uve! Surely!”
Hepborne at once saw the mischief he had done. He would have rather put his hand in the fire than have hurt feelings that were so honourable to Duncan MacErchar; and he almost began to wish that his purse had been there, ere it had been the means [[184]]of giving pain to so noble a heart. He did all he could, therefore, to remedy the evil; for, putting his purse sheepishly into his pocket, he called for the stoup of spirits, and, filling the cup up to the brim, drank it off, to the health, happiness, and prosperity of Master Duncan MacErchar; then shaking the mountaineer heartily by the hand—
“May we meet again, my worthy friend,” said he; “and wherever it may be, let me not pass by thee unnoticed. Meanwhile, farewell, and may the blessing of St. Andrew be about thee!”
This courteous and kind behaviour completely salved the wound Hepborne had so unwittingly inflicted. Duncan was overjoyed with it, and gratified beyond measure. He tried to express his joy.
“Och, oich! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing be about her. Och, och! Sir Patrick! uu-uch! God’s blessing and the Virgin’s blessing—and uch-uch!—and, Sir Patrick—Sure, sure! ou ay—uu—u!”