"Well, Miss Die, I'se go to Woolverton then, and if the earths are not stopt, I'se raddle Dick the miller's bones for him."
"Do, my dear Thornie; horsewhip the rascal to purpose—via—fly away, and about it;"—Thorncliff went off at the gallop—"or get horsewhipt yourself, which will serve my purpose just as well.—I must teach them all discipline and obedience to the word of command. I am raising a regiment, you must know. Thornie shall be my sergeant-major, Dickon my riding-master, and Wilfred, with his deep dub-a-dub tones, that speak but three syllables at a time, my kettle-drummer."
"And Rashleigh?"
"Rashleigh shall be my scout-master." "And will you find no employment for me, most lovely colonel?"
"You shall have the choice of being pay-master, or plunder-master, to the corps. But see how the dogs puzzle about there. Come, Mr. Frank, the scent's cold; they won't recover it there this while; follow me, I have a view to show you."
And in fact, she cantered up to the top of a gentle hill, commanding an extensive prospect. Casting her eyes around, to see that no one was near us, she drew up her horse beneath a few birch-trees, which screened us from the rest of the hunting-field—"Do you see yon peaked, brown, heathy hill, having something like a whitish speck upon the side?"
"Terminating that long ridge of broken moorish uplands?—I see it distinctly."
"That whitish speck is a rock called Hawkesmore-crag, and Hawkesmore-crag is in Scotland."
"Indeed! I did not think we had been so near Scotland."
"It is so, I assure you, and your horse will carry you there in two hours."