“Did you ever hear of any body that was?” answered Oldbuck;—“what reason has an old battered powder-puff like you to be easy in your mind, more than all the rest of the world besides?”
“It’s no for mysell, sir; but it threatens an awfu’ night; and Sir Arthur, and Miss Wardour, poor thing”—
“Why, man, they must have met the carriage at the head of the loaning, or thereabouts; they must be home long ago.”
“Na, sir; they didna gang the road by the turnpike to meet the carriage, they gaed by the sands.”
The word operated like electricity on Oldbuck. “The sands!” he exclaimed; “impossible!”
“Ou, sir, that’s what I said to the gardener; but he says he saw them turn down by the Mussel-craig. In troth, says I to him, an that be the case, Davie, I am misdoubting”—
“An almanac! an almanac!” said Oldbuck, starting up in great alarm—“not that bauble!” flinging away a little pocket almanac which his niece offered him.—“Great God! my poor dear Miss Isabella!—Fetch me instantly the Fairport Almanac.”—It was brought, consulted, and added greatly to his agitation. “I’ll go myself—call the gardener and ploughman—bid them bring ropes and ladders—bid them raise more help as they come along—keep the top of the cliffs, and halloo down to them—I’ll go myself.”
“What is the matter?” inquired Miss Oldbuck and Miss M’Intyre.
“The tide!—the tide!” answered the alarmed Antiquary.
“Had not Jenny better—but no, I’ll run myself,” said the younger lady, partaking in all her uncle’s terrors—“I’ll run myself to Saunders Mucklebackit, and make him get out his boat.”