The Brownie of Bodsbeck, and Other Tales Volume Ii Part 2

"I m-m-mean," says Davie, "w-w-war ye ek-ek-execute?"

"Dinna be feared for an auld acquaintance, Davie," quo I, "though he comes to you in this guise."

"Guise!" said Davie, staring and gasping for breath--"Gui-gui-guise!

Then it se-e-e-eems ye _are_ dead?"

"Gin I were dead, ye fool," quoth I, "how could I be here? Give me your hand."

"Uh-uh-uh-uuuh!" cried Davie, as I wore him up to the nook, and took haud o' his hand by force. "Uh, goodman, ye are flesh and blude yet! But O ye're cauld an' ugsome!"

"Davie," quoth I, "bring me a drink, for I hae seen something o'er-bye an' I'm hardly just mysel."

Davie ran and brought me a hale bowie-fu' milk. "Tak a gude waught, goodman," quo' he, "an' dinna be discouraged. Ye maun lay your account to see and hear baith, sic things as ye never saw or heard afore, gin ye be gaun to bide here. Ye needna wonder that I thought ye war dead,--the dead are as rife here now as the living--they gang amang us, work amang us, an' speak to us; an' them that we ken to be half-rotten i' their graves, come an' visit our fire-sides at the howe o' the night. There hae been sad doings here sin ye gaed away, goodman!"

"Sad doings I fear, indeed, Davie!" says I. "Can ye tell me what's become o' a' my family?"

"Troth can I, goodman. Your family are a' weel. Keatie's at hame her lievahlane, an' carrying on a' the wark o' the farm as weel as there war a hunder wi' her. Your twa sons an' auld Nanny bide here; an' the honest gudewife hersel she's away to Gilmanscleuch. But oh, gudeman, there are sad things gaun on o'er-bye yonder; an' mony a ane thinks it will hae a black an' a dreadfu' end. Sit down an' thraw aff your dirty claes, an'

tell us what ye hae seen the night."

"Na, na, Davie! unless I get some explanation, the thing that I hae seen the night maun be lockit up in this breast, an' be carried to the grave wi' it. But, Davie, I'm unco ill; the cauld sweat is brekking on me frae head to foot. I'm feared I gang away athegither."

"Wow, gudeman, what can be done?" quo' Davie. "Think ye we sudna tak the beuk?"

"I was sae faintish I coudna arguy wi' the fool, an' ere ever I wist he has my bonnet whuppit aff, and is booling at a sawm; and when that was done, to the prayin' he fa's, an' sic nonsense I never heard prayed a'

my life. I'll be a rogue gin he wasna speakin' to his Maker as he had been his neighbour herd; an' then he was baith fleetching an' fighting wi' him. However, I came something to mysel again, an' Davie he thought proper to ascribe it a' to his bit ragabash prayer."

Walter spent a restless and a troubled morning till day-light, and Davie said, that wearied as he was, he believed he never closed his een, for he heard him frequently turning in the bed, and moaning to himself; and he heard him once saying, with deep sighs as if weeping,--"O my poor Keatie Laidlaw! what is to become o' her! My poor lost, misled la.s.sie!

Wae's my heart for her! I fear she is ruined for this world--an' for the aftercome, I dare hardly venture to think about it!--O wae's me for my poor luckless bairn!"

CHAPTER III.

Next morning Walter and his two sons, and old Nanny, went all over to Chapelhope together, just as the cows came to the loan; and the farmer was sundry times remarking by the way that "day-light had mony een!" The truth was, that the phantoms of superst.i.tion had in a measure fled with the shadows of the night, which they seldom fail to do. They, indeed, remain in the bosom, hid, as it were, in embryo, ready to be embodied again at the fall of the long shadow in the moon-light, or the evening tale round the fading embers; but Walter at this time, perhaps, regarded the visions of last night as dreams scarcely remembered, and less believed, and things which in the open day he would have been ashamed to have acknowledged.

Katharine had begun a-milking, but when she beheld her father coming across the meadow, she left her leglen and ran home. Perhaps it was to put his little parlour in order, for no one of the family had set foot within that house but herself for three weeks--or perhaps she did not choose that their meeting should be witnessed by other eyes. In short, she had something of importance to put to rights--for home she ran with great haste; and Walter, putting his sons to some work to detain them, followed her all alone. He stepped into the parlour, but no one being there, he sat down on his elbow chair, and began to look about him. In a few seconds his daughter entered--flung herself on her father's knee and bosom--clasped her arms about his neck--kissed him, and shed a flood of tears on his breast. At first he felt somewhat startled at her embrace, and his arms made a feeble and involuntary effort to press her away from him; but she grew to him the closer, and welcomed him home with such a burst of filial affection and tenderness, that nature in a short time regained her empire over the father's heart; and there was to be seen old Walter with his large hands pressing her slender waist, keeping her at a little distance from him on his knee, and looking stedfastly in her face, with the large tear rolling in his eye. It was such a look as one sometimes takes of the corpse of one that was dearly beloved in life. Well did she read this look, for she had the eye of the eagle for discernment; but she hid her face again on his shoulder, and endeavoured, by familiar enquiries, to wean him insensibly from his reserve, and draw him into his wonted freedom of conversation with her.

"Ye ken o'er well," said he at length, "how deep a haud ye hae o' this heart, Keatie. Ye're my ain bairn still, and ye hae done muckle for my life--but"----

"Muckle for your life!" said she, interrupting him--"I have been but too remiss. I have regretted every hour that I was not with you attending you in prison, administering to all my father's wants, and helping to make the time of bondage and suspense pa.s.s over more lightsomely; but grievous circ.u.mstances have prevented me. I have had sad doings here since you went away, my dear father--there is not a feeling that can rack the human heart that has not been my share. But I will confess all my errors to my father, fall at his knees, and beg his forgiveness--ay, and I hope to receive it too."

"The sooner ye do sae the better then, Keatie," said he--"I was here last night, an' saw a sight that was enough to turn a father's heart to stane."

"_You were here last night!_" said she emphatically, while her eyes were fixed on the ground--"You were here last night! Oh! what shall become of me!"

"Ay, weel may ye say sae, poor lost and undone creature! I was here last night, though worn back by some o' your infernals, an' saw ye in the mids o' your dreadfu' game, wi' a' your bike o' h.e.l.l round about ye. I watna what your confession and explanation may do; but without these I hae sworn to myself, and I'll keep my aith, that you and I shall never night thegither again in the same house, nor the same part o' the country--ay, though it should bring down my grey hairs wi' sorrow to the grave, I'll keep that aith."

"I fear it will turn out a rash vow," said she, "and one that we may all repent to the last day that we have to live. There is danger and jeopardy in the business, and it is connected with the lives and souls of men; therefore, before we proceed farther in it, relate to me all the circ.u.mstances of your trial, and by what means you are liberated."

"I'll do that cheerfully," said Walter, "gin it war but to teach you compliance."

He then went over all the circ.u.mstances of his extraordinary trial, and the conditions on which he was discharged; and ended by requiring her positively to give him the promised explanation.

"So you are only then out on bail," said she, "and liable to be cited again on the same charges?"

"No more," was the reply.

"It is not then time yet for my disclosure," said she; "and no power on earth shall wring it from me; therefore, my dear father, let me beg of you to urge your request no farther, that I may not be under the painful necessity of refusing you again."

"I hae tauld ye my determination, Keatie," returned he; "an' ye ken I'm no very apt to alter. If I should bind ye in a cart wi' my ain hands, ye shall leave Chapelhope the night, unless ye can avert that by explaining your connections to me. An' why should ye no?--Things can never appear waur to my mind than they are just now--If h.e.l.l itself had been opened to my e'e, an' I had seen you ane o' the inmates, I coudna hae been mair astoundit than I was yestreen. I'll send ye to Edinburgh, an' get ye safely put up there, for I canna brook things ony langer in this state. I winna hae my family scattered, an' made a bye-word and an astonishment to the hale country this gate--Outher tell me the meaning o't, or lay your account to leave your father's house this day for ever."

"You do not know what you ask, father--the thing is impossible. Was ever a poor creature so hard bestead! Will not you allow me a few days to prepare for such a departure?"

"No ae day, nor ae hour either, Kate. Ye see this is a situation o'

things that canna' be tholed ony langer."

She sat down as if in deep meditation, but she neither sobbed nor wept.

"You are only out on bail," said she, "and liable to be tried again on the same grounds of charge?"

"Ay, nae mair," said Walter; "but what need ye harp on that? I'm safe enough. I forgot to tell you that the judges were sae thoroughly convinced of my loyalty and _soundness_, (as they ca'd it) that they wadna risk me to the vote of a jury; an' that the bit security they sought was naething but a mere sham to get honourably quit of me. I was likewise tauld by ane that kens unco weel, that the king has gotten ither tow to teaze than persecuting whigs ony langer, an' that there will soon be an order put out of a very different nature. There is never to be mair blood shed on account of the covenanted reformation in Scotland."

When Walter began this speech, his daughter lifted up her downcast eyes, and fixed them on his face with a look that manifested a kind of hopeless apathy; but as he advanced, their orbs enlarged, and beamed with a radiance as if she had been some superior intelligence. She did not breathe--or, if she did, it stole imperceptibly from between her parted ruby lips. "What did you say, my dear father?" said she.

"What did I say!" repeated Walter, astonished and nettled at the question--"What the deil was i' your lugs, that ye didna hear what I said? I'm sure I spake out. Ye are thinking o' something else, Kate."

"Be so good as repeat every word that you said over again," said she, "and tell me whence you drew your intelligence."

Walter did so; repeating it in still stronger and more energetic language than he had done before, mentioning at the same time how he had his information, which could not be doubted.

"It is enough, my dear father," said she. "Say not another word about it. I will lay open all my errors to my father this instant--come with me, and I will show you a sight!"

As she said this, she put her arm in her father's to lead him away; but Walter looked about him with a suspicious and startled eye, and drew somewhat back.

"You must go instantly," continued she, "there is no time so fit; and whatever you may see or hear, be not alarmed, but follow me, and do as I bid you."

"Nane o' your cantrips wi' me, Kate," said Walter--"I see your drift weel eneugh, but ye'll find yoursel disappoint.i.t. I hae lang expect.i.t it wad come to this; but I'm determined against it."

"Determined against what, my dear father?"

"Ye want to mak a warlock o' me, ye imp o' mischief," said Walter; "but I hae taen up my resolution there, an' a' the temptations o' Satan sanna shake it. Nah! Gudefaith, auld Wat o' the Chapelhope's no gaun to be led away by the lug an' the horn to the deil that gate."

Katharine's mien had a tint of majesty in it, but it was naturally serious. She scarcely ever laughed, and but seldom smiled; but when she did so, the whole soul of delight beamed in it. Her face was like a dark summer day, when the clouds are high and majestic, and the lights on the valley mellowed into beauty. Her smile was like a fairy blink of the sun shed through these clouds, than which, there is nothing in nature that I know of so enlivening and beautiful. It was irresistible;--and such a smile beamed on her benign countenance, when she heard her father's wild suspicions expressed in such a blunt and ardent way; but it conquered them all--he went away with her rather abashed, and without uttering another word.

They walked arm in arm up by the side of the burn, and were soon out of sight of Nanny and the boys. Walter was busy all the way trying to form some conjecture what the girl meant, and what was to be the issue of this adventure, and began to suspect that his old friends, the Covenant-men, were some way or other connected with it; that it was they, perhaps, who had the power of raising those spirits by which his dwelling had been so grievously haunted, for he had heard wonderful things of them. Still there was no coindication of circ.u.mstances in any of the calculations that he was able to make, for his house had been haunted by Brownie and his tribe long ere he fell in with the fugitive Covenanters. None of them had ever given him the least hint about the matter, or the smallest key to it, which he believed they would have done; nor had he ever mentioned a word of his connection with them to one of his family, or indeed to any one living. Few were the words that past between the father and daughter in the course of that walk, but it was not of long duration.

They soon came to the precipitate linn on the South Grain, where the soldiers had been slain. Katharine being a little way before, began to scramble across the face of the rock by a path that was hardly perceptible. Walter called after her, "Where are ye gaun, Keatie? It's impossible to win yont there--there's no outgate for a mouse."