The wrath of the great divine was kindled beyond measure. He cursed the

aggressor in the name of the Most High; and bound himself, by an oath,

to cause that wicked one's transgressions return upon his own head

sevenfold. But, before he engaged further in the business of vengeance,

he kneeled with his adopted son, and committed the whole cause unto the

Lord, whom he addressed as one coming breathing burning coals of

juniper, and casting his lightnings before him, to destroy and root out

all who had moved hand or tongue against the children of the promise.

Thus did he arise confirmed, and go forth to certain conquest.

We cannot enter into the detail of the events that now occurred without

forestalling a part of the narrative of one who knew all the

circumstances--was deeply interested in them, and whose relation is of

higher value than anything that can be retailed out of the stores of

tradition and old registers; but, his narrative being different from

these, it was judged expedient to give the account as thus publicly

handed down to us. Suffice it that, before evening, George was

apprehended, and lodged in jail, on a criminal charge of an assault and

battery, to the shedding of blood, with the intent of committing

fratricide. Then was the old laird in great consternation, and blamed

himself for treating the thing so lightly, which seemed to have been

gone about, from the beginning, so systematically, and with an intent

which the villains were now going to realize, namely, to get the young

laird disposed of; and then his brother, in spite of the old

gentleman's teeth, would be laird himself.

Old Dal now set his whole interest to work among the noblemen and

lawyers of his party. His son's case looked exceedingly ill, owing to

the former assault before witnesses, and the unbecoming expressions

made use of by him on that occasion, as well as from the present

assault, which George did not deny, and for which no moving cause or

motive could be made to appear.

On his first declaration before the sheriff, matters looked no better:

but then the sheriff was a Whig. It is well known how differently the

people of the present day, in Scotland, view the cases of their own

party-men and those of opposite political principles. But this day is

nothing to that in such matters, although, God knows, they are still

sometimes barefaced enough. It appeared, from all the witnesses in the

first case, that the complainant was the first aggressor--that he

refused to stand out of the way, though apprised of his danger; and,

when his brother came against him inadvertently, he had aimed a blow at

him with his foot, which, if it had taken effect, would have killed

him. But as to the story of the apparition in fair day-light--the

flying from the face of it--the running foul of his brother pursuing

him, and knocking him down, why the judge smiled at the relation, and

saying: "It was a very extraordinary story," he remanded George to

prison, leaving the matter to the High Court of Justiciary.

When the case came before that court, matters took a different turn.

The constant and sullen attendance of the one brother upon the other

excited suspicions; and these were in some manner confirmed when the

guards at Queensberry House deported that the prisoner went by them on

his way to the hill that morning, about twenty minutes before the

complainant, and, when the latter passed, he asked if such a young man

had passed before him, describing the prisoner's appearance to them;

and that, on being answered in the affirmative, he mended his pace and

fell a-running.

The Lord Justice, on hearing this, asked the prisoner if he had any

suspicions that his brother had a design on his life.

He answered that all along, from the time of their first unfortunate

meeting, his brother had dogged his steps so constantly, and so

unaccountably, that he was convinced it was with some intent out of the

ordinary course of events; and that if, as his lordship supposed, it

was indeed his shadow that he had seen approaching him through the

mist, then, from the cowering and cautious manner that it advanced,

there was no little doubt that his brother's design had been to push

him headlong from the cliff that morning.

A conversation then took place between the judge and the Lord Advocate;

and, in the meantime, a bustle was seen in the hall; on which the doors

were ordered to be guarded, and, behold, the precious Mr. R. Wringhim

was taken into custody, trying to make his escape out of court. Finally

it turned out that George was honourably acquitted, and young Wringhim

bound over to keep the peace, with heavy penalties and securities.

That was a day of high exultation to George and his youthful

associates, all of whom abhorred Wringhim; and, the evening being spent

in great glee, it was agreed between Mr. Adam Gordon and George that

their visit to the Highlands, though thus long delayed, was not to be

abandoned; and though they had, through the machinations of an

incendiary, lost the season of delight, they would still find plenty of

sport in deer-shooting. Accordingly, the day was set a second time for

their departure; and, on the day preceding that, all the party were

invited by George to dine with him once more at the sign of the Black

Bull of Norway. Everyone promised to attend, anticipating nothing but

festivity and joy. Alas, what short-sighted improvident creatures we

are, all of us; and how often does the evening cup of joy lead to

sorrow in the morning!

The day arrived--the party of young noblemen and gentlemen met, and

were as happy and jovial as men could be. George was never seen so

brilliant, or so full of spirits; and exulting to see so many gallant

young chiefs and gentlemen about him, who all gloried in the same

principles of loyalty (perhaps this word should have been written

disloyalty), he made speeches, gave toasts, and sung songs, all leaning

slyly to the same side, until a very late hour. By that time he had

pushed the bottle so long and so freely that its fumes had taken

possession of every brain to such a degree that they held Dame Reason

rather at the staff's end, overbearing all her counsels and

expostulations; and it was imprudently proposed by a wild inebriated

spark, and carried by a majority of voices, that the whole party should

adjourn to a bagnio for the remainder of the night.

They did so; and it appears from what follows that the house, to which

they retired must have been somewhere on the opposite side of the

street to the Black Bull Inn, a little farther to the eastward. They

had not been an hour in that house till some altercation chanced to

arise between George Colwan and a Mr. Drummond, the younger son of a

nobleman of distinction. It was perfectly casual, and no one

thenceforward, to this day, could ever tell what it was about, if it

was not about the misunderstanding of some word or term that the one

had uttered. However it was, some high words passed between them; these

were followed by threats, and, in less than two minutes from the

commencement of the quarrel, Drummond left the house in apparent

displeasure, hinting to the other that they two should settle that in a

more convenient place.

The company looked at one another, for all was over before any of them

knew such a thing was begun. "What the devil is the matter?" cried one.

"What ails Drummond?" cried another. "Who has he quarrelled with?"

asked a third.

"Don't know."--"Can't tell, on my life."--"He has quarrelled with his

wine, I suppose, and is going to send it a challenge."

Such were the questions, and such the answers that passed in the jovial

party, and the matter was no more thought of.

But in the course of a very short space, about the length which the

ideas of the company were the next day at great variance, a sharp rap

came to the door. It was opened by a female; but, there being a chain

inside, she only saw one side of the person at the door. He appeared to

be a young gentleman, in appearance like him who had lately left the

house, and asked, in a low whispering voice, "if young Dalcastle was

still in the house?" The woman did not know. "If he is," added he,

"pray tell him to speak with me for a few minutes." The woman delivered

the message before all the party, among whom there were then sundry

courteous ladies of notable distinction, and George, on receiving it,

instantly rose from the side of one of them, and said, in the hearing

of them all, "I will bet a hundred merks that is Drummond."--"Don't go

to quarrel with him, George," said one.--"Bring him in with you," said

another. George stepped out; the door was again bolted, the chain drawn

across, and the inadvertent party, left within, thought no more of the

circumstance till the morning, that the report had spread over the city

that a young gentleman had been slain, on a little washing-green at the

side of the North Loch, and at the very bottom of the close where this

thoughtless party had been assembled.

Several of them, on first hearing the report, basted to the dead-room

in the Guard-house, where the corpse had been deposited, and soon

discovered the body to be that of their friend and late entertainer,

George Colwan. Great were the consternation and grief of all concerned,

and, in particular, of his old father and Miss Logan; for George had

always been the sole hope and darling of both, and the news of the

event paralysed them so as to render them incapable of all thought or

exertion. The spirit of the old laird was broken by the blow, and he

descended at once from a jolly, good-natured and active man to a mere

driveller, weeping over the body of his son, kissing his wound, his

lips, and his cold brow alternately; denouncing vengeance on his

murderers, and lamenting that he himself had not met the cruel doom, so

that the hope of his race might have been preserved. In short, finding

that all further motive of action and object of concern or of love,

here below, were for ever removed from him, he abandoned himself to

despair, and threatened to go down to the grave with his son.

But, although he made no attempt to discover the murderers, the arm of

justice was not idle; and, it being evident to all that the crime must

infallibly be brought home to young Drummond, some of his friends

sought him out, and compelled him, sorely against his will, to retire

into concealment till the issue of the proof that should be led was

made known. At the same time, he denied all knowledge of the incident

with a resolution that astonished his intimate friends and relations,

who to a man suspected him guilty. His father was not in Scotland, for

I think it was said to me that this young man was second son to a John,

Duke of Melfort, who lived abroad with the royal family of the Stuarts;

but this young gentleman lived with the relations of his mother, one of

whom, an uncle, was a Lord of Session: these, having thoroughly

effected his concealment, went away, and listened to the evidence; and

the examination of every new witness convinced them that their noble

young relative was the slayer of his friend.

All the young gentlemen of the party were examined, save Drummond, who,

when sent for, could not be found, which circumstance sorely confirmed

the suspicions against him in the minds of judges and jurors, friends

and enemies; and there is little doubt that the care of his relations

in concealing him injured his character and his cause. The young

gentlemen of whom the party was composed varied considerably with

respect to the quarrel between him and the deceased. Some of them had

neither heard nor noted it; others had, but not one of them could tell

how it began. Some of them had heard the threat uttered by Drummond on

leaving the house, and one only had noted him lay his hand on his

sword. Not one of them could swear that it was Drummond who came to the

door and desired to speak with the deceased, but the general impression

on the minds of them all was to that effect; and one of the women swore

that she heard the voice distinctly at the door, and every word that

voice pronounced, and at the same time heard the deceased say that it

was Drummond's.

On the other hand, there were some evidences on Drummond's part, which

Lord Craigie, his uncle, had taken care to collect. He produced the

sword which his nephew had worn that night, on which there was neither

blood nor blemish; and, above all, he insisted on the evidence of a

number of surgeons, who declared that both the wounds which the

deceased had received had been given behind. One of these was below the

left arm, and a slight one; the other was quite through the body, and

both evidently inflicted with the same weapon, a two-edged sword, of

the same dimensions as that worn by Drummond.

Upon the whole, there was a division in the court, but a majority

decided it. Drummond was pronounced guilty of the murder; outlawed for

not appearing, and a high reward offered for his apprehension. It was

with the greatest difficulty that he escaped on board of a small

trading vessel, which landed him in Holland, and from thence, flying

into Germany, he entered into the service of the Emperor Charles VI.

Many regretted that he was not taken, and made to suffer the penalty

due for such a crime, and the melancholy incident became a pulpit theme

over a great part of Scotland, being held up as a proper warning to

youth to beware of such haunts of vice and depravity, the nurses of all

that is precipitate, immoral, and base, among mankind.

After the funeral of this promising and excellent young man, his father

never more held up his head. Miss Logan, with all her art, could not

get him to attend to any worldly thing, or to make any settlement

whatsoever of his affairs, save making her over a present of what

disposable funds he had about him. As to his estates, when they were

mentioned to him, he wished them all in the bottom of the sea, and

himself along with them. But, whenever she mentioned the circumstance

of Thomas Drummond having been the murderer of his son, he shook his

head, and once made the remark that "It was all a mistake, a gross and

fatal error; but that God, who had permitted such a flagrant deed,

would bring it to light in his own time and way." In a few weeks he

followed his son to the grave, and the notorious Robert Wringhim took

possession of his estates as the lawful son of the late laird, born in

wedlock, and under his father's roof. The investiture was celebrated by

prayer, singing of psalms, and religious disputation. The late guardian

and adopted father, and the mother of the new laird, presided on the

grand occasion, making a conspicuous figure in all the work of the day;

and, though the youth himself indulged rather more freely in the bottle

than he had ever been seen to do before, it was agreed by all present

that there had never been a festivity so sanctified within the great

hall of Dalcastle. Then, after due thanks returned, they parted

rejoicing in spirit; which thanks, by the by, consisted wholly in

telling the Almighty what he was; and informing, with very particular

precision, what they were who addressed him; for Wringhim's whole

system of popular declamation consisted, it seems, in this--to denounce

all men and women to destruction, and then hold out hopes to his

adherents that they were the chosen few, included in the promises, and

who could never fall away. It would appear that this pharisaical

doctrine is a very delicious one, and the most grateful of all others

to the worst characters.

But the ways of heaven are altogether inscrutable, and soar as far

above and beyond the works and the comprehensions of man as the sun,

flaming in majesty, is above the tiny boy's evening rocket. It is the

controller of Nature alone that can bring light out of darkness, and

order out of confusion. Who is he that causeth the mole, from his

secret path of darkness, to throw up the gem, the gold, and the

precious ore? The same that from the mouths of babes and sucklings can

extract the perfection of praise, and who can make the most abject of

his creatures instrumental in bringing the most hidden truths to light.

Miss Logan had never lost the thought of her late master's prediction

that Heaven would bring to light the truth concerning the untimely

death of his son. She perceived that some strange conviction, too

horrible for expression, preyed on his mind from the moment that the

fatal news reached him to the last of his existence; and, in his last

ravings, he uttered some incoherent words about justification by faith

alone and absolute and eternal predestination having been the ruin of

his house. These, to be sure, were the words of superannuation, and of

the last and severest kind of it; but, for all that, they sunk deep

into Miss Logan's soul, and at last she began to think with herself:

"Is it possible the Wringhims, and the sophisticating wretch who is in

conjunction with them, the mother of my late beautiful and amiable

young master, can have effected his destruction? If so, I will spend my

days, and my little patrimony, in endeavours to rake up and expose the

unnatural deed."

In all her outgoings and incomings Mrs. Logan (as she was now styled)

never lost sight of this one object. Every new disappointment only

whetted her desire to fish up some particulars, concerning it; for she

thought so long and so ardently upon it that by degrees it became

settled in her mind as a sealed truth. And, as woman is always most

jealous of her own sex in such matters, her suspicions were fixed on

her greatest enemy, Mrs. Colwan, now the Lady Dowager of Dalcastle. All

was wrapt in a chaos of confusion and darkness; but at last, by dint of

a thousand sly and secret inquiries, Mrs. Logan found out where Lady

Dalcastle had been on the night that the murder happened, and likewise

what company she had kept, as well as some of the comers and goers; and

she had hopes of having discovered a clue, which, if she could keep

hold of the thread, would lead her through darkness to the light of

truth.

Returning very late one evening from a convocation of family servants,

which she had drawn together in order to fish something out of them,

her maid having been in attendance on her all the evening, they found,

on going home, that the house had been broken and a number of valuable

articles stolen therefrom. Mrs. Logan had grown quite heartless before

this stroke, having been altogether unsuccessful in her inquiries, and

now she began to entertain some resolutions of giving up the fruitless

search.

In a few days thereafter, she received intelligence that her clothes

and plate were mostly recovered, and that she for one was bound over to

prosecute the depredator, provided the articles turned out to be hers,

as libelled in the indictment, and as a king's evidence had given out.

She was likewise summoned, or requested, I know not which, being

ignorant of these matters, to go as far as the town of Peebles in

Tweedside, in order to survey these articles on such a day, and make

affidavit to their identity before the Sheriff She went accordingly;

but, on entering the town by the North Gate, she was accosted by a poor

girl in tattered apparel, who with great earnestness inquired if her

name was not Mrs. Logan? On being answered in the affirmative, she said

that the unfortunate prisoner in the Tolbooth requested her, as she

valued all that was dear to her in life, to go and see her before she

appeared in court at the hour of cause, as she (the prisoner) had

something of the greatest moment to impart to her. Mrs. Logan's

curiosity was excited, and she followed the girl straight to the

Tolbooth, who by the way said to her that she would find in the

prisoner a woman of superior mind, who had gone through all the

vicissitudes of life. "She has been very unfortunate, and I fear very

wicked," added the poor thing, "but she is my mother, and God knows,

with all her faults and failings, she has never been unkind to me. You,

madam, have it in your power to save her; but she has wronged you, and

therefore, if you will not do it for her sake, do it for mine, and the

God of the fatherless will reward you."

Mrs. Logan answered her with a cast of the head, and a hem! and only

remarked, that "the guilty must not always be suffered to escape, or

what a world must we be doomed to live in!"

She was admitted to the prison, and found a tall emaciated figure, who

appeared to have once possessed a sort of masculine beauty in no

ordinary degree, but was now considerably advanced in years. She viewed

Mrs. Logan with a stem, steady gaze, as if reading her features as a

margin to her intellect; and when she addressed her it was not with

that humility, and agonized fervour, which are natural for one in such

circumstances to address to another who has the power of her life and

death in her hands.

"I am deeply indebted to you for this timely visit, Mrs. Logan," said

she. "It is not that I value life, or because I fear death, that I have

sent for you so expressly. But the manner of the death that awaits me

has something peculiarly revolting in it to a female mind. Good God!

when I think of being hung up, a spectacle to a gazing, gaping

multitude, with numbers of which I have had intimacies and connections,

that would render the moment of parting so hideous, that, believe me,

it rends to flinders a soul born for another sphere than that in which

it has moved, had not the vile selfishness of a lordly fiend ruined all

my prospects and all my hopes. Hear me then; for I do not ask your

pity: I only ask of you to look to yourself, and behave with womanly

prudence, if you deny this day that these goods are yours, there is no

other evidence whatever against my life, and it is safe for the

present. For, as for the word of the wretch who has betrayed me, it is

of no avail; he has prevaricated so notoriously to save himself. If you

deny them, you shall have them all again to the value of a mite, and

more to the bargain. If you swear to the identity of them, the process

will, one way and another, cost you the half of what they are worth."

"And what security have I for that?" said Mrs. Logan.

"You have none but my word," said the other proudly, "and that never

yet was violated. If you cannot take that, I know the worst you can do.

But I had forgot--I have a poor helpless child without, waiting and

starving about the prison door. Surely it was of her that I wished to

speak. This shameful death of mine will leave her in a deplorable

state."

"The girl seems to have candour and strong affections," said Mrs.

Logan. "I grievously mistake if such a child would not be a thousand

times better without such a guardian and director."

"Then will you be so kind as to come to the Grass Market and see me put

down?" said the prisoner. "I thought a woman would estimate a woman's

and a mother's feelings, when such a dreadful throw was at stake, at

least in part. But you are callous, and have never known any feelings

but those of subordination to your old unnatural master. Alas, I have

no cause of offence! I have wronged you; and justice must take its

course. Will you forgive me before we part?"

Mrs. Logan hesitated, for her mind ran on something else. On which the

other subjoined: "No, you will not forgive me, I see. But you will pray

to God to forgive me? I know you will do that."

Mrs. Logan heard not this jeer, but, looking at the prisoner with an

absent and stupid stare, she said: "Did you know my late master?"

"Ay, that I did, and never for any good," said she. "I knew the old and

the young spark both, and was by when the latter was slain."

This careless sentence affected Mrs. Logan in a most peculiar manner. A

shower of tears burst from her eyes ere it was done, and, when it was,

she appeared like one bereaved of her mind. She first turned one way

and then another, as if looking for something she had dropped. She

seemed to think she had lost her eyes, instead of her tears, and at

length, as by instinct, she tottered close up to the prisoner's face,

and, looking wistfully and joyfully in it, said, with breathless

earnestness: "Pray, mistress, what is your name?"

"My name is Arabella Calvert," said the other. "Miss, mistress, or

widow, as you choose, for I have been all the three, and that not once

nor twice only. Ay, and something beyond all these. But, as for you,

you have never been anything!"

"Ay, ay! and so you are Bell Calvert? Well, I thought so--I thought

so," said Mrs. Logan; and, helping herself to a seat, she came and sat

down dose by the prisoner's knee. "So you are indeed Bell Calvert, so

called once. Well, of all the world you are the woman whom I have

longed and travailed the most to see. But you were invisible; a being

to be heard of, not seen."

"There have been days, madam," returned she, "when I was to be seen,

and when there were few to be seen like me. But since that time there

have indeed been days on which I was not to be seen. My crimes have

been great, but my sufferings have been greater. So great that neither

you nor the world can ever either know or conceive them. I hope they

will be taken into account by the Most High. Mine have been crimes of

utter desperation. But whom am I speaking to? You had better leave me

to myself, mistress."

"Leave you to yourself? That I will be loth to do till you tell me

where you were that night my young master was murdered."

"Where the devil would, I was! Will that suffice you? Ah, it was a vile

action! A night to be remembered that was! Won't you be going? I want

to trust my daughter with a commission."

"No, Mrs. Calvert, you and I part not till you have divulged that

mystery to me."

"You must accompany me to the other world, then, for you shall not have

it in this."

"If you refuse to answer me, I can have you before a tribunal, where

you shall be sifted to the soul."

"Such miserable inanity! What care I for your threatenings of a

tribunal? I who must soon stand before my last earthly one? What could

the word of such a culprit avail? Or, if it could, where is the judge

that could enforce it?"

"Did you not say that there was some mode of accommodating matters on

that score?"

"Yes, I prayed you to grant me my life, which is in your power. The

saving of it would not have cost you a plack, yet you refused to do it.

The taking of it will cost you a great deal, and yet to that purpose

you adhere. I can have no parley with such a spirit. I would not have

my life in a present from its motions, nor would I exchange courtesies

with its possessor."

"Indeed, Mrs. Calvert, since ever we met, I have been so busy thinking

about who you might be that I know not what you have been proposing. I

believe I meant to do what I could to save you But, once for all, tell

me everything that you know concerning that amiable young gentleman's

death, and here is my band there shall be nothing wanting that I can

effect for you."

"No I despise all barter with such mean and selfish curiosity; and, as

I believe that passion is stronger with you, than fear with me, we part

on equal terms. Do your worst; and my secret shall go to the gallows

and the grave with me."

Mrs. Logan was now greatly confounded, and after proffering in vain to

concede everything she could ask in exchange, for the particulars

relating to the murder, she became the suppliant in her turn. But the

unaccountable culprit, exulting in her advantage, laughed her to scorn;

and finally, in a paroxysm of pride and impatience, called in the

jailor and had her expelled, ordering him in her hearing not to grant

her admittance a second time, on any pretence.

Mrs. Logan was now hard put to it, and again driven almost to despair.

She might have succeeded in the attainment of that she thirsted for

most in life so easily had she known the character with which she had

to deal. Had she known to have soothed her high and afflicted spirit:

but that opportunity was past, and the hour of examination at hand. She

once thought of going and claiming her articles, as she at first

intended; but then, when she thought again of the Wringhims swaying it

at Dalcastle, where she had been wont to hear them held in such

contempt, if not abhorrence, and perhaps of holding it by the most

diabolical means, she was withheld from marring the only chance that

remained of having a glimpse into that mysterious affair.

Finally, she resolved not to answer to her name in the court, rather

than to appear and assert a falsehood, which she might be called on to

certify by oath. She did so; and heard the Sheriff give orders to the

officers to make inquiry for Miss Logan from Edinburgh, at the various

places of entertainment in town, and to expedite her arrival in court,

as things of great value were in dependence. She also heard the man who

had turned king's evidence against the prisoner examined for the second

time, and sifted most cunningly. His answers gave anything but

satisfaction to the Sheriff, though Mrs. Logan believed them to be

mainly truth. But there were a few questions and answers that struck

her above all others.

"How long is it since Mrs. Calvert and you became acquainted?"

"About a year and a half."

"State the precise time, if you please; the day, or night, according to

your remembrance."

"It was on the morning of the 28th of February, 1705."

"What time of the morning?"

"Perhaps about one."

"So early as that? At what place did you meet then?"

"It was at the foot of one of the north wynds of Edinburgh." "Was it by

appointment that you met?"

"No, it was not."

"For what purpose was it then?"

"For no purpose."

"How is it that you chance to remember the day and hour so minutely, if

you met that woman, whom you have accused, merely by chance, and for no

manner of purpose, as you must have met others that night, perhaps to

the amount of hundreds, in the same way?"

"I have good cause to remember it, my lord."

"What was that cause?--No answer?--You don't choose to say what that

cause was?"

"I am not at liberty to tell."

The Sheriff then descended to other particulars, all of which tended to

prove that the fellow was an accomplished villain, and that the

principal share of the atrocities had been committed by him. Indeed the

Sheriff hinted that he suspected the only share Mrs. Calvert had in

them was in being too much in his company, and too true to him. The

case was remitted to the Court of Justiciary; but Mrs. Logan had heard

enough to convince her that the culprits first met at the very spot,

and the very hour, on which George Colwan was slain; and she had no

doubt that they were incendiaries set on by his mother, to forward her

own and her darling son's way to opulence. Mrs. Logan was wrong, as

will appear in the sequel; but her antipathy to Mrs. Colwan made her

watch the event with all care. She never quitted Peebles as long as

Bell Calvert remained there, and, when she was removed to Edinburgh,

the other followed. When the trial came on, Mrs. Logan and her maid

were again summoned as witnesses before the jury, and compelled by the

prosecutor for the Crown to appear.

The maid was first called; and, when she came into the witness box, the

anxious and hopeless looks of the prisoner were manifest to all. But

the girl, whose name, she said, was Bessy Gillies, answered in so

flippant and fearless a way that the auditors were much amused. After a

number of routine questions, the depute-advocate asked her if she was

at home on the morning of the fifth of September last, when her

mistress's house was robbed.

"Was I at hame, say ye? Na, faith-ye, lad! An' I had been at hame,

there had been mair to dee. I wad hae raised sic a yelloch!"

"Where were you that morning?"

"Where was I, say you? I was in the house where my mistress was,

sitting dozing an' half sleeping in the kitchen. I thought aye she

would be setting out every minute, for twa hours."

"And, when you went home, what did you find?"

"What found we? Be my sooth, we found a broken lock, an' toom kists."

"Relate some of the particulars, if you please."

"Sir, the thieves didna stand upon particulars: they were halesale

dealers in a' our best wares."

"I mean, what passed between your mistress and you on the occasion?"

"What passed, say ye? O, there wasna muckle: I was in a great passion,

but she was dung doitrified a wee. When she gaed to put the key i' the

door, up it flew to the fer wa'. 'Bless ye, jaud, what's the meaning o'

this?' quo she. 'Ye hae left the door open, ye tawpie!' quo she. 'The

ne'er o' that I did,' quo I, 'or may my shakel bane never turn another

key.' When we got the candle lightit, a' the house was in a hoad-road.

'Bessy, my woman,' quo she, 'we are baith ruined and undone creatures.'

'The deil a bit,' quo I; 'that I deny positively. H'mh! to speak o' a

lass o' my age being ruined and undone! I never had muckle except what

was within a good jerkin, an' let the thief ruin me there wha can.

"Do you remember aught else that your mistress said on the occasion?

Did you hear her blame any person?"

"O, she made a gread deal o' grumphing an' groaning about the

misfortune, as she ca'd it, an' I think she said it was a part o' the

ruin, wrought by the Ringans, or some sic name. 'They'll hae't a'!

They'll hae't a'!' cried she, wringing her hands; 'a'! they'll hae' a',

an' hell wi't, an' they'll get them baith.' 'Aweel, that's aye some

satisfaction,' quo I."

"Whom did she mean by the Ringans, do you know?"

"I fancy they are some creatures that she has dreamed about, for I

think there canna be as ill folks living as she ca's them."

"Did you never hear say that the prisoner at the bar there, Mrs.

Calvert, or Bell Calvert, was the robber of her house; or that she was

one of the Ringans?"

"Never. Somebody tauld her lately that ane Bell Calvert robbed her

house, but she disna believe it. Neither do I."

"What reasons have you for doubting it?"

"Because it was nae woman's fingers that broke up the bolts an' the

locks that were torn open that night."

"Very pertinent, Bessy. Come then within the bar, and look, at these

articles on the table. Did you ever see these silver spoons before?"

"I hae seen some very like them, and whaever has seen siller spoons has

done the same."

"Can you swear you never saw them before?"

"Na, na, I wadna swear to ony siller spoons that ever war made, unless

I had put a private mark on them wi' my ain hand, an' that's what I

never did to ane."

"See, they are all marked with a C."

"Sae are a' the spoons in Argyle, an' the half o' them in Edinburgh I

think. A C is a very common letter, an' so are a' the names that begin

wi't. Lay them by, lay them by, an' gie the poor woman her spoons

again. They are marked wi' her ain name, an' I hae little doubt they

are hers, an' that she has seen better days."

"Ah, God bless her heart!" sighed the prisoner; and that blessing was

echoed in the breathings of many a feeling breast.

"Did you ever see this gown before, think you?"

"I hae seen ane very like it."

"Could you not swear that gown was your mistress's once?"

"No, unless I saw her hae't on, an' kend that she had paid for't. I am

very scrupulous about an oath. Like is an ill mark. Sae ill indeed that

I wad hardly swear to anything."

"But you say that gown is very like one your mistress used to wear."

"I never said sic a thing. It is like one I hae seen her hae out airing

on the hay raip i' the back green. It is very like ane I hae seen Mrs.

Butler in the Grass Market wearing too: I rather think it is the same.

Bless you, sir, I wadna swear to my ain forefinger, if it had been as

lang out o' my sight an', brought in an' laid on that table."

"Perhaps you are not aware, girl, that this scrupulousness of yours is

likely to thwart the purposes of justice, and bereave your mistress of

property to the amount of a thousand merks." (From the Judge.)

"I canna help that, my lord: that's her look-out. For my part, I am

resolved to keep a clear conscience, till I be married, at any rate."

"Look over these things and see if there is any one article among them

which you can fix on as the property of your mistress."

"No ane o' them, sir, no ane o' them. An oath is an awfu' thing,

especially when it is for life or death. Gie the poor woman her things

again, an' let my mistress pick up the next she finds: that's my

advice."

When Mrs. Logan came into the box, the prisoner groaned and laid down

her head. But how she was astonished when she heard her deliver herself

something to the following purport--That, whatever penalties she was

doomed to abide, she was determined she would not bear witness against

a woman's life, from a certain conviction that it could not be a woman

who broke her house. "I have no doubt that I may find some of my own

things there," added she, "but, if they were found in her possession,

she has been made a tool, or the dupe, of an infernal set, who shall be

nameless here. I believe she did not rob me, and for that reason I will

have no hand in her condemnation."

The judge: "This is the most singular perversion I have ever witnessed.

Mrs. Logan, I entertain strong suspicions that the prisoner, or her

agents, have made some agreement with you on this matter to prevent the

course of justice."

"So far from that, my lord, I went into the jail at Peebles to this

woman, whom I had never seen before, and proffered to withdraw my part

in the prosecution, as well as my evidence, provided she would tell me

a few simple facts; but she spurned at my offer, and had me turned

insolently out of the prison, with orders to the jailor never to admit

me again on any pretence."

The prisoner's counsel, taking hold of this evidence, addressed the

jury with great fluency; and, finally, the prosecution was withdrawn,

and the prisoner dismissed from the bar, with a severe reprimand for

her past conduct, and an exhortation to keep better company.

It was not many days till a caddy came with a large parcel to Mrs.

Logan's house, which parcel he delivered into her hands, accompanied

with a sealed note, containing an inventory of the articles, and a

request to know if the unfortunate Arabella Calvert would be admitted

to converse with Mrs. Logan.

Never was there a woman so much overjoyed as Mrs. Logan was at this

message. She returned compliments. Would be most happy to see her; and

no article of the parcel should be looked at, or touched, till her

arrival. It was not long till she made her appearance, dressed in

somewhat better style than she had yet seen her; delivered her over the

greater part of the stolen property, besides many things that either

never had belonged to Mrs. Logan or that she thought proper to deny in

order that the other might retain them.

The tale that she told of her misfortunes was of the most distressing

nature, and was enough to stir up all the tender, as well as abhorrent

feelings in the bosom of humanity. She had suffered every deprivation

in fame, fortune, and person. She had been imprisoned; she had been

scourged, and branded as an impostor; and all on account of her

resolute and unmoving fidelity and truth to several of the very worst

of men, every one of whom had abandoned her to utter destitution and

shame. But this story we cannot enter on at present, as it would

perhaps mar the thread of our story, as much as it did the anxious

anticipations of Mrs. Logan, who sat pining and longing for the

relation that follows.

"Now I know, Mrs. Logan, that you are expecting a detail of the

circumstances relating to the death of Mr. George Colwan; and, in

gratitude for your unbounded generosity and disinterestedness, I will

tell you all that I know, although, for causes that will appear obvious

to you, I had determined never in life to divulge one circumstance of

it. I can tell you, however, that you will be disappointed, for it was

not the gentleman who was accused, found guilty, and would have

suffered the utmost penalty of the law had he not made his escape. It

was not he, I say, who slew your young master, nor had he any hand in

it."

"I never thought he had. But, pray, how do you come to know this?"

"You shall hear. I had been abandoned in York by an artful and

consummate fiend; and found guilty of being art and part concerned in

the most heinous atrocities, and, in his place, suffered what I yet

shudder to think of I was banished the county, begged my way with my

poor outcast child up to Edinburgh, and was there obliged, for the

second time in my life, to betake myself to the most degrading of all

means to support two wretched lives. I hired a dress, and betook me,

shivering, to the High Street, too well aware that my form and

appearance would soon draw me suitors enow at that throng and

intemperate time of the Parliament. On my very first stepping out to

the street, a party of young gentlemen was passing. I heard by the

noise they made, and the tenor of their speech, that they were more

then mellow, and so I resolved to keep near them, in order, if

possible, to make some of them my prey. But, just as one of them began

to eye me, I was rudely thrust into a narrow close by one of the

guardsmen. I had heard to what house the party was bound, for the men

were talking exceedingly loud, and making no secret of it: so I hasted

down the close, and round below to the one where their rendezvous was

to be; but I was too late, they were all housed and the door bolted. I

resolved to wait, thinking they could not all stay long; but I was

perishing with famine, and was like to fall down. The moon shone as

bright as day, and I perceived, by a sign at the bottom of the close,

that there was a small tavern of a certain description up two stairs

there. I went up and called, telling the mistress of the house my plan.

She approved of it mainly, and offered me her best apartment, provided

I could get one of these noble mates to accompany me. She abused Lucky

Sudds, as she called her, at the inn where the party was, envying her

huge profits, no doubt, and giving me afterwards something to drink for

which I really felt exceedingly grateful in my need. I stepped

downstairs in order to be on the alert. The moment that I reached the

ground, the door of Lucky Sudds' house opened and shut, and down came

the Honourable Thomas Drummond, with hasty and impassioned strides, his

sword rattling at his heel. I accosted him in a soft and soothing tone.

He was taken with my address; for he instantly stood still and gazed

intently at me, then at the place, and then at me again. I beckoned him

to follow me, which he did without further ceremony, and we soon found

ourselves together in the best room of a house where everything was

wretched. He still looked about him, and at me; but all this while he

had never spoken a word. At length, I asked if he would take any

refreshment? 'If you please,' said he. I asked what he would have, but

he only answered, 'Whatever you choose, madam.' If he was taken with my

address, I was much more taken with his; for he was a complete

gentleman, and a gentleman will ever act as one. At length, he began as

follows:

"'I am utterly at a loss to account for this adventure, madam. It seems

to me like enchantment, and I can hardly believe my senses. An English

lady, I judge, and one, who from her manner and address should belong

to the first class of society, in such a place as this, is indeed

matter of wonder to me. At the foot of a close in Edinburgh! and at

this time of the night! Surely it must have been no common reverse of

fortune that reduced you to this?' I wept, or pretended to do so; on

which he added, 'Pray, madam, take heart. Tell me what has befallen

you; and if I can do anything for you, in restoring you to your country

or your friends, you shall command my interest.'

"I had great need of a friend then, and I thought now was the time to

secure one. So I began and told him the moving tale I have told you.

But I soon perceived that I had kept by the naked truth too

unvarnishedly, and thereby quite overshot my mark. When he learned that

he was sitting in a wretched corner of an irregular house, with a

felon, who had so lately been scourged and banished as a swindler and

impostor, his modest nature took the alarm, and he was shocked, instead

of being moved with pity. His eye fixed on some of the casual stripes

on my arm, and from that moment he became restless and impatient to be

gone. I tried some gentle arts to retain him, but in vain; so, after

paying both the landlady and me for pleasures he had neither tasted nor

asked, he took his leave.

"I showed him downstairs; and, just as he turned the corner of the next

land, a man came rushing violently by him; exchanged looks with him,

and came running up to me. He appeared in great agitation, and was

quite out of breath; and, taking my hand in his, we ran upstairs

together without speaking, and were instantly in the apartment I had

left, where a stoup of wine still stood untasted. 'Ah, this is

fortunate!' said my new spark, and helped himself. In the meanwhile, as

our apartment was a corner one, and looked both east and north, I ran

to the eastern casement to look after Drummond. Now, note me well: I

saw him going eastward in his tartans and bonnet, and the gilded hilt

of his claymore glittering in the moon; and, at the very same time, I

saw two men, the one in black, and the other likewise in tartans,

coming towards the steps from the opposite bank, by the foot of the

loch; and I saw Drummond and they eyeing each other as they passed. I

kept view of him till he vanished towards Leith Wynd, and by that time

the two strangers had come close up under our window. This is what I

wish you to pay particular attention to. I had only lost sight of

Drummond (who had given me his name and address) for the short space of

time that we took in running up one pair of short stairs; and during

that space he had halted a moment, for, when I got my eye on him again,

he had not crossed the mouth of the next entry, nor proceeded above ten

or twelve paces, and, at the same time, I saw the two men coming down

the bank on the opposite side of the loch, at about three hundred

paces' distance. Both he and they were distinctly in my view, and never

within speech of each other, until he vanished into one of the wynds

leading towards the bottom of the High Street, at which precise time

the two strangers came below my window; so that it was quite dear he

neither could be one of them nor have any communication with them.

"Yet, mark me again; for, of all things I have ever seen, this was the

most singular. When I looked down at the two strangers, one of them was

extremely like Drummond. So like was he that there was not one item in

dress, form, feature, nor voice, by which I could distinguish the one

from the other. I was certain it was not he, because I had seen the one

going and the other approaching at the same time, and my impression at

the moment was that I looked upon some spirit, or demon, in his

likeness. I felt a chillness creep all round my heart, my knees

tottered, and, withdrawing my head from the open casement that lay in

the dark shade, I said to the man who was with me, 'Good God, what is

this?'

"'What is it, my dear?' said he, as much alarmed as I was.

"'As I live, there stands an apparition!' said I.

"He was not so much afraid when he heard me say so, and, peeping

cautiously out, he looked and listened awhile, and then, drawing back,

he said in a whisper, 'They are both living men, and one of them is he

I passed at the corner.'

"'That he is not,' said I, emphatically. 'To that I will make oath.'

"He smiled and shook his head, and then added, 'I never then saw a man

before, whom I could not know again, particularly if he was the very

last I had seen. But what matters it whether it be or not? As it is no

concern of ours, let us sit down and enjoy ourselves.'

'But it does matter a very great deal with me, sir,' said I. 'Bless me,

my head is giddy--my breath quite gone, and I feel as if I were

surrounded with fiends. Who are you, sir?'

'You shall know that ere we two part, my love,' said he. 'I cannot

conceive why the return of this young gentleman to the spot he so

lately left should discompose you. I suppose he got a glance of you as

he passed, and has returned to look after you, and that is the whole

secret of the matter.'

"'If you will be so civil as to walk out and join him then, it will

oblige me hugely,' said I, 'for I never in my life experienced such

boding apprehensions of evil company. I cannot conceive how you should

come up here without asking my permission. Will it please you to be

gone, sir?' I was within an ace of prevailing. He took out his purse--I

need not say more--I was bribed to let him remain. Ah, had I kept my

frail resolution of dismissing him at that moment, what a world of

shame and misery had been evited! But that, though uppermost still in

my mind, has nothing ado here.

"When I peeped over again, the two men were disputing in a whisper, the

one of them in violent agitation and terror, and the other upbraiding

him, and urging him on to some desperate act. At length I heard the

young man in the Highland garb say indignantly, 'Hush, recreant! It is

God's work which you are commissioned to execute, and it must be done.

But, if you positively decline it, I will do it myself, and do you

beware of the consequences.'

"'Oh, I will, I will!' cried the other in black clothes, in a wretched

beseeching tone. 'You shall instruct me in this, as in all things else.'

"I thought all this while I was closely concealed from them, and

wondered not a little when he in tartans gave me a sly nod, as much as

to say, 'What do you think of this?' or, 'Take note of what you see,'

or something to that effect; from which I perceived that, whatever he

was about, he did not wish it to be kept a secret. For all that, I was

impressed with a terror and anxiety that I could not overcome, but it

only made me mark every event with the more intense curiosity. The

Highlander, whom I still could not help regarding as the evil genius of

Thomas Drummond, performed every action as with the quickness of

thought. He concealed the youth in black in a narrow entry, a little to

the westward of my windows, and, as he was leading him across the

moonlight green by the shoulder, I perceived, for the first time, that

both of them were armed with rapiers. He pushed him without resistance

into the dark shaded close, made another signal to me, and hasted up

the close to Lucky Sudds' door. The city and the morning were so still

that I heard every word that was uttered, on putting my head out a

little. He knocked at the door sharply, and, after waiting a

considerable space, the bolt was drawn, and the door, as I conceived,

edged up as far as the massy chain would let it. 'Is young Dalcastle

still in the house?' said he sharply.

"I did not hear the answer, but I heard him say, shortly after, 'If he

is, pray tell him to speak with me for a few minutes.' He then withdrew

from the door, and came slowly down the close, in a lingering manner,

looking oft behind him. Dalcastle came out; advanced a few steps after

him, and then stood still, as if hesitating whether or not he should

call out a friend to accompany him; and that instant the door behind

him was closed, chained, and the iron bolt drawn; on hearing of which,

he followed his adversary without further hesitation. As he passed

below my window, I heard him say, 'I beseech you, Tom, let us do

nothing in this matter rashly'; but I could not hear the answer of the

other, who had turned the corner.

"I roused up my drowsy companion, who was leaning on the bed, and we

both looked together from the north window. We were in the shade, but

the moon shone full on the two young gentlemen. Young Dalcastle was

visibly the worse of liquor, and, his back being turned towards us, he

said something to the other which I could not make out, although he

spoke a considerable time, and, from his tones and gestures, appeared

to be reasoning.

"When he had done, the tall young man in the tartans drew his sword,

and, his face being straight to us, we heard him say distinctly, 'No

more words about it, George, if you please; but if you be a man, as I

take you to be, draw your sword, and let us settle it here.'

"Dalcastle drew his sword, without changing his attitude; but he spoke

with more warmth, for we heard his words, 'Think you that I fear you,

Tom? Be assured, Sir, I would not fear ten of the best of your name, at

each other's backs: all that I want is to have friends with us to see

fair play, for, if you close with me, you are a dead man.'

"The other stormed at these words. 'You are a braggart, Sir,' cried he,

'a wretch--a blot on the cheek of nature--a blight on the Christian

world--a reprobate--I'll have your soul, Sir. You must play at tennis,

and put down elect brethren in another world to-morrow.' As he said

this, he brandished his rapier, exciting Dalcastle to offence. He

gained his point. The latter, who had previously drawn, advanced upon

his vapouring and licentious antagonist, and a fierce combat ensued. My

companion was delighted beyond measure, and I could not keep him from

exclaiming, loud enough to have been heard, 'That's grand! That's

excellent!' For me, my heart quaked like an aspen. Young Dalcastle

either had a decided advantage over his adversary, or else the other

thought proper to let him have it; for he shifted, and swore, and

flitted from Dalcastle's thrusts like a shadow, uttering ofttimes a

sarcastic laugh, that seemed to provoke the other beyond all bearing.

At one time, he would spring away to a great distance, then advance

again on young Dalcastle with the swiftness of lightning. But that

young hero always stood his ground, and repelled the attack: he never

gave way, although they fought nearly twice round the bleaching green,

which you know is not a very small one. At length they fought close up

to the mouth of the dark entry, where the fellow in black stood all

this while concealed, and then the combatant in tartans closed with his

antagonist, or pretended to do so; but, the moment they began to

grapple, he wheeled about, turning Colwan's back towards the entry, and

then cried out, 'Ah, hell has it! My friend, my friend!'

"That moment the fellow in black rushed from his cover with his drawn

rapier, and gave the brave young Dalcastle two deadly wounds in the

back, as quick as arm could thrust, both of which I thought pierced

through his body. He fell, and, rolling himself on his back, he

perceived who it was that had slain him thus foully, and said, with a

dying emphasis, which I never heard equalled, 'oh, dog of hell, it is

you who has done this!'

"He articulated some more, which I could not hear for other sounds;

for, the moment that the man in black inflicted the deadly wound, my

companion called out, 'That's unfair, you rip! That's damnable! to

strike a brave fellow behind! One at a time, you cowards!' etc., to all

which the unnatural fiend in the tartans answered with a loud exulting

laugh; and then, taking the poor paralysed murderer by the bow of the

arm, he hurried him in the dark entry once more, where I lost sight of

them for ever."

Before this time Mrs. Logan had risen up; and, when the narrator had

finished, she was standing with her arms stretched upwards at their

full length, and her visage turned down, on which were portrayed the

lines of the most absolute horror. "The dark suspicions of my late

benefactor have been just, and his last prediction is fulfilled," cried

she. "The murderer of the accomplished George Colwan has been his own

brother, set on, there is little doubt, by her who bare them both, and

her directing angel, the self-justified bigot. Aye, and yonder they

sit, enjoying the luxuries so dearly purchased, with perfect impunity!

If the Almighty do not hurl them down, blasted with shame and

confusion, there is no hope of retribution in this life. And, by His

might, I will be the agent to accomplish it! Why did the man not pursue

the foul murderers? Why did he not raise the alarm, and call the watch?"

"He? The wretch! He durst not move from the shelter he had obtained.

No, not for the soul of him. He was pursued for his life, at the moment

when he first flew into my arms. But I did not know it; no, I did not

then know him. May the curse of heaven, and the blight of hell, settle

on the detestable wretch! He pursue for the sake of justice! No; his

efforts have all been for evil, but never for good. But I raised the

alarm; miserable and degraded as I was, I pursued and raised the watch

myself Have you not heard the name of Bell Calvert coupled with that

hideous and mysterious affair?"

"Yes, I have. In secret often I have heard it. But how came it that you

could never be found? How came it that you never appeared in defence of

the Honourable Thomas Drummond; you, the only person who could have

justified him?"

"I could not, for I then fell under the power and guidance of a wretch

who durst not for the soul of him be brought forward in the affair.

And, what was worse, his evidence would have overborne mine, for he

would have sworn that the man who called out and fought Colwan was the

same he met leaving my apartment, and there was an end of it. And,

moreover, it is well known that this same man--this wretch of whom I

speak, never mistook one man for another in his life, which makes the

mystery of the likeness between this incendiary and Drummond the more

extraordinary."

"If it was Drummond, after all that you have asserted, then are my

surmises still wrong."

"There is nothing of which I can be more certain than that it was not

Drummond. We have nothing on earth but our senses to depend upon. If

these deceive us, what are we to do? I own I cannot account for it; nor

ever shall be able to account for it as long as I live."

"Could you know the man in black, if you saw him again?"

"I think I could, if I saw him walk or run: his gait was very

particular. He walked as if he had been flat-soled, and his legs made

of steel, without any joints in his feet or ankles."

"The very same! The very same! The very same! Pray will you take a few

days' journey into the country with me, to look at such a man?"

"You have preserved my life, and for you I will do anything. I will

accompany you with pleasure: and I think I can say that I will know

him, for his form left an impression on my heart not soon to be

effaced. But of this I am sure that my unworthy companion will

recognize him, and that he will be able to swear to his identity every

day as long as he lives."

"Where is he? Where is he? Oh! Mrs. Calvert, where is he?"

"Where is he? He is the wretch whom you heard giving me up to the

death; who, after experiencing every mark of affection that a poor

ruined being could confer, and after committing a thousand atrocities

of which she was ignorant, became an informer to save his diabolical

life, and attempted to offer up mine as a sacrifice for all. We will go

by ourselves first, and I will tell you if it is necessary to send any

farther."

The two dames, the very next morning, dressed themselves like country

goodwives, and, hiring two stout ponies furnished with pillions, they

took their journey westward, and the second evening after leaving

Edinburgh they arrived at the village about two miles below Dalcastle,

where they alighted. But Mrs. Logan, being anxious to have Mrs.

Calvert's judgment, without either hint or preparation, took care not

to mention that they were so near to the end of their journey. In

conformity with this plan, she said, after they had sat a while:

"Heigh-ho, but I am weary! What, suppose we should rest a day here

before we proceed farther on our journey?"

Mrs. Calvert was leaning on the casement and looking out when her

companion addressed these words to her, and by far too much engaged to

return any answer, for her eyes were riveted on two young men who

approached from the farther end of the village; and at length, turning

round her head, she said, with the most intense interest, "Proceed

farther on our journey, did you say? That we need not do; for, as I

live, here comes the very man!"

Mrs. Logan ran to the window, and, behold, there was indeed Robert

Wringhim Colwan (now the Laird of Dalcastle) coming forward almost

below their window, walking arm in arm with another young man; and, as

the two passed, the latter looked up and made a sly signal to the two

dames, biting his lip, winking with his left eye, and nodding his head.

Mrs. Calvert was astonished at this recognizance, the young man's

former companion having made exactly such another signal on the night

of the duel, by the light of the moon; and it struck her, moreover,

that she had somewhere seen this young man's face before. She looked

after him, and he winked over his shoulder to her; but she was

prevented from returning his salute by her companion, who uttered a

loud cry, between a groan and shriek, and fell down on the floor with a

rumble like a wall that had suddenly been undermined. She had fainted

quite away, and required all her companion's attention during the

remainder of the evening, for she had scarcely ever well recovered out

of one fit before she fell into another, and in the short intervals she

raved like one distracted or in a dream. After falling into a sound

sleep by night, she recovered her equanimity, and the two began to

converse seriously on what they had seen. Mrs. Calvert averred that the

young man who passed next to the window was the very man who stabbed

George Colwan in the back, and she said she was willing to take her

oath on it at any time when required, and was certain, if the wretch

Ridsley saw him, that he would make oath to the same purport, for that

his walk was so peculiar no one of common discernment could mistake it.

Mrs. Logan was in great agitation, and said: "It is what I have

suspected all along, and what I am sure my late master and benefactor

was persuaded of, and the horror of such an idea cut short his days.

That wretch, Mrs. Calvert, is the born brother of him he murdered, sons

of the same mother they were, whether or not of the same father, the

Lord only knows. But, Oh, Mrs. Calvert, that is not the main thing that

has discomposed me, and shaken my nerves to pieces at this time. Who do

you think the young man was who walked in his company to-night?"

"I cannot for my life recollect, but am convinced I have seen the same

fine form and face before."

"And did not he seem to know us, Mrs. Calvert? You who are able to

recollect things as they happened, did he not seem to recollect us, and

make signs to that effect?"

"He did, indeed, and apparently with great good humour."

"Oh, Mrs Calvert, hold me, else I shall fall into hysterics again! Who

is he? Who is he? Tell me who you suppose he is, for I cannot say my

own thought."

"On my life, I cannot remember."

"Did you note the appearance of the young gentleman you saw slain that

night? Do you recollect aught of the appearance of my young master,

George Colwan?"

Mrs. Calvert sat silent, and stared the other mildly in the face. Their

looks encountered, and there was an unearthly amazement that gleamed

from each, which, meeting together, caught real fire, and returned the

flame to their heated imaginations, till the two associates became like

two statues, with their hands spread, their eyes fixed, and their chops

fallen down upon their bosoms. An old woman who kept the lodging-house,

having been called in before when Mrs. Logan was faintish, chanced to

enter at this crisis with some cordial; and, seeing the state of her

lodgers, she caught the infection, and fell into the same rigid and

statue-like appearance. No scene more striking was ever exhibited; and

if Mrs. Calvert had not resumed strength of mind to speak, and break

the spell, it is impossible to say how long it might have continued.

"It is he, I believe," said she, uttering the words as it were

inwardly. "It can be none other but he. But, no, it is impossible! I

saw him stabbed through and through the heart; I saw him roll backward

on the green in his own blood, utter his last words, and groan away his

soul. Yet, if it is not he, who can it be?"

"It is he!" cried Mrs. Logan, hysterically.

"Yes, yes, it is he!" cried the landlady, in unison.

"It is who?" said Mrs. Calvert. "Whom do you mean, mistress?"

"Oh, I don't know! I don't know! I was affrighted."

"Hold your peace then till you recover your senses, and tell me, if you

can, who that young gentleman is who keeps company with the new Laird

of Dalcastle?"

"Oh, it is he! It is he!" screamed Mrs. Logan, wringing her hands.

"Oh, it is he! It is he!" cried the landlady, wringing hers.

Mrs. Calvert turned the latter gently and civilly out of the apartment,

observing that there seemed to be some infection in the air of the

room, and she would be wise for herself to keep out of it.

The two dames had a restless and hideous night. Sleep came not to their

relief, for their conversation was wholly about the dead, who seemed to

be alive, and their minds were wandering and groping in a chaos of

mystery. "Did you attend to his corpse, and know that he positively

died and was buried?" said Mrs. Calvert.

"Oh, yes, from the moment that his fair but mangled corpse was brought

home, I attended it till that when it was screwed in the coffin. I

washed the long stripes of blood from his lifeless form, on both sides

of the body. I bathed the livid wound that passed through his generous

and gentle heart. There was one through the flesh of his left side too,

which had bled most outwardly of them all. I bathed them, and bandaged

them up with wax and perfumed ointment, but still the blood oozed

through all, so that when he was laid in the coffin he was like one

newly murdered. My brave, my generous young master. He was always as a

son to me, and no son was ever more kind or more respectful to a

mother. But he was butchered--he was cut off from the earth ere he had

well reached to manhood--most barbarously and unfairly slain. And how

is it, how can it be, that we again see him here, walking arm in arm

with his murderer?"

"The thing cannot be, Mrs. Logan. It is a phantasy of our disturbed

imaginations, therefore let us compose ourselves till we investigate

this matter farther."

"It cannot be in nature, that is quite clear," said Mrs. Logan. "Yet

how it should be that I should think so--I who knew and nursed him from

his infancy--there lies the paradox. As you said once before, we have

nothing but our senses to depend on, and, if you and I believe that we

see a person, why, we do see him. Whose word, or whose reasoning can

convince us against our own senses? We will disguise ourselves as poor

women selling a few country wares, and we will go up to the Hall, and

see what is to see, and hear what we can hear, for this is a weighty

business in which we are engaged, namely, to turn the vengeance of the

law upon an unnatural monster; and we will further learn, if we can,

who this is that accompanies him."

Mrs. Calvert acquiesced, and the two dames took their way to Dalcastle,

with baskets well furnished with trifles. They did not take the common

path from the village, but went about, and approached the mansion by a

different way. But it seemed as if some overruling power ordered it

that they should miss no chance of attaining the information they

wanted. For ere ever they came within half a mile of Dalcastle they

perceived the two youths coming as to meet them, on the same path. The

road leading from Dalcastle towards the north-east, as all the country

knows, goes along a dark bank of brush-wood called the Bogle-heuch. It

was by this track that the two women were going, and, when they

perceived the two gentlemen meeting them, they turned back, and, the

moment they were out of their sight, they concealed themselves in a

thicket close by the road. They did this because Mrs. Logan was

terrified for being discovered, and because they wished to reconnoitre

without being seen. Mrs. Calvert now charged her, whatever she saw, or

whatever she heard, to put on a resolution, and support it, for if she

fainted there and was discovered, what was to become of her!

The two young men came on, in earnest and vehement conversation; but

the subject they were on was a terrible one, and hardly fit to be

repeated in the face of a Christian community. Wringhim was disputing

the boundlessness of the true Christian's freedom, and expressing

doubts that, chosen as he knew he was from all eternity, still it might

be possible for him to commit acts that would exclude him from the

limits of the covenant. The other argued, with mighty fluency, that the

thing was utterly impossible, and altogether inconsistent with eternal

predestination. The arguments of the latter prevailed, and the laird

was driven to sullen silence. But, to the women's utter surprise, as

the conquering disputant passed, he made a signal of recognizance

through the brambles to them, as formerly, and, that he might expose

his associate fully, and in his true colours, he led him back, wards

and forwards by the women more than twenty times, making him to confess

both the crimes that he had done and those he had in contemplation. At

length he said to him: "Assuredly I saw some strolling vagrant women on

this walk, my dear friend: I wish we could find them, for there is

little doubt that they are concealed here in your woods."

"I wish we could find them," answered Wringhim. "We would have fine

sport maltreating and abusing them."

"That we should, that we should! Now tell me, Robert, if you found a

malevolent woman, the latent enemy of your prosperity, lurking in these

woods to betray you, what would you inflict on her?"

"I would tear her to pieces with my dogs, and feed them with her flesh.

Oh, my dear friend, there is an old strumpet who lived with my

unnatural father, whom I hold in such utter detestation that I stand

constantly in dread of her, and would sacrifice the half of my estate

to shed her blood!"

"What will you give me if I will put her in your power, and give you a

fair and genuine excuse for making away with her; one for which you

shall answer at the bar, here or hereafter?"

"I should like to see the vile hag put down. She is in possession of

the family plate, that is mine by right, as well as a thousand valuable

relics, and great riches besides, all of which the old profligate

gifted shamefully away. And it is said, besides all these, that she has

sworn my destruction."

"She has, she has. But I see not how she can accomplish that, seeing

the deed was done so suddenly, and in the silence of the night."

"It was said there were some onlookers. But where shall we find that

disgraceful Miss Logan?"

"I will show you her by and by. But will you then consent to the other

meritorious deed? Come, be a man, and throw away scruples."

"If you can convince me that the promise is binding I will."

"Then step this way, till I give you a piece of information."

They walked a little way out of hearing, but went not out of sight;

therefore, though the women were in a terrible quandary, they durst not

stir, for they had some hopes that this extraordinary person was on a

mission of the same sort with themselves, knew of them, and was going

to make use of their testimony. Mrs. Logan was several times on the

point of falling into a swoon, so much did the appearance of the young

man impress her, until her associate covered her face that she might

listen without embarrassment. But this latter dialogue roused different

feelings within them; namely, those arising from imminent personal

danger. They saw his waggish associate point out the place of their

concealment to Wringhim, who came towards them, out of curiosity to see

what his friend meant by what he believed to be a joke, manifestly

without crediting it in the least degree. When he came running away,

the other called after him: "If she is too hard for you, call to me."

As he said this, he hasted out of sight, in the contrary direction,

apparently much delighted with the joke.

Wringhim came rushing through the thicket impetuously, to the very spot

where Mrs. Logan lay squatted. She held the wrapping close about her

head, but he tore it off and discovered her. "The curse of God be on

thee!" said he. "What fiend has brought thee here, and for what purpose

art thou come? But, whatever has brought thee, I have thee!" and with

that he seized her by the throat. The two women, when they heard what

jeopardy they were in from such a wretch, had squatted among the

underwood at a small distance from each other, so that he had never

observed Mrs. Calvert; but, no sooner had he seized her benefactor,

than, like a wild cat, she sprung out of the thicket, and had both

hands fixed at his throat, one of them twisted in his stock, in a

twinkling. She brought him back-over among the brushwood, and the two,

fixing on him like two harpies, mastered him with case. Then indeed was

he woefully beset. He deemed for a while that his friend was at his

back, and, turning his bloodshot eyes towards the path, he attempted to

call; but there was no friend there, and the women cut short his cries

by another twist of his stock. "Now, gallant and rightful Laird of

Dalcastle," said Mrs. Logan, "what hast thou to say for thyself? Lay

thy account to dree the weird thou hast so well earned. Now shalt thou

suffer due penance for murdering thy brave and only brother."

"Thou liest, thou hag of the pit! I touched not my brother's life."

"I saw thee do it with these eyes that now look thee in the face; ay,

when his back was to thee, too, and while he was hotly engaged with thy

friend," said Mrs. Calvert.

"I heard thee confess it again and again this same hour," said Mrs.

Logan.

"Ay, and so did I," said her companion. "Murder will out, though the

Almighty should lend hearing to the ears of the willow, and speech to

the seven tongues of the woodriff."

"You are liars and witches!" said he, foaming with rage, "and creatures

fitted from the beginning for eternal destruction. I'll have your bones

and your blood sacrificed on your cursed altars! O Gil-Martin!

Gil-Martin! Where art thou now? Here, here is the proper food for

blessed vengeance! Hilloa!"

There was no friend, no Gil-Martin there to hear or assist him: he was

in the two women's mercy, but they used it with moderation. They

mocked, they tormented, and they threatened him; but, finally, after

putting him in great terror, they bound his hands behind his back, and

his feet fast with long straps of garters which they chanced to have in

their baskets, to prevent him from pursuing them till they were out of

his reach. As they left him, which they did in the middle of the path,

Mrs. Calvert said: "We could easily put an end to thy sinful life, but

our hands shall be free of thy blood. Nevertheless thou art still in

our power, and the vengeance of thy country shall overtake thee, thou

mean and cowardly murderer, ay, and that more suddenly than thou art

aware!"

The women posted to Edinburgh; and as they put themselves under the

protection of an English merchant, who was journeying thither with

twenty horses laden, and armed servants, so they had scarcely any

conversation on the road. When they arrived at Mrs. Logan's house, then

they spoke of what they had seen and heard, and agreed that they had

sufficient proof to condemn young Wringhim, who they thought richly

deserved the severest doom of the law.

"I never in my life saw any human being," said Mrs. Calvert, "whom I

thought so like a fiend. If a demon could inherit flesh and blood, that

youth is precisely such a being as I could conceive that demon to be.

The depth and the malignity of his eye is hideous. His breath is like

the airs from a charnel house, and his flesh seems fading from his

bones, as if the worm that never dies were gnawing it away already."

"He was always repulsive, and every way repulsive," said the other,

"but he is now indeed altered greatly to the worse. While we were

hand-fasting him, I felt his body to be feeble and emaciated; but yet I

know him to be so puffed up with spiritual pride that I believe he

weens every one of his actions justified before God, and, instead of

having stings of conscience for these, he takes great merit to himself

in having effected them. Still my thoughts are less about him than the

extraordinary being who accompanies him. He does everything with so

much ease and indifference, so much velocity and effect, that all

bespeak him an adept in wickedness. The likeness to my late hapless

young master is so striking that I can hardly believe it to be a chance

model; and I think he imitates him in everything, for some purpose or

some effect on his sinful associate. Do you know that he is so like in

every lineament, look, and gesture, that, against the clearest light of

reason, I cannot in my mind separate the one from the other, and have a

certain indefinable expression on my mind that they are one and the

same being, or that the one was a prototype of the other."

"If there is an earthly crime," said Mrs. Calvert, "for the due

punishment of which the Almighty may be supposed to subvert the order

of nature, it is fratricide. But tell me, dear friend, did you remark

to what the subtile and hellish villain was endeavouring to prompt the

assassin?"

"No, I could not comprehend it. My senses were altogether so bewildered

that I thought they had combined to deceive me, and I gave them no

credit."

"Then bear me: I am almost certain he was using every persuasion to

induce him to make away with his mother; and I likewise conceive that I

heard the incendiary give his consent!"

"This is dreadful. Let us speak and think no more about it, till we see

the issue. In the meantime, let us do that which is our bounden

duty--go and divulge all that we know relating to this foul murder."

Accordingly the two women went to Sir Thomas Wallace of Craigie, the

Lord justice Clerk (who was, I think, either uncle or grandfather to

young Drummond, who was outlawed and obliged to fly his country on

account of Colwan's death), and to that gentleman they related every

circumstance of what they had seen and heard. He examined Calvert very

minutely, and seemed deeply interested in her evidence--said he knew

she was relating the truth, and, in testimony of it, brought a letter

of young Drummond's from his desk, wherein that young gentleman, after

protesting his innocence in the most forcible terms, confessed having

been with such a woman in such a house, after leaving the company of

his friends; and that, on going home, Sir Thomas's servant had let him

in, in the dark, and from these circumstances he found it impossible to

prove an alibi. He begged of his relative, if ever an opportunity

offered, to do his endeavour to clear up that mystery, and remove the

horrid stigma from his name in his country, and among his kin, of

having stabbed a friend behind his back.

Lord Craigie, therefore, directed the two women to the proper

authorities, and, after hearing their evidence there, it was judged

proper to apprehend the present Laird of Dalcastle, and bring him to

his trial. But, before that, they sent the prisoner in the Tolbooth, he

who had seen the whole transaction along with Mrs. Calvert, to take a

view of Wringhim privately; and, his discrimination being so well known

as to be proverbial all over the land, they determined secretly to be

ruled by his report. They accordingly sent him on a pretended mission

of legality to Dalcastle, with orders to see and speak with the

proprietor, without giving him a hint what was wanted. On his return,

they examined him, and he told them that he found all things at the

place in utter confusion and dismay; that the lady of the place was

missing, and could not be found, dead or alive. On being asked if he

had ever seen the proprietor before, he looked astounded and unwilling

to answer. But it came out that he had; and that he had once seen him

kill a man on such a spot at such an hour.

Officers were then dispatched, without delay, to apprehend the monster,

and bring him to justice. On these going to the mansion, and inquiring

for him, they were told he was at home; on which they stationed guards,

and searched all the premises, but he was not to be found. It was in

vain that they overturned beds, raised floors, and broke open closets:

Robert Wringhim Colwan was lost once and for ever. His mother also was

lost; and strong suspicions attached to some of the farmers and house

servants to whom she was obnoxious, relating to her disappearance.

The Honourable Thomas Drummond became a distinguished officer in the

Austrian service, and died in the memorable year for Scotland, 1715;

and this is all with which history, justiciary records, and tradition,

furnish me relating to these matters.

I have now the pleasure of presenting my readers with an original

document of a most singular nature, and preserved for their perusal in

a still more singular manner. I offer no remarks on it, and make as few

additions to it, leaving everyone to judge for himself. We have heard

much of the rage of fanaticism in former days, but nothing to this.

The Private Memoirs and

Confessions of a Sinner

WRITTEN BY HIMSELF