Here the German ceased his soliloquy, for, raising his eyes, he

encountered those of Edie Ochiltree, who had not followed the rest

of the company, but, resting as usual on his pike-staff, had planted

himself on the other side of the grave. The features of the old man,

naturally shrewd and expressive almost to an appearance of knavery,

seemed in this instance so keenly knowing, that even the assurance

of Dousterswivel, though a professed adventurer, sunk beneath their

glances. But he saw the necessity of an e'claircissement, and, rallying

his spirits, instantly began to sound the mendicant on the occurrences

of the day. "Goot Maister Edies Ochiltrees"—

"Edie Ochiltree, nae maister—your puir bedesman and the king's,"

answered the Blue-Gown.

"Awell den, goot Edie, what do you think of all dis?"

"I was just thinking it was very kind (for I darena say very simple) o'

your honour to gie thae twa rich gentles, wha hae lands and lairdships,

and siller without end, this grand pose o' silver and treasure (three

times tried in the fire, as the Scripture expresses it), that might hae

made yoursell and ony twa or three honest bodies beside, as happy and

content as the day was lang."

"Indeed, Edie, mine honest friends, dat is very true; only I did not

know, dat is, I was not sure, where to find the gelt myself."

"What! was it not by your honours advice and counsel that Monkbarns and

the Knight of Knockwinnock came here then?"

"Aha—yes; but it was by another circumstance. I did not know dat dey

would have found de treasure, mine friend; though I did guess, by such a

tintamarre, and cough, and sneeze, and groan, among de spirit one other

night here, dat there might be treasure and bullion hereabout. Ach, mein

himmel! the spirit will hone and groan over his gelt, as if he were

a Dutch Burgomaster counting his dollars after a great dinner at the

Stadthaus."

"And do you really believe the like o' that, Mr. Dusterdeevil!—a

skeelfu' man like you—hout fie!"

"Mein friend," answered the adept, foreed by circumstances to speak

something nearer the truth than he generally used to do, "I believed it

no more than you and no man at all, till I did hear them hone and moan

and groan myself on de oder night, and till I did this day see de cause,

which was an great chest all full of de pure silver from Mexico—and what

would you ave nae think den?"

"And what wad ye gie to ony ane," said Edie, "that wad help ye to sic

another kistfu' o' silver!"

"Give?—mein himmel!—one great big quarter of it."

"Now if the secret were mine," said the mendicant, "I wad stand out for

a half; for you see, though I am but a puir ragged body, and couldna

carry silver or gowd to sell for fear o' being taen up, yet I could find

mony folk would pass it awa for me at unco muckle easier profit than

ye're thinking on."

"Ach, himmel!—Mein goot friend, what was it I said?—I did mean to say

you should have de tree quarter for your half, and de one quarter to be

my fair half."

"No, no, Mr. Dusterdeevil, we will divide equally what we find, like

brother and brother. Now, look at this board that I just flung into the

dark aisle out o' the way, while Monkbarns was glowering ower a' the

silver yonder. He's a sharp chiel Monkbarns—I was glad to keep the like

o' this out o' his sight. Ye'll maybe can read the character better than

me—I am nae that book learned, at least I'm no that muckle in practice."

With this modest declaration of ignorance, Ochiltree brought forth from

behind a pillar the cover of the box or chest of treasure, which, when

forced from its hinges, had been carelessly flung aside during the

ardour of curiosity to ascertain the contents which it concealed, and

had been afterwards, as it seems, secreted by the mendicant. There was a

word and a number upon the plank, and the beggar made them more distinct

by spitting upon his ragged blue handkerchief, and rubbing off the clay

by which the inscription was obscured. It was in the ordinary black

letter.

"Can ye mak ought o't?" said Edie to the adept.

"S," said the philosopher, like a child getting his lesson in the

primer—"S, T, A, R, C, H,—Starch!—dat is what de woman-washers put into

de neckerchers, and de shirt collar."

"Search!" echoed Ochiltree; "na, na, Mr. Dusterdeevil, ye are mair of a

conjuror than a clerk—it's search, man, search—See, there's the Ye clear

and distinct."

"Aha! I see it now—it is search—number one. Mein himmel! then there must

be a number two, mein goot friend: for search is what you call to seek

and dig, and this is but number one! Mine wort, there is one great big

prize in de wheel for us, goot Maister Ochiltree."

"Aweel, it may be sae; but we canna howk fort enow—we hae nae shules,

for they hae taen them a' awa—and it's like some o' them will be sent

back to fling the earth into the hole, and mak a' things trig again. But

an ye'll sit down wi' me a while in the wood, I'se satisfy your honour

that ye hae just lighted on the only man in the country that could hae

tauld about Malcolm Misticot and his hidden treasure—But first we'll rub

out the letters on this board, for fear it tell tales."

And, by the assistance of his knife, the beggar erased and defaced the

characters so as to make them quite unintelligible, and then daubed the

board with clay so as to obliterate all traces of the erasure.

Dousterswivel stared at him in ambiguous silence. There was an

intelligence and alacrity about all the old man's movements, which

indicated a person that could not be easily overreached, and yet (for

even rogues acknowledge in some degree the spirit of precedence) our

adept felt the disgrace of playing a secondary part, and dividing

winnings with so mean an associate. His appetite for gain, however, was

sufficiently sharp to overpower his offended pride, and though far more

an impostor than a dupe, he was not without a certain degree of personal

faith even in the gross superstitions by means of which he imposed upon

others. Still, being accustomed to act as a leader on such occasions,

he felt humiliated at feeling himself in the situation of a vulture

marshalled to his prey by a carrion-crow.—"Let me, however, hear this

story to an end," thought Dousterswivel, "and it will be hard if I do

not make mine account in it better as Maister Edie Ochiltrees makes

proposes."

The adept, thus transformed into a pupil from a teacher of the mystic

art, followed Ochiltree in passive acquiescence to the Prior's Oak—a

spot, as the reader may remember, at a short distance from the

ruins, where the German sat down, and silence waited the old man's

communication.

"Maister Dustandsnivel," said the narrator, "it's an unco while since

I heard this business treated anent;—for the lairds of Knockwinnock,

neither Sir Arthur, nor his father, nor his grandfather—and I mind a wee

bit about them a'—liked to hear it spoken about; nor they dinna like

it yet—But nae matter; ye may be sure it was clattered about in the

kitchen, like onything else in a great house, though it were forbidden

in the ha'—and sae I hae heard the circumstance rehearsed by auld

servants in the family; and in thir present days, when things o' that

auld-warld sort arena keepit in mind round winter fire-sides as they

used to be, I question if there's onybody in the country can tell the

tale but mysell— aye out-taken the laird though, for there's a parchment

book about it, as I have heard, in the charter-room at Knockwinnock

Castle."

"Well, all dat is vary well—but get you on with your stories, mine goot

friend," said Dousterswivel.

"Aweel, ye see," continued the mendicant, "this was a job in the auld

times o' rugging and riving through the hale country, when it was ilka

ane for himsell, and God for us a'—when nae man wanted property if he

had strength to take it, or had it langer than he had power to keep it.

It was just he ower her, and she ower him, whichever could win upmost,

a' through the east country here, and nae doubt through the rest o'

Scotland in the self and same manner.

"Sae in these days Sir Richard Wardour came into the land, and that was

the first o' the name ever was in this country. There's been mony o'

them sin' syne; and the maist, like him they ca'd Hell-in-Harness, and

the rest o' them, are sleeping down in yon ruins. They were a proud

dour set o' men, but unco brave, and aye stood up for the weel o' the

country, God sain them a'—there's no muckle popery in that wish. They

ca'd them the Norman Wardours, though they cam frae the south to this

country. So this Sir Richard, that they ca'd Red-hand, drew up wi' the

auld Knockwinnock o' that day—for then they were Knockwinnocks of that

Ilk—and wad fain marry his only daughter, that was to have the castle

and the land. Laith, laith was the lass—(Sybil Knockwinnock they ca'd

her that tauld me the tale)—laith, laith was she to gie into the match,

for she had fa'en a wee ower thick wi' a cousin o' her ain that her

father had some ill-will to; and sae it was, that after she had been

married to Sir Richard jimp four months—for marry him she maun, it's

like—ye'll no hinder her gieing them a present o' a bonny knave bairn.

Then there was siccan a ca'-thro', as the like was never seen; and she's

be burnt, and he's be slain, was the best words o' their mouths. But it

was a' sowdered up again some gait, and the bairn was sent awa, and bred

up near the Highlands, and grew up to be a fine wanle fallow, like mony

ane that comes o' the wrang side o' the blanket; and Sir Richard wi' the

Red-hand, he had a fair offspring o'his ain, and a was lound and

quiet till his head was laid in the ground. But then down came Malcolm

Misticot—(Sir Arthur says it should be Misbegot, but they aye ca'd

him Misticot that spoke o't lang syne)—down cam this Malcolm, the

love-begot, frae Glen-isla, wi' a string o' lang-legged Highlanders at

his heels, that's aye ready for onybody's mischief, and he threeps the

castle and lands are his ain as his mother's eldest son, and turns

a' the Wardours out to the hill. There was a sort of fighting and

blude-spilling about it, for the gentles took different sides; but

Malcolm had the uppermost for a lang time, and keepit the Castle of

Knockwinnock, and strengthened it, and built that muckle tower that they

ca' Misticot's tower to this day."

"Mine goot friend, old Mr. Edie Ochiltree." interrupted the German,

"this is all as one like de long histories of a baron of sixteen

quarters in mine countries; but I would as rather hear of de silver and

gold."

"Why, ye see," continued the mendicant, "this Malcolm was weel helped

by an uncle, a brother o' his father's, that was Prior o' St. Ruth here;

and muckle treasure they gathered between them, to secure the succession

of their house in the lands of Knockwinnock. Folk said that the monks in

thae days had the art of multiplying metals—at ony rate, they were

very rich. At last it came to this, that the young Wardour, that was

Red-hand's son, challenged Misticot to fight with him in the lists

as they ca'd them—that's no lists or tailor's runds and selvedges

o' claith, but a palin'-thing they set up for them to fight in like

game-cocks. Aweel, Misticot was beaten, and at his brother's mercy—but

he wadna touch his life, for the blood of Knockwinnock that was in baith

their veins: so Malcolm was compelled to turn a monk, and he died soon

after in the priory, of pure despite and vexation. Naebody ever kenn'd

whare his uncle the prior earded him, or what he did wi' his gowd and

silver, for he stood on the right o' halie kirk, and wad gie nae account

to onybody. But the prophecy gat abroad in the country, that whenever

Misticot's grave was fund out, the estate of Knockwinnock should be lost

and won."

"Ach! mine goot old friend, Maister Edie, and dat is not so very

unlikely, if Sir Arthurs will quarrel wit his goot friends to please Mr.

Oldenbuck.—And so you do tink dat dis golds and silvers belonged to goot

Mr. Malcolm Mishdigoat?"

"Troth do I, Mr. Dousterdeevil."

"And you do believe dat dere is more of dat sorts behind?"

"By my certie do I—How can it be otherwise?—Search—No. I—that is as

muckle as to say, search and ye'll find number twa. Besides, yon kist

is only silver, and I aye heard that' Misticot's pose had muckle yellow

gowd in't."

"Den, mine goot friends," said the adept, jumping up hastily, "why do we

not set about our little job directly?"

"For twa gude reasons," answered the beggar, who quietly kept his

sitting posture;—"first, because, as I said before, we have naething

to dig wi', for they hae taen awa the picks and shules; and, secondly,

because there will be a wheen idle gowks coming to glower at the hole as

lang as it is daylight, and maybe the laird may send somebody to fill it

up—and ony way we wad be catched. But if you will meet me on this place

at twal o'clock wi' a dark lantern, I'll hae tools ready, and we'll gang

quietly about our job our twa sells, and naebody the wiser for't."

"Be—be—but, mine goot friend," said Dousterswivel, from whose

recollection his former nocturnal adventure was not to be altogether

erased, even by the splendid hopes which Edie's narrative held forth,

"it is not so goot or so safe, to be about goot Maister Mishdigoat's

grabe at dat time of night—you have forgot how I told you de spirits did

hone and mone dere. I do assure you, dere is disturbance dere."

"If ye're afraid of ghaists," answered the mendicant, coolly, "I'll do

the job mysell, and bring your share o' the siller to ony place you like

to appoint."

"No—no—mine excellent old Mr. Edie,—too much trouble for you—I will not

have dat—I will come myself—and it will be bettermost; for, mine old

friend, it was I, Herman Dousterswivel, discovered Maister Mishdigoat's

grave when I was looking for a place as to put away some little trumpery

coins, just to play one little trick on my dear friend Sir Arthur, for a

little sport and pleasures. Yes, I did take some what you call rubbish,

and did discover Maister Mishdigoat's own monumentsh— It's like dat he

meant I should be his heirs—so it would not be civility in me not to

come mineself for mine inheritance."

"At twal o'clock, then," said the mendicant, "we meet under this tree.

I'll watch for a while, and see that naebody meddles wi' the grave—it's

only saying the laird's forbade it—then get my bit supper frae Ringan

the poinder up by, and leave to sleep in his barn; and I'll slip out at

night, and neer be mist."

"Do so, mine goot Maister Edie, and I will meet you here on this very

place, though all de spirits should moan and sneeze deir very brains

out."

So saying he shook hands with the old man, and with this mutual pledge

of fidelity to their appointment, they separated for the present.

CHAPTER FOURTH.

—See thou shake the bags

Of hoarding abbots; angels imprisoned

Set thou at liberty—

Bell, book, and candle, shall not drive me back,

If gold and silver beckon to come on.

King John.

The night set in stormy, with wind and occasional showers of rain. "Eh,

sirs," said the old mendicant, as he took his place on the sheltered

side of the large oak-tree to wait for his associate—"Eh, sirs, but

human nature's a wilful and wilyard thing!—Is it not an unco lucre o'

gain wad bring this Dousterdivel out in a blast o' wind like this, at

twal o'clock at night, to thir wild gousty wa's?—and amna I a bigger

fule than himsell to bide here waiting for him?"

Having made these sage reflections, he wrapped himself close in his

cloak, and fixed his eye on the moon as she waded amid the stormy and

dusky clouds, which the wind from time to time drove across her surface.

The melancholy and uncertain gleams that she shot from between the

passing shadows fell full upon the rifted arches and shafted windows of

the old building, which were thus for an instant made distinctly visible

in their ruinous state, and anon became again a dark, undistinguished,

and shadowy mass. The little lake had its share of these transient beams

of light, and showed its waters broken, whitened, and agitated under

the passing storm, which, when the clouds swept over the moon, were only

distinguished by their sullen and murmuring plash against the beach. The

wooded glen repeated, to every successive gust that hurried through its

narrow trough, the deep and various groan with which the trees replied

to the whirlwind, and the sound sunk again, as the blast passed away,

into a faint and passing murmur, resembling the sighs of an exhausted

criminal after the first pangs of his torture are over. In these sounds,

superstition might have found ample gratification for that State of

excited terror which she fears and yet loves. But such feeling is made

no part of Ochiltree's composition. His mind wandered back to the scenes

of his youth.

"I have kept guard on the outposts baith in Germany and America," he

said to himself, "in mony a waur night than this, and when I ken'd there

was maybe a dozen o' their riflemen in the thicket before me. But I was

aye gleg at my duty—naebody ever catched Edie sleeping."

As he muttered thus to himself, he instinctively shouldered his trusty

pike-staff, assumed the port of a sentinel on duty, and, as a step

advanced towards the tree, called, with a tone assorting better with his

military reminiscences than his present state—"Stand! who goes there?"

"De devil, goot Edie," answered Dousterswivel, "why does you speak

so loud as a baarenhauter, or what you call a factionary—I mean a

sentinel?"

"Just because I thought I was a sentinel at that moment," answered the

mendicant. "Here's an awsome night! Hae ye brought the lantern and a

pock for the siller?"

"Ay-ay, mine goot friend," said the German, "here it is—my pair of what

you call saddlebag; one side will be for you, one side for me;—I will

put dem on my horse to save you de trouble, as you are old man."

"Have you a horse here, then?" asked Edie Ochiltree.

"O yes, mine friend—tied yonder by de stile," responded the adept.

"Weel, I hae just ae word to the bargain—there sall nane o' my gear gang

on your beast's back."

"What was it as you would be afraid of?" said the foreigner.

"Only of losing sight of horse, man, and money," again replied the

gaberlunzie.

"Does you know dat you make one gentlemans out to be one great rogue?"

"Mony gentlemen," replied Ochiltree, "can make that out for themselves—

But what's the sense of quarrelling?—If ye want to gang on, gang on—if

no—I'll gae back to the gude ait-straw in Ringan Aikwood's barn that I

left wi' right ill-will e'now, and I'll pit back the pick and shule whar

I got them."

Dousterswivel deliberated a moment, whether, by suffering Edie to

depart, he might not secure the whole of the expected wealth for his

own exclusive use. But the want of digging implements, the uncertainty

whether, if he had them, he could clear out the grave to a sufficient

depth without assistance, and, above all, the reluctance which he felt,

owing to the experience of the former night, to venture alone on

the terrors of Misticot's grave, satisfied him the attempt would be

hazardous. Endeavouring, therefore, to assume his usual cajoling tone,

though internally incensed, he begged "his goot friend Maister Edie

Ochiltrees would lead the way, and assured him of his acquiescence in

all such an excellent friend could propose."

"Aweel, aweel, then," said Edie, "tak gude care o' your feet amang the

lang grass and the loose stones. I wish we may get the light keepit

in neist, wi' this fearsome wind—but there's a blink o' moonlight at

times."

Thus saying, old Edie, closely accompanied by the adept, led the way

towards the ruins, but presently made a full halt in front of them.

"Ye're a learned man, Mr. Dousterdeevil, and ken muckle o' the

marvellous works o' nature—Now, will ye tell me ae thing?—D'ye believe

in ghaists and spirits that walk the earth?—d'ye believe in them, ay or

no?"

"Now, goot Mr. Edie," whispered Dousterswivel, in an expostulatory tone

of voice, "is this a times or a places for such a questions?"

"Indeed is it, baith the tane and the t'other, Mr. Dustanshovel; for I

maun fairly tell ye, there's reports that auld Misticot walks. Now this

wad be an uncanny night to meet him in, and wha kens if he wad be ower

weel pleased wi' our purpose of visiting his pose?"

"Alle guten Geister"—muttered the adept, the rest of the conjuration

being lost in a tremulous warble of his voice,—"I do desires you not to

speak so, Mr. Edie; for, from all I heard dat one other night, I do much

believes"—

"Now I," said Ochiltree, entering the chancel, and flinging abroad his

arm with an air of defiance, "I wadna gie the crack o' my thumb for him

were he to appear at this moment: he's but a disembodied spirit, as we

are embodied anes."

"For the lofe of heavens," said Dousterswivel, "say nothing at all

neither about somebodies or nobodies!"

"Aweel," said the beggar (expanding the shade of the lantern), "here's

the stane, and, spirit or no spirit, I'se be a wee bit deeper in the

grave;" and he jumped into the place from which the precious chest had

that morning been removed. After striking a few strokes, he tired, or

affected to tire, and said to his companion, "I'm auld and failed now,

and canna keep at it—time about's fair play, neighbour; ye maun get in

and tak the shule a bit, and shule out the loose earth, and then I'll

tak turn about wi' you."

Dousterswivel accordingly took the place which the beggar had evacuated,

and toiled with all the zeal that awakened avarice, mingled with the

anxious wish to finish the undertaking and leave the place as soon

as possible, could inspire in a mind at once greedy, suspicious, and

timorous.

Edie, standing much at his ease by the side of the hole, contented

himself with exhorting his associate to labour hard. "My certie! few

ever wrought for siccan a day's wage; an it be but—say the tenth part o'

the size o' the kist, No. I., it will double its value, being filled wi'

gowd instead of silver. Od, ye work as if ye had been bred to pick and

shule— ye could win your round half-crown ilka day. Tak care o' your

taes wi' that stane!" giving a kick to a large one which the adept had

heaved out with difficulty, and which Edie pushed back again to the

great annoyance of his associate's shins.

Thus exhorted by the mendicant, Dousterswivel struggled and laboured

among the stones and stiff clay, toiling like a horse, and internally

blaspheming in German. When such an unhallowed syllable escaped his

lips, Edie changed his battery upon him.

"O dinna swear! dinna swear! Wha kens whals listening!—Eh! gude guide

us, what's yon!—Hout, it's just a branch of ivy flightering awa frae the

wa'; when the moon was in, it lookit unco like a dead man's arm wi' a

taper in't—I thought it was Misticot himsell. But never mind, work you

away—fling the earth weel up by out o' the gate—Od, if ye're no as clean

a worker at a grave as Win Winnet himsell! What gars ye stop now?— ye're

just at the very bit for a chance."

"Stop!" said the German, in a tone of anger and disappointment, "why,

I am down at de rocks dat de cursed ruins (God forgife me!) is founded

upon."

"Weel," said the beggar, "that's the likeliest bit of ony. It will be

but a muckle through-stane laid doun to kiver the gowd—tak the pick

till't, and pit mair strength, man—ae gude down-right devvel will split

it, I'se warrant ye—Ay, that will do Od, he comes on wi' Wallace's

straiks!"

In fact, the adept, moved by Edie's exhortations, fetched two or three

desperate blows, and succeeded in breaking, not indeed that against

which he struck, which, as he had already conjectured, was the solid

rock, but the implement which he wielded, jarring at the same time his

arms up to the shoulder-blades.

"Hurra, boys!—there goes Ringan's pick-axe!" cried Edie "it's a shame o'

the Fairport folk to sell siccan frail gear. Try the shule—at it again,

Mr. Dusterdeevil."

The adept, without reply, scrambled out of the pit, which was now about

six feet deep, and addressed his associate in a voice that trembled with

anger. "Does you know, Mr. Edies Ochiltrees, who it is you put off your

gibes and your jests upon?"

"Brawly, Mr. Dusterdeevil—brawly do I ken ye, and has done mony a day;

but there's nae jesting in the case, for I am wearying to see ae our

treasures; we should hae had baith ends o' the pockmanky filled by this

time—I hope it's bowk eneugh to haud a' the gear?"

"Look you, you base old person," said the incensed philosopher, "if you

do put another jest upon me, I will cleave your skull-piece with this

shovels!"