Night and mist stopped him after many miles of journeying. The postboy
had lost his way, and could offer no suggestions. Brown descended to see
if by chance, in this wild place, they were near any farm-house at which
he could ask the way. Standing tiptoe upon a bank, it seemed as if he
could see in the distance a light feebly glimmering.
Brown proceeded toward it, but soon found himself stumbling among ruins
of cottages, the side walls of which were lying in shapeless heaps, half
covered with snow, while the gables still stood up gaunt and black
against the sky. He ascended a bank, steep and difficult, and found
himself in front of a small square tower, from the chinks of which a
light showed dimly. Listening cautiously, he heard a noise as of stifled
groaning.
Brown approached softly, and looked through a long arrow-slit upon a
dismal scene. Smoke filled a wretched apartment. On a couch a man lay,
apparently dying, while beside him, wrapped in a long cloak, a woman sat
with bent head, crooning to herself and occasionally moistening the
sufferer's lips with some liquid.
"It will not do," Brown heard her say at last "he cannot pass away with
the crime on his soul. It tethers him here. I must open the door."
As she did so she saw Brown standing without. He, on his part,
recognised in the woman the gipsy wife whom he had seen on the Waste of
Cumberland, when he and Dandie Dinmont had had their fight with the
robbers.
"Did I not tell you neither to mix nor mingle?" said the woman; "but
come in. Here is your only safety!"
Even as she spoke, the head of the wounded man fell back. He was dead,
and, before Brown could think of seeking safety in flight, they heard in
the distance the sound of voices approaching.
"They are coming!" whispered the gipsy; "if they find you here, you are
a dead man. Quick--you cannot escape. Lie down, and, whatever you see or
hear, do not stir, as you value your life."
Brown had no alternative but to obey. So the old gipsy wife covered him
over with old sacks as he lay in the corner upon a couch of straw.
Then Meg went about the dismal offices of preparing the dead man for
burial, but Brown could see that she was constantly pausing to listen to
the sounds which every moment grew louder without. At last a gang of
fierce-looking desperadoes poured tumultuously in, their leader abusing
the old woman for leaving the door open.
But Meg Merrilies had her answer ready.
"Did you ever hear of a door being barred when a man was in the
death-agony?" she cried. "Think ye the spirit could win away through all
these bolts and bars?"
"Is he dead, then?" asked one of the ruffians, glancing in the direction
of the bed.
"Ay, dead enough," growled another; "but here is the wherewithal to give
him a rousing lykewake!" And going to the corner he drew out a large jar
of brandy, while Meg busied herself in preparing pipes and tobacco.
Brown in his corner found his mind a little eased when he saw how
eagerly she went about her task.
"She does not mean to betray me, then!" he said to himself. Though for
all that, he could see no gleam of womanly tenderness on her face, nor
imagine any reason she should not give him up to her associates.
That they were a gang of murderers was soon evident from their talk. The
man, now wrapped in the dark sea-cloak, whose dead face looked down on
their revels, was referred to as one who had often gloried in the murder
of Frank Kennedy. But some of the others held that the deed was not
wisely done, because after that the people of the country would not do
business with the smugglers.
"It did up the trade for one while!" said one; "the people turned
rusty!"
Then there were evident threats uttered against some one whose name
Brown did not hear.
"I think," said the leader of the ruffians, "that we will have to be
down upon the fellow one of these nights, and let him have it well!"
After a while the carousing bandits called for what they called "Black
Peter." It was time (they said) "to flick it open."
To Brown's surprise and indignation, Black Peter proved to be nothing
else than his own portmanteau, which gave him reasons for some very dark
thoughts as to the fate of his postboy. He watched the rascals force his
bag open and coolly divide all that was in it among them. Yet he dared
not utter a word, well aware that had he done so, the next moment a
knife would have been at his throat.
At last, to his great relief, Brown saw them make their preparations for
departure. He was left alone with the dead man and the old woman.
Meg Merrilies waited till the first sun of the winter's morn had come,
lest one of the revellers of the night should take it into his head to
turn back. Then she led Brown by a difficult and precipitous path, till
she could point out to him, on the other side of some dense plantations,
the road to Kippletringan.
"And here," said she, mysteriously putting a large leathern purse into
his hand, "is what will in some degree repay the many alms your house
has given me and mine!"
She was gone before he could reply, and when Brown opened the purse, he
was astonished to find in it gold to the amount of nearly one hundred
pounds, besides many valuable jewels. The gipsy had endowed him with a
fortune.