The hour of going to meet the boat was now approaching, and Edie
conducted Lovel by a solitary path through the woods to the sea-shore.
There in the first level beams of the rising sun, they saw the little
gun-brig riding at anchor in the offing. Taffril himself met his friend,
and eased Lovel's mind considerably by telling him that Captain
MacIntyre's wound, though doubtful, was far from desperate, and that he
trusted a short cruise would cover all the consequences of his
unfortunate encounter.
Lovel offered gold to the beggar, but Edie once more refused it,
declaring that he thought all the folk had "gone clean daft."
"I have had more gold offered to me these last two or three weeks," he
said, "than I have seen in all my life before. Na, na, take back your
guineas, and for luck let me have but one lily-white shilling!"
The boat put off toward the lieutenant's brig, impelled by six stout
rowers. Lovel saw the old beggar wave his blue bonnet to him, before
turning slowly about as if to resume his customary wanderings from farm
to farm, and from village to village.
* * * * *
So excellently well did Captain MacIntyre progress toward recovery that
in a little while the Antiquary declared it clean impossible for him to
get a single bite of breakfast, or have his wig made decent, or a slice
of unburnt toast to eat--all because his womenfolk were in constant
attendance upon the wounded Captain, whose guns and spaniels filled the
house, and for whom even the faithful Caxon ran messages, while his own
master waited for him in his chamber, fuming and stamping the while.
But as his sister often said, and as all who knew him,
knew--"Monkbarns's bark was muckle waur than his bite."
But an unexpected visit from Sir Arthur soon gave the Antiquary other
matters to think about. The Baronet came, so he said, to ask his old
friend's advice about the disposal of a sum of money. The Antiquary
drew from a right-hand corner of his desk a red-covered book, of which
Sir Arthur hated the very sight, and suggested that if he had money to
dispose of, it might be as well to begin by clearing off encumbrances,
of which the debt marked in his own red book accounted for no less than
eleven hundred and thirteen pounds. But Sir Arthur put away the red book
as if Monkbarns had offered him so much physic, and hastened to say that
if the Antiquary would wait a few days, he would have the sum in
full--that is, if he would take it in bullion.
The Antiquary inquired from what Eldorado this treasure was forthcoming.
"Not far from here," said Sir Arthur, confidently, "and now I think of
it, you shall see the whole process in working, on one small condition."
"And what is that?" inquired the Antiquary.
"That it will be necessary to give me your friendly assistance, by
advancing the small sum of one hundred pounds."
The Antiquary, who had been rejoicing in the hope of getting both
principal and interest of a debt which he had long thought desperate,
could only gasp out the words, "Advance one hundred pounds!"
"Yes, my good sir," said Sir Arthur, "but upon the best possible
security of having it repaid in the course of a few days."
To this the Antiquary said nothing. He had heard the like before from
Sir Arthur's lips. So the Baronet went on to explain. "Mr. Dousterswivel
having discovered--"
But the Antiquary would not listen. His eyes sparkled with indignation.
"Sir Arthur," he said, "I have so often warned you against that rascally
quack, that I wonder you quote him to me!"
But this time Sir Arthur had something to show for his faith in the
expert. He placed a large ram's horn with a copper cover in his friend's
hand. It contained Scottish, English, and foreign coins of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries. Most were silver but some were of gold, and, as
even the Antiquary allowed, of exceeding rarity.
"These," said the Baronet, "were found at midnight, at the last full
moon, in the ruins of St. Ruth's Priory, in the course of an experiment
of which I was myself the witness."
"Indeed," said Oldbuck, "and what means of discovery did you employ?"
"Only a simple suffumigation," said the Baronet, "accompanied by
availing ourselves of a suitable planetary hour."
"Simple suffumigation! Simple nonsensification! Planetary
hour--planetary fiddlestick! My dear Sir Arthur, the fellow has made a
gull of you under ground, and now he would make a gull of you above
ground!"
"Well, Mr. Oldbuck," said the Baronet, "I am obliged to you for your
opinion of my discernment, but you will at least give me credit for
seeing what I say I saw!"
"I will give you credit for saying that you saw what you _thought_ you
saw!"
"Well, then," said the Baronet, "as there is a heaven above us, Mr.
Oldbuck, I saw with my own eyes these coins dug out of the chancel of
St. Ruth's at midnight! And if I had not been there, I doubt if
Dousterswivel would have had the courage to go through with it!"
The Antiquary inquired how much the discovery had cost.
"Only ten guineas," said the Baronet, "but this time it is to cost a
hundred and fifty pounds, but of course the results will be in
proportion. Fifty I have already given him, and the other hundred I
thought you might be able to assist me with."
The Antiquary mused.
"This cannot be meant as a parting blow," he said; "it is not of
consequence enough. He will probably let you win this game also, as
sharpers do with raw gamesters. Sir Arthur, will you permit me to speak
to Dousterswivel? I think I can recover the treasure for you without
making any advance of money."
Dousterswivel had on his part no desire to see the Laird of Monkbarns.
He was more in fear of him than even of the spirits of the night. Still
he could not refuse, when summoned to leave Sir Arthur's carriage and
face the two gentlemen in the study at Monkbarns.
The Antiquary then and there told him that he and Sir Arthur proposed to
trench the whole area of the chancel of St. Ruth, in plain daylight,
with good substantial pickaxes and shovels, and so, without further
expense, ascertain for themselves the truth as to the existence of this
hidden treasure.
"Bah," said the German, "you will not find one copper thimble. But it is
as Sir Arthur likes--once I have showed him the real method. If he likes
to try others, he only loses the gold and the silver, that is all!"
The journey to the Priory was made in silence, each of the party having
enough on his mind to employ his thoughts. Edie Ochiltree joined them at
the ruins, and when the Antiquary pulled out of his pocket the ram's
horn in which the coins had been found, Edie claimed it at once for a
snuff-box of his which he had bartered with a miner at Mr.
Dousterswivel's excavations in Glen Withershins.
"And that brings it very near a certain friend of ours," said the
Antiquary to Sir Arthur. "I trust we shall be as successful to-day
without having to pay for it."
It was decided to begin operations at the tomb with the carven figure
on top--the same which Sir Arthur and Dousterswivel had disturbed on a
former occasion, but which neither the Antiquary nor Edie ever
remembered to have seen before. It appeared, however, that a large pile
of rubbish, which had formerly filled up the corner of the ruins, must
have been dispersed in order to bring it to light.
But the diggers reached the bottom of the grave, without finding either
treasure or coffin.
"Some cleverer chield has been before us," said one of the men.
But Edie pushed them impatiently aside, and leaping into the grave, he
cried, "Ye are good seekers, but bad finders!"
For the first stroke of his pike-staff into the bottom of the pit hit
upon something hard and resisting.
All now crowded around. The labourers resumed their task with good-will,
and soon a broad surface of wood was laid bare, and a heavy chest was
raised to the surface, the lid of which, being forced with a pickaxe,
displayed, beneath coarse canvas bags and under a quantity of oakum, a
large number of ingots of solid silver.
The Antiquary inspected them one by one, always expecting that the lower
layers would prove to be less valuable. But he was at last obliged to
admit that the Baronet had really and truly possessed himself of
treasure to the amount of about one thousand pounds.
It chanced that Edie Ochiltree had observed Dousterswivel stand somewhat
disconsolate and sad, looking into the open grave. Age had not dulled
Edie's wit, nor caused him to relish less a boyish prank. His quick eye
had caught some writing on the lid of the box of treasure, and while all
were admiring the solid ingots of precious metal laid bare before them,
Edie kicked the piece of wood aside without being observed by any one.
Then, with all due caution, he whispered to Dousterswivel that there
must certainly be more and better treasure yet to be brought to light in
the place where the silver had been found, and that if he would wait
only a little behind the others he would show him proof of it. When they
were alone he showed him on the lid of the treasure-chest the words,
written in black letter:
"=Search--Number One="
Dousterswivel at once agreed to meet Edie at midnight within the ruins
of the Priory, and he kept his word. It was a stormy night, great clouds
being hurried across the face of the moon, and the woods were bending
and moaning in the fierce blast. Edie marched up and down while he
waited for the German, shouldering his pike-staff, and dreaming that he
was back again on the outposts with a dozen hostile riflemen hidden in
front of him.
After a little, Dousterswivel arrived, having brought with him a horse
and saddle-bags in which to carry away the expected treasure. Edie led
him once more to the place of the former search--to the grave of the
Armed Knight. On the way he told his companion the tale of that Malcolm
Misticot whose treasure was supposed to have been found and rifled that
day.
"There is a story that the Misticot walks," said Edie; "it's an awesome
nicht and an uncanny to be meeting the like of him here. Besides he
might not be best pleased to come upon us when we were trying to lift
his treasure!"
"For the love of Heaven," said Dousterswivel, "say nothing at all,
either about somebodies or nobodies!"
Edie leaped into the grave and began to strike; but he soon tired or
pretended to tire. So he called out to the German that turn and turn
about was fair play. Whereupon, fired with the desire for wealth,
Dousterswivel began to strike and shovel the earth with all his might,
while Edie encouraged him, standing very much at his ease by the side of
the hole.
"At it again," he cried; "strike--strike! What for are ye stopping,
man?"
"Stopping," cried the German, angrily, looking out of the grave at his
tormentor; "I am down at the bed-rock, I tell you!"
"And that's the likeliest place of any," said Edie; "it will just be a
big broad stone laid down to cover the treasure. Ah, that's it! There
was a Wallace stroke indeed! It's broken! Hurrah, boys, there goes
Ringan's pickaxe! It's a shame o' the Fairport folk to sell such frail
gear. Try the shovel; at it again, Maister Dousterdeevil!"
But this time the German, without replying, leaped out of the pit, and
shouted in a voice that trembled with anger, "Does you know, Mr. Edie
Ochiltree, who it is you are putting off your gibes and your jests upon?
You base old person, I will cleave your skull-piece with this shovels!"
"Ay," said Edie, "and where do ye think my pike-staff would be a' the
time?"
But Dousterswivel, growing more and more furious, heaved up the broken
pickaxe to smite his tormentor dead--which, indeed, he might have done
had not Edie, suddenly pointing with his hand, exclaimed in a stern
voice, "Do ye think that heaven and earth will suffer ye to murder an
auld man that gate--a man that might be your father? _Look behind you,
man!_"
Dousterswivel turned, and beheld, to his utter astonishment, a tall dark
figure standing close behind him. Whether this was the angry Misticot or
not, the newcomer certainly lifted a sturdy staff and laid it across the
rascal's back, bestowing on him half-a-dozen strokes so severe that he
fell to the ground, where he lay some minutes half unconscious with pain
and terror.
When the German came to himself, he was lying close to Misticot's open
grave on the soft earth which had been thrown out. He began to turn his
mind to projects of revenge. It must, he thought, be either Monkbarns or
Sir Arthur who had done this, in order to be revenged upon him. And his
mind finally deciding upon the latter, as most likely to have set Edie
Ochiltree on to deceive him, he determined from that moment to achieve
the ruin of his "dear and honoured patron" of the last five years.
As he left the precincts of the ruined Priory, he continued his vows of
vengeance against Edie and all associated with him. He had, he declared
aloud, been assaulted and murdered, besides being robbed of fifty pounds
as well. He would, on the very next day, put the law in motion "against
all the peoples"--but against Edie Ochiltree first of all.