Old Mortality, Complete by Walter Scott (my reading book .txt) 📖

It was not difficult for him to perceive that this unhappy man’s mind had been so long agitated by desperate schemes and sudden disappointments that it had lost its equipoise, and that there was now in his conduct a shade of lunacy, not the less striking, from the vigour and craft with which he pursued his wild designs. Morton soon joined his guide, who had been terrified by the fall of the oak. This he represented as accidental; and she assured him, in return, that the inhabitant of the cave would experience no inconvenience from it, being always provided with materials to construct another bridge.

The adventures of the morning were not yet ended. As they approached the hut, the little girl made an exclamation of surprise at seeing her grandmother groping her way towards them, at a greater distance from her home than she could have been supposed capable of travelling.

“Oh, sir, sir!” said the old woman, when she heard them approach, “gin e’er ye loved Lord Evandale, help now, or never! God be praised that left my hearing when he took my poor eyesight! Come this way,—this way. And oh, tread lightly. Peggy, hinny, gang saddle the gentleman’s horse, and lead him cannily ahint the thorny shaw, and bide him there.”

She conducted him to a small window, through which, himself unobserved, he could see two dragoons seated at their morning draught of ale, and conversing earnestly together.

“The more I think of it,” said the one, “the less I like it, Inglis; Evandale was a good officer and the soldier’s friend; and though we were punished for the mutiny at Tillietudlem, yet, by —-, Frank, you must own we deserved it.”

“D—n seize me if I forgive him for it, though!” replied the other; “and I think I can sit in his skirts now.”

“Why, man, you should forget and forgive. Better take the start with him along with the rest, and join the ranting Highlanders. We have all eat King James’s bread.”

“Thou art an ass; the start, as you call it, will never happen,—the day’s put off. Halliday’s seen a ghost, or Miss Bellenden’s fallen sick of the pip, or some blasted nonsense or another; the thing will never keep two days longer, and the first bird that sings out will get the reward.”

“That’s true too,” answered his comrade; “and will this fellow—this Basil Olifant—pay handsomely?”

“Like a prince, man,” said Inglis. “Evandale is the man on earth whom he hates worst, and he fears him, besides, about some law business; and were he once rubbed out of the way, all, he thinks, will be his own.”

“But shall we have warrants and force enough?” said the other fellow. “Few people here will stir against my lord, and we may find him with some of our own fellows at his back.”

“Thou ’rt a cowardly fool, Dick,” returned Inglis; “he is living quietly down at Fairy Knowe to avoid suspicion. Olifant is a magistrate, and will have some of his own people that he can trust along with him. There are us two, and the laird says he can get a desperate fighting Whig fellow, called Quintin Mackell, that has an old grudge at Evandale.”

“Well, well, you are my officer, you know,” said the private, with true military conscience, “and if anything is wrong—”

“I’ll take the blame,” said Inglis. “Come, another pot of ale, and let us to Tillietudlem.—Here, blind Bess!—Why, where the devil has the old hag crept to?”

“Delay them as long as you can,” whispered Morton, as he thrust his purse into the hostess’s hand; “all depends on gaining time.”

Then, walking swiftly to the place where the girl held his horse ready, “To Fairy Knowe? No; alone I could not protect them. I must instantly to Glasgow. Wittenbold, the commandant there, will readily give me the support of a troop, and procure me the countenance of the civil power. I must drop a caution as I pass.—Come, Moorkopf,” he said, addressing his horse as he mounted him, “this day must try your breath and speed.”