Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Black Dwarf by Walter Scott (e book free reading txt) 📖
- Author: Walter Scott
Book online «The Black Dwarf by Walter Scott (e book free reading txt) 📖». Author Walter Scott
A brook, which issued from a narrow glen among the hills, entered, at Westburnflat, upon the open marshy level, which, expanding about half a mile in every direction, gives name to the spot. In this place the character of the stream becomes changed, and, from being a lively brisk-running mountain-torrent, it stagnates, like a blue swollen snake, in dull deep windings, through the swampy level. On the side of the stream, and nearly about the centre of the plain, arose the tower of Westburnflat, one of the few remaining strongholds formerly so numerous upon the Borders. The ground upon which it stood was gently elevated above the marsh for the space of about a hundred yards, affording an esplanade of dry turf, which extended itself in the immediate neighbourhood of the tower; but, beyond which, the surface presented to strangers was that of an impassable and dangerous bog. The owner of the tower and his inmates alone knew the winding and intricate paths, which, leading over ground that was comparatively sound, admitted visitors to his residence. But among the party which were assembled under Earnscliff’s directions, there was more than one person qualified to act as a guide. For although the owner’s character and habits of life were generally known, yet the laxity of feeling with respect to property prevented his being looked on with the abhorrence with which he must have been regarded in a more civilized country. He was considered, among his more peaceable neighbours, pretty much as a gambler, cock-fighter, or horse-jockey would be regarded at the present day; a person, of course, whose habits were to be condemned, and his society, in general, avoided, yet who could not be considered as marked with the indelible infamy attached to his profession, where laws have been habitually observed. And their indignation was awakened against him upon this occasion, not so much on account of the general nature of the transaction, which was just such as was to be expected from this marauder, as that the violence had been perpetrated upon a neighbour against whom he had no cause of quarrel,—against a friend of their own,—above all, against one of the name of Elliot, to which clan most of them belonged. It was not, therefore, wonderful, that there should be several in the band pretty well acquainted with the locality of his habitation, and capable of giving such directions and guidance as soon placed the whole party on the open space of firm ground in front of the Tower of Westburnflat.
CHAPTER IX. So spak the knicht; the geaunt sed, Lend forth with the the sely maid, And mak me quile of the and sche; For glaunsing ee, or brow so brent, Or cheek with rose and lilye blent, Me lists not ficht with the.—ROMANCE OF THE FALCON.
The tower, before which the party now stood, was a small square building, of the most gloomy aspect. The walls were of great thickness, and the windows, or slits which served the purpose of windows, seemed rather calculated to afford the defenders the means of employing missile weapons, than for admitting air or light to the apartments within. A small battlement projected over the walls on every side, and afforded farther advantage of defence by its niched parapet, within which arose a steep roof, flagged with grey stones. A single turret at one angle, defended by a door studded with huge iron nails, rose above the battlement, and gave access to the roof from within, by the spiral staircase which it enclosed. It seemed to the party that their motions were watched by some one concealed within this turret; and they were confirmed in their belief when, through a narrow loophole, a female hand was seen to wave a handkerchief, as if by way of signal to them. Hobbie was almost out of his senses with joy and eagerness.
“It was Grace’s hand and arm,” he said; “I can swear to it amang a thousand. There is not the like of it on this side of the Lowdens—We’ll have her out, lads, if we should carry off the Tower of Westburnflat stane by stane.”
Earnscliff, though he doubted the possibility of recognising a fair maiden’s hand at such a distance from the eye of the lover, would say nothing to damp his friend’s animated hopes, and it was resolved to summon the garrison.
The shouts of the party, and the winding of one or two horns, at length brought to a loophole, which flanked the entrance, the haggard face of an old woman.
“That’s the Reiver’s mother,” said one of the Elliots; “she’s ten times waur than himsell, and is wyted for muckle of the ill he does about the country.”
“Wha are ye? what d’ye want here?” were the queries of the respectable progenitor.
“We are seeking William Graeme of Westburnflat,” said Earnscliff.
“He’s no at hame,” returned the old dame.
“When did he leave home?” pursued Earnscliff.
“I canna tell,” said the portress.
“When will he return?” said Hobbie Elliot.
“I dinna ken naething about it,” replied the inexorable guardian of the keep.
“Is there anybody within the tower with you?” again demanded Earnscliff.
“Naebody but mysell and baudrons,” said the old woman.
“Then open the gate and admit us,” said Earnscliff; “I am a justice of peace, and in search of the evidence of a felony.”
“Deil be in their fingers that draws a bolt for ye,” retorted the portress; “for mine shall never do it. Thinkna ye shame o’ yoursells, to come here siccan a band o’ ye, wi’ your swords, and spears, and steel-caps, to frighten a lone widow woman?”
“Our information,” said Earnscliff; “is positive; we are seeking goods which have been forcibly carried off, to a great amount.”
“And a young woman, that’s been cruelly made prisoner, that’s worth mair than a’ the gear, twice told,” said Hobbie.
“And I warn you.” continued Earnscliff, “that your only way to prove your son’s innocence is to give us quiet admittance to search the house.”
“And what will ye do, if I carena to thraw the keys, or draw the bolts, or open the grate to sic a clamjamfrie?” said the old dame, scoffingly.
“Force our way with the king’s keys, and break the neck of every living soul we find in the house, if ye dinna gie it ower forthwith!” menaced the incensed Hobbie.
“Threatened folks live lang,” said the hag, in the same tone of irony; “there’s the
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