Chapter XIV: Part 14

"You!" cried she, stopping suddenly in her retreat, drawing herself up to her full height, and looking back upon him with an air of the most sovereign contempt; "you Charles Græme!--Ha! ha! ha! ha!--you Charles Græme!--His face was fair, and with the expression of an angel; yours is sallow, withered, and wrinkled, like that of a baboon--his hair was lovely as the beams of the morning sun; yours is white, as the eternal snow of the Himala--his form was like that of the Grecian Apollo; yours is like that of winter. Go, traitorous man! I have had enough of falsehood! Come not near me! Chirsty Ross will wed no one now but Charles Græme or the grave!"

In an instant she darted from his sight, before he was aware of her intention, and she disappeared among the ruins. In the wildest state of agitation he rushed after her. He thought he heard a faint shriek, but he vainly sought her with unremitting solicitude for some hours. Believing at length that she must have got into the interior of the building by some secret passage known only to herself, he unwillingly gave up his search, and the sea having now ebbed, and the flood in the river having somewhat subsided, he mounted his horse, with some difficulty crossed the ford, and, oppressed with sorrowful thoughts, he slowly made his way to the castle of his noble friend, to whom he confided his sad tale. From him he learned much that was new to him. A cambric handkerchief, embroidered with Chirsty's story, had found its way to her friends, who, after many difficulties, succeeded in rescuing her from her confinement. But alas! they found her not till her sufferings had rendered her a confirmed maniac. For a time she felt soothed by the kindness shown her by her afflicted parents; and during the short time they lived, she amused herself by wandering harmlessly about the scenes of her childhood. But when her father and mother were both dead, and all her other relatives being likewise gone or removed, she abandoned her home and took up her abode in the ruinous building, of which she was for the most part left in undisturbed possession. Such was the melancholy outline of her history.

But Charles Græme was too feelingly alive to her unhappy situation to delay one moment in attempting to find her, that he might spend the remainder of his life in watching over and protecting her. Next day, therefore, assisted by his friend's people, he made his way into the ruins, and sought every part of them. But he sought in vain. Everything remained as when he had left them on the previous morning, and although the door was locked, the bolts on the inside were not fastened, showing that the wretched inhabitant had not returned.

But the mystery was cleared up towards mid-day by a fisherman, who, as he was landing from his boat, found her lifeless body on the sands, where it had been left by the receding tide. The supposition was that she had been drowned in attempting to ford the swollen river, immediately after the scene of her parting with Charles Græme.

COMPLIMENTARY CRITICISM.

Dominie.--'Pon my word, Mr. Clifford, you have given us good measure indeed; and of ane excellent faybric, too. As I shall answer, we are well on with the small hours.

Grant (pulling out his watch)--Is it possible? I declare I thought that it had been only about ten o'clock. Why, it is a good hour and a half after midnight.

Clifford.--I was resolved to reel you out a good long line while I was about it. I thought that it was but fair to give Mr. Macpherson an opportunity of being even with me, by enjoying as good a slumber as I had last night, but his politeness was proof against the soporific influence of my tale.

Dominie.--Your tale would have been as good as an umberella against all the drowsy drops that ever were shaken from the bough of Morpheus himself.

Author.--Perhaps it might; but now that the umbrella is taken down, the dewy balm of the god begins to descend very heavily upon my eyelids.

Grant.--Come, then, let us to bed.

The next morning's sun found us all later in bed than usual. After breakfast we left the village, and winding down through the forest of tall pines that lies between it and the river, and crossing the ancient bridge, we left the Spey behind us, and climbed the old military mountain road that leads towards Tomantoul.

Clifford (stopping and looking back over the valley)--What a grand Highland prospect!

Grant.--How proudly the grim old castle domineers over the extended forests, and the country of which it is the lord paramount! Let us sit down on this green bank of velvet grass, and enjoy the view. See how happily that single touch of bright light falls on the Cumin's tower.

Clifford.--Well thought off. Talking of the Cumins, we must not allow you to leave us, Mr. Macpherson, without telling us the story of Gibbon More, to which you alluded at Castle Grant.

Dominie.--I must tell it to you now then, gentlemen; for I grieve to say that I must part from you at the top of the hill a little way farther on. So, if you have a mind to sit down and enjoy this refreshing breeze for a little time, I shall give you the legend in as few words as I can.

LEGEND OF GIBBON MORE CUMIN AND HIS DAUGHTER BIGLA.

If you will be pleased to remember, gentlemen, I already told you, that previous to the fourteenth century the whole of Strathspey was subjeck to that great clan or nation the Cumins. It was about that period, as I informed you, that the Grants, from Glen Urquhart, were, by royal favour, enabled to possess themselves of Freuchie,--a place of strength, so called from a certain heathery hillock near to which it stood. The Cumin's tower was probably part of that original building which, in the course of generations, has grown up into that great baronial pile which we now behold yonder. It is natural to imagine that the Cumins could not possibly regard this alienation of the property of their clan without its begetting their hatred against those who benefited by it, though they dared not always to show it by open deeds of violence. Their submission, however, was by no means owing to their weakness, for, notwithstanding that the Grants thus got a footing in this country, so powerful did the Cumins continue for a while, that many were the strangers that came from other clans to reside among them for protection, as was not uncommon in that olden time of trouble; these fugitives changed their own names for that of the people among whom they had thus found a safe retreat. But they were never admitted to a full participation in all the rights of the clan Cuminich, without submitting to undergo a very odd sort of an irreverential baptism, altogether worthy of the iron age in which it was practeesed.

Gilbert Cumin, Lord of Glenchearnich, as that country, watered by the river Dulnan, was denominated, was usually called Gibbon More, from his enormous size and strength. His chief residence was at Kincherdie, on the north-western bank of the Spey, on the brink of the river, just where there is now a ferry across to Gartenmore, the vurra place, sir, where, as you have recorded in your book of "The Floods," the worthy Mrs. Cameron made her miraculous voyage upon a brander. The old chronicler tells us, that the house stood on a green moat, fenced by a ditch, the vestiges of which are yet to be seen. A current tradition beareth, that at night a salmon net was cast into the pool below the wall of the house, and a small rope tied to the net, and brought in at the window, had a bell hung at it, which rung when a salmon came in and shook the net, so that the beast was quickly transferred from the river to the pot. What think ye of that, Mr. Clifford?

Clifford.--Very ingenious! but foul poaching.

Well, whilst Gibbon More Cumin flourished, the ceremony of Cumin-making was always performed by his own hands. At the door of his castle there stood a huge stone, which I have often myself seen when I was a boy, and which, for ought I know, may be still in existence. It was hollowed out in the middle like an ancient baptismal font, and, indeed, it is by no means unlikely that it had been originally formed as such. Be this as it may, however, Gibbon More had it always filled with water for the refreshment of his fowls. But, besides its uniform devotion to the truly ignoble purposes of his poultry, it was also employed by him in the unseemly rites to which I have referred. When any of the strangers of whom I have spoken had a desire to be metamorphosed into a Cumin, he was brought incontinently to Kincherdie. There the gigantic Lord of Glenchearnich, with the observance of very great and decorous form, lifted him up, and having slowly and solemnly reversed the natural perpendicular position of the poor sinner, he held him up by the heels, as Thetis did her infant boy Achilles, and having dipped his head three times amid the pollutory potation, as I may call the hen's water that filled the hollow stone, he set him, gasping and gaunting, upright on his legs again, telling him, in a stately tone, henceforward to live and do like a Cumin as he now was. But, notwithstanding this cantrip of Gibbon More's, there was a marked distinction still preserved between those who were Cumins by blood and those who were thus manufactured by him by virtue of the chuckies' water, for these children of adoption and their descendants had always the degrading addition given to them of Cuminich clach-nan-cearc, or Cumins of the hen-trough.

It happened, about the time I am speaking of, that young Sir John Grant, son and heir of Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock, now the Laird of Freuchie, did one evening thus hold converse with a curious misformed waggish boy, who had no father, and who went by the familiar name of Archy Abhach, or Archy the Dwarf. Kicked and cuffed as the youth had been about the castle, Sir John had taken compassion on him, and had made him his page; and the boy's gratitude and attachment were consequently great.

"Why look ye so sad, sir?" demanded the boy, gently approaching his master, as he sat one evening on the battlement of the bartizan, looking towards the setting sun, with his head resting on the basket-hilt of his claymore, and his legs swinging about, as if he cared not whether he should swing himself over the wall or not. "Can poor Archy do nothing to rid thee of thy melancholy mood?"

"Nay, boy," said the knight, kindly taking his hand, "I doubt thy powers can scarcely reach my malady."

"As yet thou knowest not the extent of my powers," said the boy gravely, "nor can I show thee my remedy till thou makest me to know thy disease. Yet, methinks, my skill is such that I might dare shrewdly to guess at it. Hast thou not ta'en a heart-wound from a pair of bright eyes?"

"So far I must needs say, that, judging from this first effort of thine, thy skill in divining is not to be questioned," said the knight.

"I will adventure further then, and say, that the slanting beams of yonder declining sun are now gilding the casement of thy lady-love," said the boy Archy.

"O Archy, Archy!" cried the knight, giving full way to his feelings, "I have never enjoyed a moment's peace since I beheld her at Whitsuntide at the church of Inverallan. She is an angel."

"Granting that she be so," said the boy, "for such they tell me must, reason or none, be yielded to all lovers--yea though the fair cause of their madness should be little less than a devil--granting, I say, that she be an angel, surely that should be no reason why thou shouldst thus mope and pine, Sir Knight."

"Thou forgettest, boy, that the hatred naturally born between a Cumin and a Grant forbids all hope on my part," said Sir John despondingly.

"Methinks I could bring thee an instance where this hatred hath been exchanged for love," said the boy.

"Where? when? with whom?" cried the knight eagerly.

"Here--now--and with Sir John Grant towards Matilda or Bigla Cumin, as she is called in the country here, daughter and heiress of the big Lord of Glenchearnich," replied the boy laughing.

"Pshaw!" cried the knight, with a disappointed air.

"Nay, dear master," said the boy; "and if thou hast been able to get over this natural-born antipathy, why may not Bigla Cumin have been equally blessed by Heaven?"

"Ah!" cried the knight again, "would it might be so!"

"Wilt thou but give me leave to go to try what may be done?" demanded the boy. "Be assured I shall be better than most mediciners, for if I do no good, I shall take especial care to do no harm."

"Kind boy, thou mayest e'en do thy best," said the knight. "I well know thy zeal for thy master's good; but were thy powers somewhat more equal to thy zeal, I should count more on the success of thine efforts."

"Such as my poor powers may be, they shall be used to the utmost in thy service, Sir Knight," said the boy. "Good night, then, so please thee; and farewell, it may be for some time, for I go on mine errand by to-morrow's dawn, and the better I prosper, the longer, perchance, may be mine absence."

"Go, and may the Blessed Virgin guide thee and give thee luck," said the knight. "But see, boy, that thou bringest thine own person into no peril."

"Trust me for that," said Archy, as he disappeared from the bartizan.

The sun of next morning had scarcely well risen, and Gibbon More had just issued from his door to take a look at its face, that he might judge of the coming weather, when he descried an ill-formed dwarfish youth approaching, whose countenance, though ill-favoured, had a certain prepossessing expression in it.

"Whence comest thou, little man?" demanded the Lord of Glenchearnich.

"I come from the east," said the boy readily; "my name is Archy--other name have I none--and I would fain be a Cumin."

"Ha! ha! ha!--a Cumin, wouldst thou?" said Gibbon laughing. "By St. Mary, but our clan will be invincible when it shall be strengthened by such a powerful graff as thou! Tell me, what wouldst thou be good for, boy?"

"I could draw a bow at a pinch," said the boy. "But I must needs confess that I were better for the service of some gentle lady's bower. I'd willingly be thy fair daughter the Lady Matilda's page; and I'd serve her right faithfully."

"If Bigla should fancy thy ugly face, I care not if she should have thee," said Gibbon More, "for though thy countenance be homely, it would seem to be honest."

"Make me a Cumin, and the lady shall have no cause to complain of me," replied the boy.

"Thou shalt have thy wish then, boy, without further delay," said Gibbon More; and he straightway lifted up the youth, and, with more than ordinary gentleness, he performed the ceremony of the threefold ablution on him.

Archy Abhach, now converted into Archy Cumin, was speedily installed in his new office as page to the Lady Bigla, and, in his very first interview, he contrived to establish himself very firmly in the good graces of his fair mistress. But what might have been considered more wonderful, he made a no less favourable impression upon her handmaiden, a matter which jealousy might have rendered more difficult with any attendant of a less amiable disposition than the attached Agnes possessed.

"There is something more than usually interesting about that poor friendless boy," said the lady to Agnes, after her new page had been dismissed from her presence for a short time.

"A most interesting youth, notwithstanding the niggardly way in which dame Nature seems to have treated him," said Agnes archly; "but as to his being friendless, I shrewdly suspect that he is a rogue for making that pretence."

"What mean you, Agnes?" demanded Bigla.

"I mean that the varlet had no need to have come to Kincherdie to look for protection, seeing that he hath long been the favourite of one of the bravest young knights in all the country round," said Agnes.

"Of whom do you speak?" demanded Bigla.

"Of a certain Sir John Grant, son and heir of old Sir Patrick Grant of Freuchie," replied Agnes, with an air of mock gravity; "but, perhaps, you have never seen nor heard of the man."

"O Agnes!" cried Bigla, energetically clasping her hands, and throwing down her eyes and blushing deeply.

"You have heard of him, then, lady?" said Agnes.

"A truce to your raillery," said Bigla seriously, "and tell me quickly all you know or guess of this matter."

"Why, all I know of the matter is simply this," said Agnes, in the same tone, "last Whitsuntide the Lady Bigla Cumin saw, for the first time, the handsome young knight, Sir John Grant of Freuchie, at the church of Inverallan. The knight, with becoming gallantry, stepped gracefully forward and lifted the lady to her saddle, sighing deeply as he resigned the precious load to her prancing palfrey. The lady's bower damsel, the quick-sighted Agnes Cumin, soon perceived that the said knight and lady had made a mutual impression on each other. With her wonted acuteness and ingenuity, the said damsel soon extracted the truth from the said lady; and seeing that a misformed imp of a page, then in attendance on the said knight, hath now, without any apparent cause, left so good a master in order to undergo the ceremony of being baptized as a Cumin in the nauseous hen-trough, the said acute damsel ventures readily to pronounce that the flame burns as brightly and warmly at Freuchie as it does in my lady's bower at Kincherdie--that is all."

"But what can Sir John Grant mean by all this?" demanded Bigla, blushing more deeply than ever.

"To seek and secure an interview to be sure," replied Agnes; "but I shall soon know what he would be at," continued she. "I shall soon be at the bottom of it all."

Without giving the Lady Bigla time to reply, the prompt and decided Agnes hurried away to hold converse with the page. Meeting, as they did, like two sharp flints, they were not long in striking fire enough to throw light upon the matter. Having mutually made one another fully aware of the position of affairs on both sides, they, without further hesitation, proceeded, like two able plenipotentiaries, to arrange plans for the future; and it was finally agreed between them, without further ceremony, that the high contracting parties should meet in person, on the ensuing evening, in the bourtree bower, at the lower end of the garden, beyond the rampart, and the page was forthwith despatched on a secret mission to the knight to inform him immediately of this so happy an arrangement.

"Blessed Virgin, what hast thou done, Agnes!" cried Bigla Cumin, ere she had well heard her maid to an end; and hiding her crimsoned face with both her hands, "What will Sir John Grant think of me?"

"He will call you an angel, as Archy tells me he has already done," said Agnes coolly.

"Nay, nay, but this must not be!" said Bigla, starting from her chair. "Run, Agnes, and stop the boy from going on this most foolish and imprudent errand."

"Stop him," said Agnes. "You might as well ask me to stop Black Peter's arrow after it has left his bowstring. The boy is half way to Freuchie by this time. He knows too well how warmly his news will be received to allow the grass to grow at his heels."

"What will my father say to this strange arrangement, if it should come to his knowledge?" cried Bigla, "to meet as a lover the son of the head of the very house with which we have ever held so great enmity."

"In the first place, your father, good man, must know nothing about this meeting," said Agnes. "It concerns him not; secondly, if there hath been ill blood for so long between the two clans, the sooner peace and friendship is re-established the better, especially after two of the principal persons have met together in a Christian church, as you and Sir John have done."

"Agnes, Agnes!" cried the lady, with emotions of vexation not altogether unmingled, it must be confessed, with certain tinglings of a more agreeable nature, "Agnes, Agnes! thy precipitation in this matter hath brought me into a most distressing state of perplexity. I know not what to do."

But before the morning's sun had well risen, the page appeared in the lady's presence, with a perfumed billet, sealed with a flame-coloured silk ribbon, and filled with such professions of love on the part of Sir John Grant, as brought tenfold blushes into the lovely face of Bigla; and so touched her young heart as to leave her without a chance of withstanding the powerful arguments of her handmaiden Agnes, backed up as they were by the warm descriptions of his master's sufferings, and the earnest solicitations for her compassion on him, which were so eloquently urged by the clever page. The result was, that, attended by Agnes, she did go tremblingly to the trysting place at the appointed hour--listened with a pleasure she had never felt before to all the knight's fervent vows; and both were made so happy by their mutual confessions, that the prudential suggestions of Agnes and Archy were repeatedly required ere the tender separation could be effected. So well, however, was that and several other interviews of a similar nature planned and brought about by the two able auxiliaries, that for a long time the easy Gibbon More had no suspicion that anything of the sort was going on. But at length it did happen, that as Sir John Grant was returning from one of these meeting, he was rather unluckily encountered, not far from the house of Kincherdie, by Hector, the confidential servant of Gibbon More. The man's suspicions were so awakened by the circumstance of the knight being on foot, that he scrupled not to follow him at a distance, until he saw him join an attendant who held a couple of horses in a grove about a mile off. Full of his discovery, Hector went directly to Gibbon More; and there is no saying what the consequences might have been had not the Lord of Glenchearnich been a person of a temperament almost miraculously apathetical. So wonderful was his disposition in this respect, indeed, that it was only after his patience had been assailed and battered, as it were, by repeated and most provoking attacks, that he ever could be excited at all. But then, indeed, when he was once roused, he became on the sudden like a raging lion, and his enormous strength and fearless courage being brought tremendously into action by his fury, the effects were quite terrific.

"So you think, Hector, that the young Stratherrock stripling has been here to look after Bigla," said Gibbon, after hearing his man's story to an end. "Hum,--ha! I did perceive that the maiden caught his eye at the church of Inverallan on Whitsuntide. Ha, ha, ha!--to think of a Grant being mated with her is too ridiculous. But, for all that, I cannot blame the boy for bowing before the shrine of my daughter's beauty. I'll warrant the young goose came over here to try to get another peep, were it only of her robe as it might chance to sweep by her casement. Wiser folks than he have done as foolish things; I've done as much myself in my youth. But Bigla can know nought of this, so there is no harm done."

Whether Hector's renewed cautions did or did not succeed in making his master think something more of this matter than he was thus at first disposed to do, I cannot say; but certain it is, that the Lord of Glenchearnich was somewhat suddenly seized with the resolution of going some weeks earlier than he was wont, to spend the summer months on his hill-grazing property of Delnahaitnich, near the source of the river Dulnan. This was a most untoward event for the lovers, not only because the distance between them was thus immensely increased, but because Gibbon More's residence there was a small cottage, which might be called little better than a mere shealing, [5] in or about which it would be next to impossible for them to meet without observation. And accordingly after this move was made, some weeks were vainly expended in fruitless attempts on the part of Archy Abhach to procure for his master Sir John, even the gratification of such a distant view of the Lady Bigla's robe as her father described in his conversation with Hector. Yet Sir John often hovered about the place, and lay for many a night wrapped up in his plaid among the heather of the neighbouring forest with no other shelter but a projecting rock and the thick foliage of the firs that grew over it. Archy Abhach was almost as much disappointed as Sir John himself at being so baulked. His ingenuity was put to the very rack, but all without effect; because it somehow or other happened that Gibbon More never went from home, and so his daughter was never left for one moment out of his sight. The knight had thus no comfort but in the frequent letters and messages which Archy contrived to carry between the lovers, and which they were fain to employ for want of those more interesting interviews, of which they were now altogether deprived.

It happened that Archy Abhach was one night sent with one of those letters towards the place where his master Sir John Grant was lying hid in the upper part of the forest of Dulnan, which then spread much higher over the hills than it now does. The moon was not yet risen, and the dense foliage overhead very much increased the darkness and the difficulty of his way. As he was scrambling along past the narrow mouth of a small ravine that opened on the course of the stream he was following, he came suddenly upon two men who were seated beside the dying embers of a fire which they seemed to have used for some purpose of rude and hasty cookery. Curiosity led him involuntarily to stop for a moment to observe them; but becoming instantly aware of his imprudence in doing so, he moved quickly away, and began to run as hard as he could. But the consequences which he dreaded were already incurred, and he had not gone many paces when he heard footsteps hurrying after him. He fled as fast as his legs could carry him, but the darkness was such that he tripped and fell, and his neck was instantly in the grasp of a powerful hand.

"I have him fast," said a rough voice in Gaelic; "it is but a very small boy after all. Shall I whittle his craig with my skian-dhu?"

"Not for thy life," replied another voice in the same language. "Bring him along with thee, that we may see what he is. Why wouldst thou hurt the creature till we know something more about him?"

The man who had seized Archy now threw him over his shoulder as he would have done a dead hare, and groped his way back with him to the ravine, where a blaze being produced by a dry bush of heather, the boy was set down between them for examination. Archy on his part was not slow in using his eyes also, and in a much less time than I can tell it to you, he ran them over the bulky rough figure of the individual who had seized him, and then as hastily surveyed the compact well put-together active-looking person, and intelligent countenance of the other, who seemed in every respect to be the superior. This last was by no means strange to him, and, to the surprise of the man himself, he immediately addressed him by his name.

"Corrie MacDonald!" said he, "sure I am that thou wilt never hurt any man belonging to Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock."

But I must now tell you that this same Corrie MacDonald was a certain hero who flourished in those days in Lochaber, and who made himself dreaded all through Moray-land and its neighbouring districts by the periodical visits of plunder which he paid to them. Amongst other tracts of country, Strathspey and its tributary valleys were wont to be a prominent object of his attention. He had always a large band of followers at his command, who were equally expert in driving away herds of cattle, and brave in beating off the owners when they pursued with the hope of recovering them. Corrie was a reaver of no ordinary character; for, robber though he was, he had a natural fund of liberality and generosity about him; and he had so great a stock of native humour in him, that he was ever ready to indulge his waggish disposition at any expense; and no predatory expedition had ever half so great a relish for him, as that in which he could contrive to mix up a bit of a frolic. Many a cow and ox had Corrie MacDonald carried away from the extensive possessions of the Lord of Glenchearnich. But these trifling depredations never disturbed the good temper or overcame the patience of that most extraordinary man, the effect of whose unparalleled forbearance was to awaken in the inquiring mind of Corrie MacDonald a certain philosophic curiosity to ascertain by experiment to what extent it was capable of being stretched; and he had long panted for a favourable opportunity of bringing this investigation to a fair trial.

"Corrie MacDonald," cried Archy Abhach, in a whining tone, "sure I am that thou who hast never had quarrel with Sir Patrick Grant of Stratherrock wilt never hurt any man belonging to him."

"Thou art right," replied Corrie. "Not only shall I respect the safety of every man belonging to Sir Patrick Grant, but I will even respect thee, who art but a mannikin, if thou canst prove thyself to be his. I have had peaceable passage to and fro through his grounds on Loch Ness side for too many years to do otherwise."

"Then look ye here," said Archy, plucking from his bosom the letter of which he was the bearer, and straightway showing the address, which was--To the honourable and gallant knight. Sir John Grant of Freuchie, these, with speed.

"That is all well," said Corrie. "But methinks, mannikin, that this is anything but the road to Freuchie, if I know aught of this country side."

"My master is up in the forest, a little bit above this, waiting for my tidings," said Archy.

"Aha!" cried Corrie, relaxing his features into a smile, "some love adventure, I warrant me. Awell! I am the last man to put hindrance in the way of any such matter, especially where Sir John Grant is concerned. Nay, I would willingly go a good way out of my road to help him on."

"Sayest thou so, Corrie MacDonald!" cried the urchin. "Then could I tell thee how thou mightest lend my master thy most effectual aid, and yet keep thine own road still, and that to thine own most abundant profit."

"How may that be, my small man?" demanded Corrie. "If thou canst make thy plans clear to my conviction, thou shalt find me ready, zealous, prompt, and decisive."

"Thou knowest Gibbon More Cumin, lord of these broad lands of Glenchearnich," said Archy.

"Know him?" said Corrie with a grin. "Well do I that."

"He is living here hard by at Delnahaitnich," continued the page. "He keeps home so close, that no one can even have a sight of his daughter, far less have speech of her. Couldst thou not carry away his cattle from the forest here, so as to furnish him with a reasonably rational object for travelling for a season?"

"By Saint Comb, but thou hast a wit larger than the tiny proportions of thy body might teach one to look for!" said Corrie. "The notion is excellent. I have long wished to work that lump of dough into a ferment. And, by Saint Mary, as the creach will be carried off from under his very nose, I shall stir up his temper now, if it is to be stirred up at all by mortal man. So speed to thy master, and keep him advised to watch his time; and if I don't by and by clear the way for him, by giving Gibbon More and his people a chase of a day or two through the hills after me and my men, I shall wonder of it."

"Master, master," cried Gibbon More's man Hector, as he came running in to him next morning quite out of breath, "Corrie MacDonald has been in the forest last night, and he has carried away every stot he could find on this part of your lands."

"Has the rascal taken the cows too?" demanded Gibbon coolly.

"No--sure enough--he has not taken a single cow," replied Hector, "I counted the cow-beasts myself, and they are all safe."

"There was some civility in that, however," said Gibbon laughing. "The fellow is a thief of some consideration; for if he hath left us the cows, thou knowest, Hector, that we shall have plenty of stot beasts by and by."

"Ou aye, surely, sir," said Hector as he retired, very much disappointed by the manner in which his intelligence had been received.

Corrie was not without his spies; and the oxen were hardly well so far over the hill, on their way to Lochaber, as to be fairly considered beyond all reach of recovery, when he returned with some of his people to prowl about Delnahaitnich. There he soon learned from Archy Abhach the manner and speech with which Gibbon More had received the news of his loss.

"I'll try him again," said Corrie. "The fellow must be the dullest stirk that ever was calved."

"The cows are all gone now, master!" cried the same ill-omened messenger, as he entered Gibbon More's apartment next morning before he was out of bed.

"A plague upon the plundering thief," cried Gibbon More, "has he taken the young beasts too?"

"No!" said the man, who was much disappointed to find that this, his second piece of bad news, was just as unsuccessful in rousing his master's ire as his first had been. "He has not ta'en a single young beast, but, on my conscience, I'm thinking he has ta'en enough."

"The villain robs by rule, I see," said Gibbon; "but since the young beasts are safe, Hector, we shall have plenty of both cows and stots again, anon, you know."

Corrie MacDonald, who was curious to find out how this second loss was to affect Gibbon, was absolutely piqued beyond endurance when he heard of the quiet manner in which he had taken it. Withdrawing a handful of his people from the large body of them who were then in charge of the second prey he had taken, he lay in ambush for a third night.

"We're altogether harried now then!" cried Hector, as he appeared the third morning with a face like a ghost. "Every young beast upon the place is gone."

"What!" cried Gibbon More, starting up to hurry on his clothes in a state of the fiercest excitement, "does the caitiff make a butt of me? I can bear to lose my bestial, but to be played on thus by a thieving scoundrel is more than man's patience can suffer. I'll teach these ruffians to crack their jokes upon me! Where is my two-handed sword?"

"Father, father! dear father, where are ye running to?" cried his daughter Bigla, as she met him raging out at the door like a roaring lion. "Where are you running without your bonnet?"

"I have no time to speak now," replied the infuriated Gibbon. "I'll tell you all about it when I come back."

"I fear he has gone on some rash and dangerous enterprise," said Bigla, "run, run, Hector, and gather the people, and be after him with help as fast as you may."

Hector was not slow; but he must have been active indeed, if he could have caught Gibbon More at the pace he was going. He rushed up the steep hill in front of his dwelling, and was soon out of sight.

Gibbon had no sooner reached the summit, than, throwing his eyes abroad, he espied his young cattle feeding on the south side of the hill called the Geal-charn, or the Hoary Hill; and from the smoke which he observed curling up from a ravine at a short distance from the spot where the animals were scattered about, he at once conjectured that the robbers had chosen that concealment as a fit place for cooking their morning meal. He was right in this supposition; for, judging from his former apathy, Corrie MacDonald had not quite calculated that this third act of depredation would lead to so speedy a pursuit.

"What a pity it is that Gibbon More Cumin has no more beasts left in Delnahaitnich," said Corrie MacDonald to his people, with an ironical laugh, as they sat in a circle round the fire, devouring one of the young beasts they had killed.

"We need not come back here for a while, till he sends up some more stock from Kincherdie," said one of his men.

"We have done not that much amiss in these three turns," said another. "I'm thinking we may be content to free him of blackmail for a season."

"By the beard of St. Barnabas, but we'll come back again and again, until we drive away every beast the cowardly loon has between this and Spey," said Corrie. "What should we do with such a lump of butter, but keep melting at it as long as it will run."

"Surely, surely," replied several of them.

"It will make our broth all the fatter," said Corrie, laughing again.

"Villains, do ye dare to laugh at me at the very moment when you are feeding at my cost?" cried Gibbon More, rushing suddenly and unexpectedly among them, like a raging wolf into a flock of penned sheep. "I'll teach you to make a fool of me."

The immense blade of his two-handed sword gleamed like a meteor in the air, flashed in the sun, and shed lightnings into their terrified eyes. Each of them tried to scramble to his feet as he best could; and one or two were shorn of their heads ere they could rise from the ground. Bonnets with heads in them fell to right and left, as I have seen ripe apples scattered from their parent bough by a violent gust of wind, or by the inroad of some thieving schoolboy. No one thought of anything else but flight; and the actions of all were as quick as their thoughts. But Gibbon More's enormous double-edged weapon was quicker in the repetition of its sweeping cuts than even thought itself. On he went, slashing right and left after them as they fled, till he had strewed the ravine and the hill-side with about a dozen of their carcases, and then, breathless and overcome with rage, haste, and toil, he sat himself down to rest on the heather. The remainder of the robbers were thus allowed to escape; and as he did not know the boasting Corrie MacDonald personally, that hero contrived to get safe away among the rest, and went home to Lochaber, somewhat less disposed to try experiments on the temper of Gibbon More Cumin, than he had declared himself to be before this his terrible and unlooked for onslaught.

Gibbon More's people, with Hector at their head, arrived too late to share with him in the glory of his victory. But they were useful in burying the slain. A few tumuli, which are still to be seen raising their green heads among the heather on the southern declivity of the Geal-charn, were thrown up by them over the dead bodies; and they then had the satisfaction of driving home their master's young cattle in safety to their native pasture, where the animals afterwards grew to be cows and oxen, entirely free from any further alarm from Corrie MacDonald.

I need not say that the sharp-witted page took good care that his master should profit by the temporary absence of Gibbon More. Sir John Grant was at the cottage immediately after the Lord of Glenchearnich had left it. But the knight had little advantage after all from an adventure which had cost Corrie MacDonald so dear. He had indeed the satisfaction of again beholding and conversing with Bigla; but, filled as she was at the time with alarm and anxiety about her father's safety, she could talk about or listen to no other subject. The time of the Lord of Glenchearnich's absence fled like a short dream. His anticipated travel of a few days had, by his own extraordinary activity and courage, been reduced to a few short hours, and the wary and watchful page had barely time to warn his master away, ere Gibbon More's voice was heard calling to his people, as he returned to the house begrimed with the blood and soil of his recent conflict.

But Sir John's more frequent opportunities of meeting with Bigla were soon afterwards again happily renewed by the return of Gibbon More to Kincherdie; and, by the ingenuity of the page, these stolen interviews passed over undiscovered even by the lynx-eyed Hector, whose energies were by this time somewhat diverted from their wonted watchfulness, by a certain newborn affection which had recently possessed his bosom for the fair maid Agnes.

It happened on one occasion that Gibbon More chanced to go to a fair or market at Inverness. The streets were crowded with people, as well as with horses, cows, and oxen of all sorts. There might have been observed the eagle-winged bonnet of the chief, followed by his tail of clansmen and dependants; and chieftains were seen promiscuously mingled with cattle-boys, gillies, and serfs of every degree and denomination, thronging the public way. Many were the friendly salutations, and many the flashes of hostile defiance that passed among the various personages who, coming from distant parts of the country, chanced on that day to meet each other. Often was the authority of the provost, the bailies, the sheriff, and other officials called into operation to quell embryo quarrels, and sometimes it was all that the united forces of these public functionaries could do to keep the restless and bloodthirsty dirks and claymores in their sheaths. Rarely did the mantled and well-wimpled damsels venture forth amidst the complication of dangers that were to be encountered at every step from the prevalence of those quarrels, as well as from the horns of the cattle and the heels of the horses. They contented themselves with saluting their friends from their open lattices; and many were the warm though distant acknowledgments that took place between the young and the fair ladies, who, whilst they were ostensibly occupied in gazing at the marvels in the street,--at the jesters and mummers who jingled their bells, or grinned with their painted faces, and trolled their rude and threadbare rhymes to ditties as unpolished, the pretty creatures were in reality altogether overlooking these vulgar absurdities, and were holding interesting conversations by signals, only known to themselves, with their handsome Highland lovers in the street.

Bigla Cumin was an heiress of consequence, but she was moreover very beautiful, so that many were the eyes that sought her as she sat at a lofty balcony in the house of a burgher friend of her father's, and not a few were those who endeavoured, and endeavoured in vain, to obtain one glance of recognition from her. I do not mean to say, however, that the lass was haughty, but she bore herself with the modesty befitting her years and her sex. There was but one on whom she did vouchsafe to look with an eye of yespecial favour, and that was Sir John Grant. Her heart beat in double time when he and his father, Sir Patrick the Lord of Stratherrock, passed by in their gay red and green tartan, which, except in its broad blue lysts and in its want of those pure white sprainges which enliven that of the Cumin, had so general a resemblance to it, that at a little distance they might have been easily mistaken for each other. When the rays from her bright eyes shot across the street in a condescending smile in return for the more than merely courteous reverence which he made to her, their sunshine was concentrated, if I may so express myself, as if it had been met by the burning glasses of that most wonderful man Archimedes, and it was returned to her in one melting focus of adoration.

"Angel that she is!" said Sir John to his father.

"She is an angel, indeed, boy!" replied the elder knight; "and, moreover, there be angels enow in her father's coffers, not to mention those broad acres of his which would give to the Grants so pretty a little principality in Strathspey. Stick to her, boy! She is well worth the winning."

"Would I could but have an interview with her, freed from all chance of interruption from her old father!" said Sir John in a tone of vexation.

"Trust to me, dear master," said Archy Abhach in a whisper, as at that moment he plucked the knight's sleeve. "Watch well thy time! I have seen some one in the town here to-day who will be right willing to lend thee a helping hand."

Gibbon More was not wont to go without the following of a chieftain on such occasions as this; and he generally bore his portly person over the crown of the causeway with a dignity which, when at home, he laid aside with his best bonnet, doublet, and plaid. The recognition between him and his new neighbour, as he called him, was remarkably warm and friendly on the part of Sir Patrick Grant, and very stately and condescending on his own side. His eyes were offended at the sight of the two Grants and their followers, and he sought relief from them in looking at a beautiful black palfrey which a West Highland gilly was leading down the street. The prancing, the caracoling, and the menage of the animal showed that it had been bred of the gentlest Arabian blood in some far away English pasture.

"Ho!" cried Gibbon, stopping the man. "Who is the owner of that beautiful creature?"

"I am the owner, sir," replied a sharp-eyed little man, right well accoutred both as to his arms and garb, but having no remarkable signs of any great rank about him.

"Are you for parting with the pretty creature?" inquired Gibbon More.

"I should not care much to part with him to a good customer," replied the other.

"Is he young, gentle, sound, and sure-footed?" demanded Gibbon.

"I'll answer all your questions by and by," replied the West Highlander, "if you will only do me the favour to satisfy me as to one point."

"What is that?" asked Gibbon More.

"Will you tell me what part of the country you come from?"

"From Strathspey, to be sure," replied Gibbon.

"I guessed as much," said the other. "I see, moreover, from the set of your tartan that you are a Cumin, and by your attire, bearing, and following, I can guess that you are a gentleman of some note. Do you happen to know Gibbon More Cumin of your country?"

"Know Gibbon More Cumin!" cried he, laughing good humouredly; "if I know anyone, I should know him, seeing that he always lives in the house with me, and that we never eat a meal asunder. I love him better than a brother. But not to keep you any longer in doubt--I am Gibbon More Cumin!"

"I am truly glad to see you," said the West Highlander, seizing his hand and shaking it heartily. "You are the man, of all others alive, to whom I am most obliged."

"Ha, friend!" replied Gibbon, looking hard and seriously at him, "I cannot say that I recollect having ever seen you before; how then have I happened so to have obliged you?"

"Well!" said the other, "if you cannot remember that you ever saw me before, the greater was your kindness to me--unsight unseen, as we say. It is not every man that keeps such an easy reckoning as you do of the benefits for which his friends are indebted to him."

"But what benefit have you had from me?" demanded Gibbon.

"I'll tell you that," said the West Highlander. "I'll tell you that in a moment. You see, I have no less than three strapping lasses of daughters. I have married all the three, and to each one of them I gave a tocher which you provided."

"Tut!" cried Gibbon laughing, "the man is demented. When did I ever give a tocher to daughter of yours? By St. Mungo, I have a strapping lass of a daughter of my own to portion. I have little ado therefore to portion those of other people."

"What I say is nevertheless true," replied the other. "And so sensible am I of the obligations I owe to you, that by way of a small return, and to show my gratitude, I must ask of you, as a favour, to accept of this horse of mine as a present for your daughter; and if you will go to the inn with me, I shall be happy to give you a pint of French Claret, if such be to be had in the town, to drink good luck to the young lady and her new palfrey."

"As I am a Cumin you are an honest fellow!" cried Gibbon More, shaking him again heartily by the hand. "But I prythee explain--I cannot accept either your present or your wine till you tell me who you are, and until you expound your riddle to me."

"I am not sure how far I am safe to do that," said the other archly, "especially here, on the High Street of Inverness; and you standing there with so many pretty men at your back."

"If I have done you kindnesses heretofore," said Gibbon, "what fear can you have of me now, stand where I will, or let me be backed as I may?"

"Why, then, you see," said the other, with a certain degree of comical hesitation, "I must confess that I did, on one occasion, presume somewhat too far on your liberality, and in your anger you gave me such a fright, that I am not sure that I have just altogether got the better of it yet."

"Ha! ha! ha! why, you give me more riddles every time you open your mouth," replied Gibbon. "When did I ever give you a fright?"

"Ou! troth sudden and terrible was the fright you gave me!" said the man, "and surely after tochering of three daughters, each of them with twelve beautiful milch cows and a bull, all of which came from your pastures, I should have been contented. But I'm thinking that if I was a small thing over greedy, the fright I got from Gibbon More's two-handed sword, as it flashed behind me on the Geal Charn, was enough to put all greed out of my head, so far at least as he was concerned."

"Hoo!" exclaimed Gibbon with a long whistle, "ha! ha! ha! Corrie MacDonald! as I am a Cumin, you are a most merry conditioned rogue as ever I met with! Your hand again! I accept your handsome present, and I will go drink your pot of wine with you, with all my heart, to my daughter's health, and to a better acquaintance between you and me. Ha! ha! ha! By St. Mary, but I am sorry now that I killed your men and so grievously frightened yourself. But, though the poor fellows are past all hope of recovery now, I am resolved that your dread of me shall be drowned in your own flagon. Lead on then, my brave fellow, to your hostel."

Gibbon More had too much enjoyment in this unexpected meeting and merry-making to allow it to terminate very soon; but Bigla Cumin was in some degree recompensed for the tedious time she had to tarry for her father by the long interview which she enjoyed with Sir John Grant, as well as by the sight of the beautiful prancing palfrey, which was led out for her to ride home upon.