Chapter III: In the Lion's Mouth (2)

"But you will have to remain there all night," said the man. "I have to take the keys of all the cells directly to the captain of the prison!"

So on his stocking-soles Glossin stole up after his guide, and was presently locked in with the savage and desperate smuggler. At first Hatteraick would neither speak to Glossin nor listen to a word concerning his plans.

"Plans," he cried at last, in a burst of fury, "you and your plans! You have planned me out of ship, cargo, and life. I dreamed this moment that Meg Merrilies dragged you here by the hair, and put her long clasp-knife into my hand. Ah, you don't know what she said! Sturm-wetter, it will be your wisdom not to tempt me!"

"Why, Hatteraick," said Glossin, "have you turned driveller? Rise and speak with me!"

"Hagel, nein--let me alone!"

"Get up, at least! Up with you for an obstinate Dutch brute!" said Glossin, all at once losing his temper and kicking him with his heavy boot.

"Donner and blitzen," cried Hatteraick, leaping up and grappling with him, "you shall have it then!"

Glossin resisted as best he could, but his utmost strength was as nothing in the mighty grasp of the angry savage. He fell under Hatteraick, the back of his neck coming with a fearful crash upon the iron bar.

In the morning, true to his promise, Mac-Guffog called Glossin to come out of Hatteraick's cell.

"Call louder!" answered a voice from within, grimly.

"Mr. Glossin, come away," repeated Mac-Guffog; "for Heaven's sake come away!"

"He'll hardly do that without help!" said Hatteraick.

"What are you standing chattering there for, Mac-Guffog?" cried the captain of the prison, coming up with a lantern. They found Glossin's body doubled across the iron bar. He was stone dead. Hatteraick's grip had choked the life out of him as he lay.

The murderer, having thus done justice on his accomplice, asked neither favour nor mercy for himself, save only that he might have paper whereon to write to his firm in Holland.

"I was always faithful to owners," he said, when they reproached him with his crimes. "I always accounted for cargo to the last stiver! As for that carrion," he added (pointing to Glossin), "I have only sent him to the devil a little ahead of me!"

They gave him what he asked for--pens, ink, and paper. And on their return, in a couple of hours, they found his body dangling from the wall. The smuggler had hanged himself by a cord taken from his own truckle-bed.

And though Mac-Guffog lost his place, on the suspicion of having introduced Glossin into Hatteraick's cell, there were many who believed that it was the Evil One himself who had brought the rogue and the ruffian together in order that they might save the hangman the trouble of doing his office upon them.

* * * * *

The end can be told in a word. Harry Bertram was duly and legally returned as heir of Ellangowan. His father's debts were soon paid, and the Colonel, in giving him his daughter, gave him also the means of rebuilding the ancient castle of the Ellangowan race. Sir Robert Hazlewood had no objections to Lucy Bertram as a daughter-in-law, so soon as he knew that she brought with her as a dowry the whole estate of Singleside, which her brother insisted on her taking in accordance with her aunt's first intention. And lastly, in the new castle, there was one chamber bigger than all the others, called the Library, and just off it a little one, in which dwelt the happiest of men upon the earth. This chamber was called on the plans "Mr. Sampson's Apartment."

* * * * *

THE END OF THE FOURTH AND LAST TALE FROM "GUY MANNERING."

* * * * *

INTERLUDE OF CONSULTATION

A unanimous sigh greeted the close of _Guy
Mannering_. It was the narrator's reward--the same
which the orator hears, when, in a pause of speech,
the strained attention relaxes, and the people,
slowly bent forward like a field of corn across
which the wind blows, settle back into their
places.

"A jolly ending--and the cave part was ripping!"
summed up Hugh John, nodding his head in grave
approval of Sir Walter, "but why can't he always
write like that?"

"Couldn't keep it up," suggested Sir Toady Lion;
"books can't all be caves, you know."

"Well, anyhow, I'm not going to play any more
heroes," said Hugh John, emphatically. "I bags
Hatteraick--when we get out to the Den!"

The young man intimated by these cabalistic words
that the part of Hatteraick was to be his in any
future play-acting.

"Which being interpreted," said Sweetheart, with
spirit, "means that I am to be Gilbert Faa the
gipsy, and Glossin, and all these nasty sort of
people. Now I don't mind Meg Merrilies a bit. And
being shot like that--that's always something. But
I warn you, Hugh John, that if you were Hatteraick
ten times over, you couldn't get me down over that
iron bar!"

"No, that you couldn't," said Sir Toady Lion,
seeing a far-off chance for himself; "why,
Sweetheart could just batter your head against the
wall! And then when Mac-Guffog came in the morning
with his lantern, he'd find that old Hatteraick
hadn't any need to go and hang himself! But don't
you two squabble over it; _I_ will do Hatteraick
myself!"

"A very likely thing!" sneered Hugh John. "You
heard me say 'Bags Hatteraick,' Toady Lion! Every
one heard me--you can't go back on that. You know
you can't!"

This was unanswerable. It was felt that to palter
with such sacred formulas would be to renounce the
most sacred obligations and to unsettle the very
foundations of society.

Whereupon I hastened to keep his Majesty's peace by
proposing a compromise.

"The girls surely don't want to play the villains'
parts," I began.

"Oh, but just don't they!" ejaculated Maid
Margaret, with the eyes of a child-saint
momentarily disappointed of Paradise. "Why does a
cat not eat butter for breakfast every morning?
Because it jolly well can't get it."

"Well, at any rate," said I, severely, "girls
oughtn't to _want_ to play the villains' parts."

"No," said Sweetheart, with still, concentrated
irony, "they ought always to do just what boys tell
them to, of course--never think of wanting anything
that boys want, and always be thankful for boys'
leavings! U-m-m! _I_ know!"

"You should wait till you hear what I meant to say,
Sweetheart," I went on, with as much dignity as I
could muster. "There are plenty of characters you
will like to be, in every one of the books, but I
think it would be fair always to draw lots for the
first choice!"

"Yes--yes--oh, yes!" came the chorus, from three of
the party. But Hugh John, strong in the
indefeasible rights of man, only repeated, "_I_
said 'Bags Hatteraick!'"

"Well, then," I said, "for this time Hatteraick is
yours, but for the future it will be fairer to draw
lots for first choice."

"All right," growled Hugh John; "then I suppose
I'll have to put up with a lot more heroes!
Milksops, I call them!"

"Which book shall we have next?" said Sweetheart,
who was beginning to be rather ashamed of her heat.
"I don't believe that you could tell us _Rob Roy!_"

"Well, I can try," said I, modestly. For so it
behooves a modern parent to behave in the presence
of his children.

"_She_," said Hugh John, pointing directly at his
sister, "she read nearly half the book aloud, and
we never came to Rob at all. That's why she asks
for _Rob Roy_."

"But there's all about Alan Breck in the
preface--ripping, it is!" interpolated Sir Toady,
who had been doing some original research, "tell us
about him."

But Alan Breck was quite another story, and I said
so at once. _Rob Roy_ they had asked for. _Rob Roy_
they should have. And then I would stand or fall by
their judgment.

RED CAP TALES

TOLD FROM

ROB ROY

THE FIRST TALE FROM "ROB ROY"

FRANK THE HIGHWAYMAN

FRANK OSBALDISTONE had come back from France to quarrel with his father. A merchant he would not be. He hated the three-legged stool, and he used the counting-house quills to write verses with.

His four years in Bordeaux had spoiled him for strict business, without teaching him anything else practical enough to please his father, who, when he found that his son persisted in declining the stool in the dark counting-room in Crane Alley, packed him off to the care of his brother, Sir Hildebrand Osbaldistone of Osbaldistone Hall in Northumberland, there to repent of his disobedience.

"I will have no idlers about me," he said, "I will not ask even my own son twice to be my friend and my partner. One of my nephews shall take the place in the firm which you have declined."

And old Mr. Osbaldistone, of the firm of Osbaldistone and Tresham, merchants in London town, being above all things a man of his word, Master Frank took to the North Road accordingly, an exile from his home and disinherited of his patrimony.

At first he was gloomy enough. He was leaving behind him wealth, ease, society. As he looked back from the heights of Highgate, the bells of the city steeples rang out their "Turn again, Whittington!" And to tell the truth, Frank Osbaldistone felt half inclined to obey. But the thought of his father's grave scorn held him to his purpose, and soon the delights of travel and the quickly changing scene chased the sadness from his heart. Indeed, as was natural to a young man, a good horse under his thigh and fifty guineas in his pocket helped amazingly to put him in the best humour with himself.

The company Frank met with on the North Road was commonplace and dull. But one poor man, a sort of army officer in a gold-laced hat, whose martial courage was more than doubtful, amused Frank Osbaldistone by clinging desperately to a small but apparently very heavy portmanteau, which he carried on the pillion before him, never parting from it for a moment. This man's talk was all of well-dressed highwaymen, whose conversation and manners induced the unwary to join company with them. Then in some shady dell whistling up their men, the unlucky traveller found himself despoiled--of his goods certainly, perhaps also of his life.

It delighted Frank's boyish humour beyond measure to play upon the fears of this gallant King's officer--which he proceeded to do by asking him first whether his bag were heavy or not, then by hinting that he would like to be informed as to his route, and finally by offering to take the bag on his own pillion and race him with the added weight to the nearest village.

This last audacious proposal almost took the man's breath away, and from that moment he was convinced that Frank was none other than the "Golden Farmer" himself in disguise.

At Darlington, the landlord of their inn introduced a Scotch cattle dealer, a certain Mr. Campbell, to share their meal. He was a stern-faced, dark-complexioned man, with a martial countenance and an air of instinctive command which took possession of the company at once. The lawyer, the doctor, the clergyman, even Frank himself, found themselves listening with deference to the words of this plainly dressed, unobtrusive, Scottish drover. As for the man with the weighty bag, he fairly hung upon his words. And especially so when the landlord informed the company that Mr. Campbell had with his own hand beaten off seven highwaymen.

"Thou art deceived, friend Jonathan," said the Scot, "they were but two, and as beggarly loons as man could wish to meet withal!"

"Upon my word, sir," cried Morris, for that was the name of the man with the portmanteau, edging himself nearer to Mr. Campbell, "really and actually did you beat two highwaymen with your own hand?"

"In troth I did, sir," said Campbell, "and I think it nae great thing to mak' a sang about."

"Upon my word, sir," said Morris, eagerly, "I go northward, sir--I should be happy to have the pleasure of your company on my journey."

And, in spite of short answers, he continued to press his proposal upon the unwilling Scot, till Campbell had very unceremoniously to extricate himself from his grip, telling him that he was travelling upon his own private business, and that he could not unite himself to any stranger on the public highway.

The next day Frank approached Osbaldistone Hall, which stood under the great rounded range of the Cheviot Hills. He could already see it standing, stark and grey, among its ancestral oaks, when down the ravine streamed a band of huntsmen in full chase, the fox going wearily before, evidently near the end of his tether. Among the rout and nearer to Frank than the others, owing to some roughness of the ground, rode a young lady in a man's coat and hat--which, with her vest and skirt, made the first riding-habit Frank had ever seen.

The girl's cheeks were bright with the exercise. Her singular beauty was the more remarkable, chanced upon in so savage a scene. And when, after hearing the "Whoop--dead!" which told of poor Reynard's decease, she paused to tie up her loosened locks, Master Frank stared most undisguisedly and even impolitely.

One of the young huntsmen, clad in red and green, rode towards her, waving the brush in his hand as if in triumph over the girl.

"I see," she replied, "I see. But make no noise about it. If Phoebe here (patting the neck of her mare) had not got among the cliffs, _you_ would have had little cause for boasting."

Then the two of them looked at Frank and spoke together in a low tone. The young man seemed sheepishly to decline some proposal which the girl made to him.

"Then if you won't, Thornie," she said at last, "I must."

And turning to Frank she asked him if he had seen anything of a friend of theirs, one Mr. Francis Osbaldistone, who for some days past had been expected at the Hall.

Frank instantly and gladly claimed kindred.

"Then," said the girl, smiling, "as this young man's politeness seems to have fallen asleep, I must e'en be master of the ceremonies, however improper it may be. So I beg to present to you young Squire Thorncliff Osbaldistone, your cousin, and Die Vernon, your accomplished cousin's poor kinswoman."

The "accomplished cousin" finally decided to shake hands with mingled awkwardness and an assumption of sulky indifference. This being done, he immediately announced his intention of going to help the huntsmen couple up the hounds, and so he took himself off.

"There he goes," said the young lady, following him with disdainful eyes, "the prince of grooms and cock-fighters and blackguard horse-racers. But truly there is not one of them to mend another!"

She turned sharply upon Frank.

"Have you read Markham?" she demanded.

Poor Frank had never even heard of that author. The girl held up her hands in horror.

"Never to have heard of Markham--the Koran of this savage tribe--the most celebrated author on farriery!" she cried. "Then I fear you are equally a stranger to the more modern names of Gibson and Bartlett?"

"I am, indeed, Miss Vernon," answered Frank, meekly.

"And do you not blush to own it?" she cried. "Why, we will disown the alliance. Then I suppose you can neither give a ball, nor a mash, nor a horn?"

"I confess," said Frank, "I trust all these matters to my groom."

"Incredible carelessness!" she continued. "What was your father thinking of? And you cannot shoe a horse, or cut his mane and tail. Or worm a dog, or crop his ears, or cut his dew-claws; or reclaim a hawk or give him casting-stones, or direct his diet when he is sealed! Or--"

Frank could only once for all profess his utter ignorance of all such accomplishments.

"Then in the name of Heaven, Mr. Frank Osbaldistone, what _can_ you do?"

"Very little to the purpose, I am afraid, Miss Vernon," answered Frank; "only this--when my groom has dressed my horse I can ride him, and when my hawk is in the field, I can fly him."

"Can you do this?" said Die Vernon, setting her horse to a rude gate composed of pieces of wood from the forest, and clearing it at a bound. In a moment Frank was at her side.

"There are hopes for you yet," she said. "I was afraid that you were a very degenerate Osbaldistone. But what brings you to Cub Hall? I suppose you could have stayed away if you had liked?"

"The Cubs of the Hall may be as you describe them," said Frank, looking at his companion, "but I am convinced there is one exception that will make amends for all their deficiencies."

"Oh, you mean Rashleigh!" said Die Vernon.

"Indeed, I do not," said Frank, who had not been four years in France for nothing, "I never even heard of Rashleigh. I mean some one very much nearer me."

"I suppose I should pretend not to understand you," she answered, "but that is not my way. If I were not in the saddle, I would make you a courtesy. But seriously, I deserve your exception, for besides Rashleigh and the old priest, I am the only conversable being about Osbaldistone Hall."

"And who, for Heaven's sake, is Rashleigh?"

"Your youngest cousin, about your own age, but not so--so well-looking. Full of natural sense--learned, as being bred to the church, but in no hurry to take orders--and in addition by all odds the cleverest man in a country where such are scarce."

They rode back to the Hall, but as it was some time before Frank could get any one to attend to his own horse and Diana's mare, which she had left in his charge, he had time to look about him and take in the old castle and its rough, wasteful prodigality of service. By and by, however, there arrived Sir Hildebrand, who, among his sons, seemed, by comparison at least, both intelligent and a gentleman. He gave Frank a rough but hearty welcome to his mansion.

"Art welcome, lad!" he said. "I would have seen thee before but had to attend to the kennelling of the hounds. So thy father has thought on the old Hall and old Sir Hildebrand at last! Well, better late than never! Here are thy cousins--Percie, Thornie, John, Dick, and Wilfred. But where's Rashleigh? Ay, here's Rashleigh! Take thy long body aside, Thornie, and let's see thy brother a bit. And here's my little Die, my sister's daughter, the prettiest girl on our dales, be the next who she may. And so now let's to the sirloin!"

The five elder brethren of Osbaldistone Hall were all cast in one mould--tall, well-formed, athletic men, but dull of feature and expression, and seemingly without any intellect whatever. Rashleigh, the youngest, was the exact opposite of his brethren. Short in stature, thick-set, and with a curious halt in his gait, there was something about his dark irregular features--something evil, relentless, and cruel, which even the assumed gentleness of his words and the melody of his voice could not hide. His brothers were mere oafs in learning, none of whom ever looked at printed paper save to make a fly-book of it. But Rashleigh was learned, and, when he pleased, of manners exquisitely refined.

It was, however, Miss Diana who really introduced Frank to his cousins, and the ceremony took place that day at dinner, while the young men were devoting themselves heartily to the meat which they piled up on their platters. The clatter of knives and forks covered her voice.

"Your cousins," she said, "taken all together, form a happy compound of the sot, the gamekeeper, the bully, the horse-jockey, and the fool. But as no two leaves off the same tree are quite exactly alike, so these ingredients are differently mingled in your kinsmen. Percie, the son and heir, has more of the sot than of the gamekeeper, bully, horse-jockey, or fool. My precious Thornie is more of the bully--John, who sleeps whole weeks among the hills, has most of the gamekeeper. The jockey is powerful with Dickon, who rides two hundred miles by day and night, to be bought and sold himself at a race-meeting. And the fool so predominates over Wilfred's other characteristics that he may be termed a fool positive."

Though Frank pressed her, Die Vernon refused to add Sir Hildebrand to her gallery of family portraits.

"I owe him some kindnesses," she said, "or what at least were meant for such. And besides, I like him. You will be able to draw his picture yourself when you know him better."

Having once before been successful with a compliment, when talking to his beautiful companion, Frank now summoned his French breeding and tried a second. He had been silent for a minute, and Miss Vernon, turning her dark eyes on him, had said with her usual careless frankness, "You are thinking of me!"

"How is it possible," answered Master Frank, "that I should think of anything else, seated where I have the happiness to be."

But Diana only smiled with a kind of haughty scorn, and replied, "I must tell you at once, Mr. Osbaldistone, that your pretty sayings are wholly lost on me. Keep them for the other maids whom you will meet here in the north. There are plenty who will thank you for them. As for me, I happen to know their value. Come, be sensible! Why, because she is dressed in silk and gauze, should you think that you are compelled to unload your stale compliments on every unfortunate girl? Try to forget my sex. Call me Tom Vernon. Speak to me as to a friend and companion, and you have no idea how much I shall like you."

Frank's expression of amazement at these words egged on Diana to further feats of daring.

"But do not misjudge me," she said, "as I see you are likely to do. You are inclined to think me a strange bold girl, half coquette, half romp, desirous, perhaps, of storming you into admiration. You never were more mistaken. I would show as much favour to your father, as readily make _him_ my confidant, if he were here--and if I thought he were capable of understanding me. The truth is, I must speak of these things to some one or die."

Frank changed the subject. "Will you not add Rashleigh to the family gallery?" he said.

"No, no," she said hastily, "it is never safe to speak of Rashleigh--no, not even when, as you now think, he has left the table. Do not be too sure even of that--and when you speak of Rashleigh Osbaldistone, get up to the top of Otterscope Hill, stand on the very peak, and speak in whispers. And, after all, do not be too sure that a bird of the air may not carry the matter. Rashleigh was my tutor for four years. We are mutually tired of each other, and we shall heartily rejoice to be separated!"

Nevertheless Rashleigh it was who had been selected in full family conclave to take Frank's empty stool in the counting-house of Osbaldistone, Tresham and Company in Crane Alley. Indeed, there was no choice. His brothers were incapable even of the multiplication table. Besides, they wished him away, with the feelings of mice who hear that the family cat is going off to fill another situation. Even his father, who stood no little in awe of his clever son, breathed more freely at the thought of Osbaldistone Hall without Rashleigh.

It was not long before Mr. Frank Osbaldistone had a taste of his cousin Rashleigh's quality. The very next morning his uncle and cousins looked at him curiously when he came down early. Sir Hildebrand even quoted a rhyme for his benefit,

"He that gallops his horse on Blackstone Edge,
May chance to catch a fall."

It was a fox-hunting morning, and during a long run Frank sustained his character as a good and daring rider, to the admiration of Diana and Sir Hildebrand, and to the secret disappointment of his other kind kinsfolk, who had prophesied that he would certainly "be off at the first burst," chiefly for the reason that he had a queer, outlandish binding round his hat.

It was plain that Diana wanted to speak with him apart, but the close attendance of Cousin Thornie for some time made this impossible. That loutish youth's persistence finally fretted the girl, and having been accustomed all her life to ride the straightest way to her desire, she bade him be off to see that the earths above Woolverton Mill were duly stopped.

After some objections Thornie was got safely out of the road, and Diana led the way to a little hill whence there was a fine view in every direction. She pointed, as Frank thought, somewhat significantly to the north.

"Yonder whitish speck is Hawkesmore Crag in Scotland," she said, "the distance is hardly eighteen miles, as the crow flies. Your horse will carry you there in two hours--and I will lend you my mare if you think her less blown."

"But," said Frank, quite mystified, "I have so little wish to be in Scotland, that if my horse's head were in Scotland, I would not give his tail the trouble of following. What should I do in Scotland, Miss Vernon?"

"Why, provide for your safety--do you understand me now, Mr. Frank?"

"Less than ever, Miss Vernon," he answered. "I have not the most distant conception of what you mean."

"Why, then," said Diana, "to be plain, there is an information lodged with our nearest Justice of the Peace, Squire Inglewood, that you were concerned in a robbery of government papers and money sent to pay the troops in Scotland. A man with whom you travelled, and whom you certainly frightened, has lodged such a complaint against you. His name is Morris."

"Morris has been robbed?"

"Ay," said Diana, "and he swears you are the man who robbed him."

"Then Sir Hildebrand believes it?" cried Frank.

"He does," answered Diana, "and to tell the truth, so did I until this moment."

"Upon my word, I am obliged to you and my uncle for your opinion of me."

"Oh, it is nothing to be ashamed of," she said, smiling, "no mere highway robbery. The man was a government messenger. We are all Jacobites about here, and no man would have thought the worse of you for bidding him stand and deliver. Why, my uncle had a message from Squire Inglewood himself, that he had better provide for your safety by smuggling you over the border into Scotland."

"Tell me," said Frank, somewhat impatiently, "where does this Squire Inglewood live? I will go and answer the charge instantly and in person."

"Well said--I will go with you," said Diana, promptly, "it was never the Vernon way to desert a friend in time of need."

Frank tried to dissuade her from this, but he could not combat the girl's resolution. So they set off together for Inglewood Hall. As they entered the courtyard, they met Rashleigh just coming out.

Miss Vernon instantly challenged him, before he got time to make up a story.

"Rashleigh," she said, "you have heard of Mr. Frank's affair, and you have been over to the Justice talking about it."

But Rashleigh was equally ready.

"Certainly," he answered, "I have been endeavouring to render my cousin what service I could. But at the same time I am sorry to meet him here."

"As a friend and kinsman, Mr. Osbaldistone," said Frank, "you should have been sorry to meet me anywhere else but where my character is at stake, and where it is my intention to clear it."

However, it was evidently not Miss Vernon's purpose to quarrel with Rashleigh at that time. She led him apart, and began talking to him--at first quietly, then with obvious anger. From her manner she was charging him with knowing who had really committed the robbery, and pressing upon him in some way to make plain his cousin's innocence. He resisted long, but at length gave way.

"Very well, then," he said, "you are a tyrant, Diana. Still, it shall be as you desire. But you know that you ought not to be here. You must return with me at once!"

"I will do no such thing," said the girl; "not a foot will I go back till such time as I see Frank well out of the hands of the Philistines. He has been bidding me to go back all the time, himself. But I know better. Also, I know you, my cousin Rashleigh, and my being here will give you a stronger motive to be speedy in performing your promise."

Rashleigh departed in great anger at her obstinacy, and Frank and Die together sought the den of the Justice, to which they were guided by a high voice chanting the fag-end of an old bottle-song:

"Oh, in Skipton-in-Craven
Is never a haven
But many a day foul weather,
And he that would say
A pretty girl nay
I wish for his cravat a tether."

"Hey day," said Die Vernon, "the genial Justice must have dined already--I did not think it had been so late."

As Diana had supposed, the Justice had dined. But though both his clerk Jobson and Frank's accuser Morris were with him, he showed himself as pleased to see Diana as he was evidently disinclined for all further legal business.

"Ah, ha, Die Vernon," he cried, starting up with great alacrity, "the heath-bell of Cheviot and the blossom of the border, come to see how the old bachelor keeps house? Art welcome, girl, as the flowers in May!"

Miss Vernon told him that on this occasion she could not stay. She had had a long ride that morning, and she must return at once. But if he were a good kind Justice, he would immediately despatch young Frank's business and let them go.

This the "good Justice" was very willing to do, but Clerk Jobson, alert in his office, pressed that the law should have its course, while Frank himself demanded no better than that the mystery should be cleared up once and for all.

Whereupon the man who had been robbed repeated his statement. He had, it seemed, been first of all terrified by Frank's antics. And then on the open moor, when he had found himself stopped, and relieved of his portmanteau by two masked men, he had distinctly heard the name "Osbaldistone" applied by one of his assailants in speaking to the other. He furthermore certified that all the Osbaldistones had been Papists and Jacobites from the time of William the Conquerer. From which it was clear that Frank was the guilty man!

Frank replied that it was true that, like a foolish, gamesome youth, he had certainly practised somewhat on the fears of the man Morris, but that he had never seen him since he parted from him at Darlington, and that, far from being a Papist and a Jacobite, he could easily prove that he had been brought up in the strictest school of Presbyterianism and in full obedience to the government of King George.

Clerk Jobson, however, was sharp enough to turn Frank's admissions against him, and said that since he had voluntarily assumed the behaviour of a robber or malefactor, he had by that very act brought himself within the penalties of the law.

But at this moment a letter was handed to the Clerk, which informed him that a certain old Gaffer Rutledge was at the point of death, and that he, Clerk Jobson, must go immediately to his house in order to settle all his worldly affairs.

The clerk, after offering to make out the warrant of commitment before setting out, at last, and with great reluctance, rode away. Then the Justice, who evidently still fully believed in Frank's guilt, counselled him as a friend to let bygones be bygones, and to give Mr. Morris back his portmanteau. Frank had hardly time to be indignant at this when a servant announced--"A stranger to wait upon the Justice!"

"A stranger!" echoed the Justice, in very bad temper; "not upon business, or I'll--" But his protestation was cut short by the entrance of the stranger himself, and by the stern deep voice of Mr. Campbell, who immediately produced his usual effect upon Squire Inglewood.

"My business is peculiar," said the Scot, "and I ask your Honour to give it your most instant consideration."

Then Mr. Campbell turned on Morris such a look of ferocity that it made that valiant gentleman shake visibly from head to foot.

"I believe you cannot have forgotten what passed between us at our last meeting," he said, "and you can bear me witness to the Justice that I am a man of fortune and honour. You will be some time resident in my vicinity, and you know it will be in my power to do as much for you. Speak out, man, and do not sit there chattering your jaws like a pair of castanets."

At last an answer was extracted from the trembling Mr. Morris, but with as much difficulty as if it had been a tooth.

"Sir--sir--," he stammered, "yes--I do believe you to be a man of fortune and of honour--I do believe it!"

"Then," said Campbell, "you will bear me witness that I was in your company when the valise was stolen, but did not think fit to interfere, the affair being none of mine. Further you will tell the Justice that no man is better qualified than I to bear testimony in this case."

"No man better qualified, certainly," assented Morris, with a heavy sigh. In order to prove his character, Mr. Campbell put into the hands of Justice Inglewood a certificate given under the seal and in the handwriting of the great Duke of Argyle himself. The Justice, who had stood by the Duke in 1714, was duly impressed, and told the Scot that his additional testimonial was perfectly satisfactory.

"And now," he added, "what have you to say about this robbery?"

"Briefly this," said Mr. Campbell, "the robber for whom Mr. Morris took Mr. Osbaldistone was both a shorter and a thicker man. More than that, I saw under the false face he wore, when it slipped aside, that his features were altogether different!"

Between terror and the determined attitude of Campbell, Morris was soon forced to withdraw his information against Frank, and the Justice, glad to be rid of so troublesome a case, instantly threw the papers into the fire.

"You are now at perfect liberty, Mr. Osbaldistone," said Squire Inglewood, "and you, Mr. Morris, are set quite at your ease."

In spite of this Mr. Morris did not seem exactly comfortable, especially as Mr. Campbell expressed his intention of accompanying him to the next highway, telling him that he would be as safe in his company as in his father's kailyard.

"Zounds, sir," he said as they went out, "that a chield with such a black beard should have no more heart than a hen-partridge. Come on wi' ye, like a frank fellow, once and for all!"

The voices died away, the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and after a few kindly words from the Justice, Diana and Frank set out on their way home. On the road they met Clerk Jobson returning in great haste and in a most villanous temper. The will-making, even the illness of Gaffer Rutledge, had proved to be a "bam," that is to say, a hoax. The clerk's language became so impertinent towards Miss Vernon, that, if she had not prevented him, Frank would certainly have broken the rascal's head.

The revel was in full swing at Osbaldistone Hall when they returned. So for the sake of peace Diana ordered some dinner to be brought to them in the library. This was a large neglected room, walled about with great books, into which hardly any of the Osbaldistones ever came, and which accordingly Diana had appropriated as her peculiar sanctum.

To this chamber Rashleigh Osbaldistone penetrated after dinner had been removed. He came to explain the events of the day, but except that he had met Campbell by chance, and that, having learned that he had been an eye-witness to the robbery, he had sent him on to Squire Inglewood's, there was not much more that he seemed inclined to reveal.

Afterwards, however, in his own room, Rashleigh became more communicative. He desired to know what kind of man Frank's father was, with whom in future he was to be placed. And in return for this information he told Frank what he wished to know as to Diana Vernon. She was, said Rashleigh, to marry Thorncliff, according to a family compact of long standing. But he intimated in addition that she would greatly have preferred himself, and that, indeed, he had withdrawn from the care of her studies on account of the too evident affection she had begun to show towards one, who, as a son of the church, was destined never to marry.

This information rankled in Frank's mind, and all the next day he was sullen and even brutal in his manner towards Miss Vernon. But she did not grow angry, and merely left him to fill up the measure of his folly--which he presently did by an affray with Rashleigh and his other cousins over the wine-cups in the evening, in which swords were drawn and blows given.

The next morning, however, Miss Vernon called him to account.

"Upon my word, Mr. Francis Osbaldistone," she said, seating herself in one of the great chairs in the library, like a judge upon the bench, "your character improves upon us. Last night's performance was a masterpiece. You contrived to exhibit in the course of one evening all the various qualifications of your several cousins--the gentle and generous temper of Rashleigh, the temperance of Percie, the cool courage of Thorncliff, John's skill in dog-breaking, Dickon's aptitude for betting--all these were exhibited by the same Mr. Francis, and with a choice of time and place worthy of the taste and sagacity of Wilfred."

Frank expressed his shame and sorrow as best he could. He had been troubled, he said, by some information that he had received.

Instantly Miss Vernon took him up.

"And now," she said, "please tell me instantly what it was that Rashleigh said of me--I have a right to know and know I will!"

It was some time before Frank could bring himself to tell Diana what her cousin had really hinted concerning herself, and when she heard that he had affirmed her wish to marry him in preference to Thorncliff, she shuddered from head to foot.

"No," she cried, all her soul instantly on fire, "any lot rather than that--the sot, the gambler, the bully, the jockey, the insensate fool were a thousand times preferable to Rashleigh! But the convent, the jail--the grave--shall be welcome before them all!"

INTERLUDE OF DISCUSSION

At the abrupt close of the story the children
looked not a little surprised, nor did they
manifest their usual eagerness to rush out of doors
and instantly to reduce the tale to action.

The first difficulty was as to who the real
highwayman could be.

"Did Frank _really_ take the man's bag with the
money and things?" ventured Maid Margaret, a little
timidly. She knew that she would be promptly
contradicted.

"No, of course not," shouted Hugh John, "it was the
Scotch drover, Campbell,--for how else could he
know so well about it? Of course it was--_I_ knew
it from the first."

Meantime Sweetheart had been musing deeply.

"Do you know," she said gently, "I am most of all
sorry for Die Vernon. I don't think that I want to
play in this story. It is too real. I think Die
Vernon lived."

"Why--didn't they all live?" said Maid Margaret,
plaintively. For the world of books was still
quite alive for her. She had not lost the most
precious of all the senses. Dream-gold was as good
as Queen's-head-gold fresh out of the mint for her.
Happy Maid Margaret!

"I am sure Die Vernon was real," Sweetheart went
on; "last night when you were all out cycle-riding
and I was waiting for my Latin lesson, I read a bit
of the book--a chapter that father has not told us.
And it made me sorry for Die. She wished that she
had been born a man, so that she might say and do
the same things as others. She was alone in the
world, she said. She needed protection, yet if she
said or did anything naturally, every one thought
what a bold, forward girl she was! I have felt that
too!"

"Rubbish!" said Hugh John, in high remorseless
scorn, "_you_ are not 'alone in the world!' No, not
much. And if we say or do anything to you, you
jolly well whack us over the head. Why, the last
time I called you--"

"That will do, Hugh John," interrupted Sweetheart,
in very Die Vernonish voice.

"Well, when I called you--'Thinggummy'--_you
know_--you hit me with a stick and the mark lasted
three days!"

"And served you right!" said Sweetheart, calmly.

"Well, I'm not saying it didn't, am I?" retorted
honest Hugh John, "but anyway _you_ needn't go
about doing _wooly-woo_--

"'My nest it is harried,
My children all gone!'"

"Oh, you are a boy and can't understand--or
won't!" said Sweetheart, with a sigh, "I needn't
have expected it. But Diana Vernon did make me cry,
especially the bit about her being a
Catholic--stop--I will find it!"

And she foraged among the books on the shelf for
the big Abbotsford edition of _Rob Roy_, the one
with the fine old-fashioned pictures.

"Here it is," she said with her finger on the
place.

"'I belong to an oppressed sect and antiquated
religion (she read), and instead of getting credit
for my devotion, as is due to all other good girls,
my kind friend Justice Inglewood might send me to
the house of correction for it. . . . I am by
nature of a frank and unreserved disposition,--a
plain, true-hearted girl, who would willingly act
honestly and openly by all the world, and yet fate
has entangled me in such a series of nets and
toils and entanglements, that I dare not speak a
word for fear of consequences, not to myself but to
others.'"

Sweetheart sighed again and repeated thoughtfully,
"I _am_ sorry for Die Vernon!"

"Humph," said Hugh John, with dogged masculine
logic, "girls are always making up troubles, I
think. I don't see what she has to 'whimp'
about--everybody did just as she said at that
Hall--more than I would do for any silly girl, I
bet! Just you try it on, only once, Miss
Sweetheart, that's all! She has all she can eat and
can order it herself--lots of horses and riding--a
gun--cricky, I only wish I had her chances! Think
of it--just oblige me by thinking of it--secret
passages to come and go by, night and day, right
plumb in the wall under your nose, mysterious
priests, Jesuits, Jacobites, and things. Why, it's
nearly as good as Crusoe's Island, I declare."

Sweetheart looked at Hugh John with the far-away
gentle compassion which always drove that
matter-of-fact warrior wild.

"All girls are the same," he asserted insultingly,
"they always get thinking they are going to die
right off, if only their little finger aches!"

"You'll be sorry!" said Sweetheart, warningly.

"Oh, will I?" said Hugh John, truculently, "isn't
what I say true, Toady Lion?"

But Toady Lion was sitting upon a buffet, in the
character of Morris upon his portmanteau. He was
shaking and chattering with such exaggerated terror
that Maid Margaret, wrapped in a dust-sheet for a
disguise and armed with the kitchen poker, could
not rob him for very laughter. So neither of them
paid any heed.

"You'll be sorry for speaking like that about Die
Vernon," Sweetheart went on; "I've looked and I
know. She was a true heroine. And she is worth a
whole pack of your heroes any day."

"And, indeed, that's not saying much!" said Hugh
John, who also had his sorrows. "But at any rate
that was no proper place to break off a story. And
I'll tell father so. Let's tease to have some more.
It's a wet day, and we can't do anything else!"

"Oh, yes--let's!" said Sweetheart. "Stop all that,
Toady Lion, and you, Maid Margaret. We are going to
ask for the second tale from _Rob Roy!_"

"Well," grumbled Hugh John, "I hope that there will
be more about Rob Roy in it this time. It's not too
soon."

And Sweetheart only continued to regard him with
the same quiet but irritating smile, and nodded
her head as who would say, "Those who live the
longest see the most!"

THE SECOND TALE FROM "ROB ROY"