Chapter 5

He rose for the purpose of applying the emollient he had threatened; but a loud scream evinced that a woman, however much she may worship his Satanic Majesty, cares not for his familiarities. The widow fainted; and what may be supposed her feelings, when she found, on coming to herself, that that identical and terrific red liquor had had a share in her recovery! Again she screamed; but no kindly neighbour came to rescue her from her perilous situation. Those who heard her cries, had many strange thoughts as to what species of punishment she was undergoing, for her sins. The conjectures were endless. "What could he be doing to Widow Lindsay?" was the universal question. Some supposed that she was in the act of being carried off, and was struggling to get out of his talons; some looked for the passing flame, in the midst of which, the poor widow, clasped in his arms, would be seen on her luminous journey to the lower world; and there were not few who pretended to find, in the past life of the wretched victim, a very good legitimate cause for the visit of the stranger, and the severity he was clearly exercising towards her.

"Thou'lt be the better for thy faint, Widow Lindsay," said the stranger, as she recovered, "seeing that what blood it has sent from thy heart, will be returned with the addition of that liquor which is truly the water of life. Dost forget, good widow, that, when I was last here, thou and Meg Johnston would have fought for a can of it, if I had not made the can two? Come now, and let us fuddle our noses till they be as red as the liquor itself, and thy spectacles shew thee two noses, before they melt with the heat of their ruby supporter.

"'However this world do change and vary, Oh, let us in heart never more be sary.'"

"Avaunt ye! in the name o' the five holy wounds!" muttered the widow, as she held up the Sathanifuge crow in his face.

"Well, and if thou wilt not, here goes!" replied he, as he threw the contents of the bicker in the fire, which blazed up till the house seemed, to those waiting fearfully in the distance, to be in flames.

Many an eye was now directed to the door and windows, to see Widow Lindsay take her pyromantic flight through the flaming fields of ether; and they continued their gaze till they saw him of the red cravat sally forth, when fear closed up the vision, and they saw no more. Meanwhile he strode on, singing all the way--

"Full oft I muse, and be's in thocht; How this false world is aye on flocht,"

till he came to the door of Meg Johnston's cottage. He found it deserted; and then stalked on to honest John Simson's, which was in like manner empty.

"What can this mean?" he said to himself, as he bent his long steps to Wat Webster's, where fearful messengers, as we have seen, had already preceded him. "My person has lost its charm, my converse its interest, and my drink its spirit-stirring power. But we shall see what Wat Webster and his Dame Kitty, and the fair Marion, say to the residue of my authority. Ah, Marion, as I think of thee--

"'How heises and bleizes My heart wi' sic a fyre, As raises these praises That do to heaven aspire.'"

"Ha! ha! I will there outdevil all my devilries. My fire-chariots have as yet flown off without a passenger; but this night I shall not go home alone."

And he continued striding onwards in the deserted and silent passage, till he came to Wat Webster's, where the collected inmates were all huddled together round the fire, in that state of alarm produced by the intelligence of Christy Lowry and Widow Lindsay, and already partly set forth by us heretofore. Bang up went the door.

"A good new year to ye all!" said he, as he stalked into the middle of the apartment.

There was a dead silence throughout the company. Marion was the only individual that dared to look him in the face; and there was an expression in her eye that seemed to have the effect of increasing the boisterous glee of his mysterious manner.

"Here we are once more, again," he continued, as he took out the eternal imp-shaped bottle, and clanged it on the table.

Every eye was fixed upon him as if watching his motions and evolutions. Meg Johnston was busy in a corner, defending herself, by drawing a circle round her; Widow Lindsay was clinging close to the figure of the Virgin that was placed against the wall by her side; Jenny Wilson sought refuge in the arms of honest John; Wat Webster himself got his hand placed upon an old Latin Bible, not one word of which he could read; and some followed one mode of self-defence, and some another, against the expected efforts of the stranger, whose proceedings at his other places of call had been all related at Wat Webster's, with an exaggeration they perhaps stood little in need of. The stranger cared nothing for these indications, not a cinder; and took no notice of them.

"I'll e'en begin our potations myself," said he, filling out a flaskful of his liquor, and drinking it off. "By him that brewed it, it tastes well after my long walk! Wat Webster, wilt thou pledge me, man--

"'And let us all, my friends, be merry, And set nocht by this world a cherry; Now while there is good wyne to sell, He that does on dry bread worry, I gif him to the devil of hell.'"

And he trowled the flask upon the table while he sung, as a kind of bass chorus to his song.

"There's for thee, Wat!" continued he, filling out a flask.

Wat kept his hand upon the holy book.

"Wilt thou, honest John Wilson, pledge thy old friend in this red liquor, which formerly claimed so strong an acquaintanceship with the secret power of the topers' hearts of merry Christ's Kirk?"

"For the luve o' heaven," whispered Jenny, as she clung closer to him, "touch it not!--it will scald yer liver like brimstone, and may, besides, be the price o' yer soul's purchase."

John looked at the liquor, and would have spoken; but his heart failed him.

"Wilt thou, Meg Johnston, empty this flask to the health of thy old friend?"

"Guid faith, I, lad," muttered Meg, safe as she thought within the walls of her necromantic circumvallation--"I ken ye owre weel. Ye needna think to cheat me. I'm no a spunk to be dipped in brimstone, and then set lowe to. But [aside] how can he stand the look o' the haly rude! and the haly book? The deevil o' sic a deevil I ever heard, saw, or read o'. Avaunt ye, avaunt ye, in the name o the seven churches! The deil a bane ye'll get here--yere owre weel kenned. Set aff in a flash o' yer ain fire to Falkland."

"Wilt thou, Christy Lowry, pledge thine old friend?" continued the stranger, without noticing Meg's recommendation.

"In guid troth na," replied Christy, to whom the cross afforded some confidence. "It's a' out, man--it's owre the hail town. There's nae use in concealin't langer. Just put a spunk to the neck o't and set aff. Wae! wae! [aside] but it's an awfu thing to look the enemy i' the very face, and hauld converse wi' lips that mak nae gobs at cinders! Ave Maria! help Christy Lowry in this her trial and temptation?"

"Come from thy langsettle, jolly Kate Webster," continued he of the red cravat, "and let us, as thou wert wont to say, have a little laughing and drinking deray in this last night of the old year. I see, by the very mouths thou makest, thy throat is as dry as a dander, and, by and by, may set fire to my red liquor. Ha! I love a jolly gossip for a tosspot; for she gives more speech, and takes more liquor, than your 'breeked' steers that drink down the words, and drown them in the throat. Nothing drowns a woman's speech. It strengthens and improves in ale or whisky as if it were its natural element. Come open thy word-mill, Kate, and pour in the red grist, lass."

"The soopleness o' his tongue has been long kent," whispered Kitty to Meg Johnston.

"Ay, an' lang felt," replied Meg, in a suppressed tone. "Our sins are naething but a coil o't. When, in God's name, will he tak flight? I canna stand this muckle langer."

"Three times have I warded off a swarf," said Kitty. "The gouch o' his breath comes owre me like the reek o' a snuffed-out candle. Will the men no interfere?"

"Marion Webster," said the stranger, as if unconscious of the fear he was producing, "did I not, sweet queen, dance a jolly fandango with thee, last Halloween, to the rondeau of love--

"'Return the hamewart airt agane, And byde quhair thou wast wont to be-- Thou art ane fule to suffer paine, For love of her that loves not thee.'

And wilt thou not pledge thy old friend in a half flask--the maiden's bumper?"

"I hae nae objections," replied the sprightly Marion, and took up the flask.

The company looked on in amazement and terror. The flame would rise on the application of the liquor to her lips, and doubtless little more of Marion Webster would be seen on the face of this lower world. While Marion still held the flask in her hand, the sound of carriage wheels was heard. The vehicle seemed to halt at Wat Webster's door. The door opened with a bang. Marion had not time to drink off her "spark," and, still holding the flask, went to the door to see who had so unceremoniously opened it; he of the red cravat, taking up his bottle, followed with a long stride. A sudden exclamation was heard from Marion; the sound of the shutting of the door of a carriage followed; then came Jehu's "hap-away," with three loud cracks of a whip, and all was ended by the rolling of rapid wheels, lost in a moment in the distance.

Wat Webster, who had hitherto been chained to his seat, now started up; and, clasping his hands in his agony, ejaculated, that "Marion was off in a flame o' fire." The fact scarcely required mention--alas! too evident to all the company--that the greatest beauty of Christ's Kirk was away in the talons of the great Enemy of all good; and the evidence within the walls of the house was not greater than what was afforded by the watching crowd without. The carriage, which was entirely black, and not unlike a hearse, was seen to come in by the east end of the town, driving with a furious career, the driver (dressed also in black) impelling, with a long whip, the black horses, from whose hoofs sparks of fire were seen to fly; and neither house nor man seeming to claim his attention, until he arrived at the house of Wat Webster, where he of the red cravat was known to be. Many followed the carriage, and many remained at a distance to see who the victim was that was destined to be carried off in the strangers' vehicle; for, that the coach was brought there for no other purpose than to carry off one who could command in an instant a chariot of fire, seemed reasonably to be entirely out of the question. Marion Webster, the beloved of the village, was seen to enter, followed by the stranger; and, as the coach flew off, a loud wail burst from the stricken hearts of the villagers, expressive at once of their fear and of the intense pity they felt for the fate of one so much beloved, and whose crimes, much less than theirs, merited so dreadful a punishment as that she should be carried off to the regions of sorrow. The evidence, within and without the house, met, and, by the force of sympathetic similarity, mixed in an instant, carrying away in their course, like floating straws, the strongest doubts that remained in the mind of the most sceptical man in Christ's Kirk, of the hapless daughter of Wat Webster having been carried off by the Devil. The town was in the greatest commotion; terror and pity were painted on every face; but the feelings of the public held small proportion, indeed, to the agony which overtook Wat Webster and his wife, whose only child she was, as well as their pride, and that of every one in the whole town. Wat, who saw no use in flying after Sathan--an individual of known locomotive powers--lay extended on the floor of his cottage, cursing his fate, and bewailing the condition of his lovely daughter, whose entry into Pandemonium, and first scream produced by the burning lake, were as distinct in his eye and ear as ever was his morning porridge, when they boiled and bubbled by the heat of the fire. But Kitty was up and out, with a mighty crowd or tail in attendance, flying up and down in every direction, to see if any burning trace could be had of her beloved Marion; for she declared that, if she only got "the dander o' her body to bury in Christ's Kirk," she would be thankful to heaven for the gift, and try to moderate her grief. But no "dander" was to be seen. It was by much too evident that Marion Webster would never more be seen on earth; and, what might naturally add to the grief of her friends, they had no chance of seeing her again in the world to come, unless at the expense of a _condemnation_--a dear passport to see an old friend. Such a night was never seen in Christ's Kirk as that on which Marion Webster was carried off by his Sathanic Majesty.

We have said quite enough to make it to be understood that Marion Webster did in reality go off in a coach with the stranger who has occupied so much of our attention; but we have (being of Scottish origin) prudently abstained from giving any opinion of our own upon the question of the true character of him of the red cravat. The two drove off together, apparently with much affection, and, after they had got entirely beyond the reach of any supposed followers, they became comparatively easy, and very soon commenced a conversation--an amusement never awanting when there is a woman within reach of a person's articulated breath.

"What is the meaning o' a' this, Geordie, man?" said Marion, looking lovingly into the face of the stranger. "Could I no have met ye this night at the Three Sisters--the trees in the wood o' Ballochgray--without your coming to Christ's Kirk, and spreading the fear o' the deil frae town's-end to town's-end? But whar are we journeying to? and what means the carriage?"

The stranger thus accosted by the familiar name by which he was known to the young woman, smiled, and told her to hold her tongue, and resign herself to the pleasure of being carried through the air at the rate of ten miles an hour. The moon was now shining beautifully "owre tower and tree;" and ever and anon the maiden glanced her blue eye on the "siller-smolt" scenes through which she passed, and then turned to the face of her companion, who seemed to enjoy silently the wonder expressed by her fair face. After rolling on for some time, they came to a road or avenue of tall beech trees, at the end of which appeared an old castle, on which the moonbeams were glancing, and exhibiting in strange forms the turrets with which it was fancifully decorated. The grey owl's scream was borne along on the breeze that met them, and struck on Marion's ear in wild and fitful sounds--inspiring a dread which the presence of her mute lover did little to remove or assuage.

"Is not that Ballochgray Castle?" said Marion, at last--"that fearfu place whar the Baron of Ballochgray haulds his court with the Evil One, on every Halloween night, when the bleak muirs are rife with the bad spirits o' the earth and air. Whar drives the man, Geordie? Oh, tell him to turn awa frae thae auld turrets and skreeching owls. I canna bear the sight o' the ane, or the eerie sound o' the ither."

A smile was again the answer of her companion, and the carriage still drove on to the well-known residence of the young Baron of Ballochgray--a man who, knowing the weakness of his King, James the Third of Scotland, in his love of astrology and divination, and their sister black arts, had, with much address, endeavoured to recommend himself to his sovereign, by a character pre-established in his own castle, for a successful cultivation of the occult sciences. He had long withdrawn himself from the eyes of the world, and even of his own tenants, and shut himself up in his castle, with a due assortment of death's heads, charts, owls, globes, bones, astrolobes, and vellum chronicles, with a view to the perfection of his hidden knowledge; or, as some thought, with a view to produce such a fame of his character and pursuits as might reach the ears of James, and acquire for him that sway at court for which he sighed more than for real knowledge. Some alleged that he was a cunning diplomatist, who cared no more for the nostrums of astrology than he did for the dry bones that, while they terrified his servants, had no more virtue in them than sap, and were, with the other furniture of his dark study, collected for the mere purpose of forwarding his ambitious designs upon the weak prince. His true character was supposed to be--what he possessed before he took to his new calling--that of a wild, eccentric, devil-daring man, who loved adventures for their own sake, and worshipped the fair face of the "theekit and tenanted skull" of a bouncing damsel, with far greater enthusiasm and sincerity than he ever did his mortal osteological relics that lay in so much profusion in the recesses of his old castle. But he had, doubtless, so far succeeded in his plans; for he possessed a most unenviable fame for all sort of cantrips and sorceries; and the wandering beggar would rather have solicited a bit of bread from the iron hand of misery itself, than ventured near Ballochgray to ask his awmous.

"I winna gang near that fearfu place, Geordie!" again cried Marion. "What hae ye, a puir hind, to do wi' the Baron o' Ballochgray? Turn, for the sake o' heaven!--turn frae that living grave o' dry banes, an' the weary goul that sits jabbering owre them, by their ain light!"

Her companion again smiled; and the man dashed up the avenue, and never stopped till he came to the gate of the castle--over which there were placed two human shank-bones of great length, that were said to have sustained the body of the Baron of Balwearie--that prince of the black art, and the most cunning necromancer that ever drew a circle. The carriage stopped; and two servants, dressed in red doublets, (like garments of fire,) slashed with black, waited at the carriage door, with flambeaux in their hands, to shew the couple into the hall. Out sprang the male first, and then Marion Webster was handed, with great state, and led into the interior of the old castle. She was led direct into the hall, which was lighted up in a very fanciful manner, by means of many skulls arranged round the room, and through the eyes and jaws of which lurid lights streamed all around. Marion was filled with terror as she cast her eyes on these shining monuments of mortality; and had, in her fear, scarcely noticed a man in black, sitting at the end of the room, poring over a black-lettered manuscript.

"Marion Webster," now said her travelling companion, "behold in your old lover of the Ballochgray Wood the Baron of Ballochgray!"

A scream burst from the choking throat of the terrified damsel, and rung through the old hall.

"Come, love," he continued, "abate thy terrors. My fame is worse than my real character. I have wooed thee for reasons known to myself, and to be known soon to thee. Thou didst love Geordie Dempster; and thy love was weak indeed, if it is to be scared by brainless tongues or tongueless skulls. Wilt thou consent to be the lady of the Baron of Ballochgray?"

"Geordie! Geordie!" cried the wondering, and yet loving maiden, "if I would willingly wed thee in the grave, wi' death himsel for oor priest, shall I refuse to be yours in a castle o' the livin, filled though it be wi' thae signs o' mortality?"

"Come forth, Father Anthony!" cried the Baron, "and join us by the rules and bands of holy kirk!"

The man in black lifted up his head from the black-letter page; and, having called his witnesses, went through the requisite ceremonies; and Marion Webster became, within a short space, the lady of Ballochgray.

Next day the Baron took her forth to the green woods, where, as they sauntered among elms many centuries old, and as high as castles, he told her that he had more reasons than other men for having a wife _who could keep a secret_. When he first met her, he was struck with her beauty, but had no more intention than ordinary love adventurers for making her his wife; frequent intercourse had revealed to him a jewel he had never seen in such brightness in the _head gear_ of the nobles of the land--a stern and unflinching regard to the sanction of her word. He quickly resolved to test this in such a manner as would leave no doubt in his mind that a secret-keeping wife he might find in his humble maiden of Ballochgray woods. He had three times visited Christ's Kirk in such a manner as would raise an intense curiosity in the inhabitants as to who he was. Marion had the secret only of his being plain Geordie Dempster; but so firmly and determinedly had she kept it, that, in the very midst of a general belief that he was the Prince of Darkness, she had never even let it be known that she had once seen his face before. So far Marion was enlightened; and it is not improbable that, afterwards, she knew _why_ a secret-keeping wife was so much prized by the Baron of Ballochgray, and why he could serve two purposes--that of love, and fame of supernatural powers--in personating, as he had done, the Prince of Darkness in his visits to Christ's Kirk on the Green. So far, at least, it is certain that Marion never revealed the secret of his pretended astrological acquirements.

For weeks after the marriage, inquiries were made in every quarter for the lost damsel; but, at last, all search and inquiry was given up, and the belief that she was in the place appointed for the wicked had settled down on the minds of the people. One evening a number of cronies were assembled at the house of the disconsolate parents, and among these were Meg Johnston, Christy Lowrie, Widow Lindsay, and others of the Leslians.

"The will o' the Lord maun be done," said Meg; "but wae's me! there was mony an auld gimmer in Leslie, whose horns are weel marked wi' the lines o' her evil days, that Clootie might hae taen, afore he cam to the bonnie ewe that had only tasted the first leaves o' her simmer girse. What did Marion Webster ever do in this warld to bring upon her this warst and last o' the evils o' mortals?"

"It's just the like o' her the auld villain likes best," rejoined Christy. "He doesna gie a doit for a gizzened sinner, wha will fa' into his hands at the lang run without trouble. But the young, the blooming, and the bonny are aye sair beset by temptations; and, heard ye never, Mrs Webster, o' Marion's meetings at the Three Sisters, sometimes, they say, at the dead hour, wi' some lover that naebody ever kenned."

"Ay, ay, dame," said Widow Lindsay; "that's just _his_ way. He comes in the shape o' a young lover, and beguiles the hearts o' young maidens. Ye mind o' bonny Peggy Lorimer o' the town's end, wha never did mair guid after she met a stranger in the woods o' Ballochgray. Ae glance o' his ee, she said, took awa her heart; and, every day after, she pined and pined, and wandered amang the woods till she grew like a wraith, but nae mair o' him did she ever see. I stricked her wi' my ain hands, and sic a corpse I never handled. There wasna a pound o' flesh on her bones; and the carriers at the burial aye said, that there wasna a corpse ava in the coffin. But puir Marion has dreed a waur weird."

"My puir bairn! my puir bairn!" cried the mother. "The folk o' Leslie aye said she wad ride in her carriage, for she was the bonniest lass that ever was seen in Christ's Kirk. But, wear-awins! little kenned they what kind o' a carriage she wad ride awa in on her marriage night."

"Some folks say, the monks will pray her back again," rejoined Meg; "but, my faith, they'll hae hard work o't. He'll no let her awa without a fearfu tuilzie, Christy."