How beautiful she is! How my father would like to see her! Could you ride on my horse, dear, and come to the Hall with me?”
“No, thank you,” said Effie. “I would not ride without a habit.”
“Quite right, dear,” said the other lady, laughing.
“But,” said Effie, afraid she had spoken unkindly, “if we come to the Hall, we must all come.”
“Delightful! And my brother shall paint you. Is this the wolf?”
“That is Ossian, my father’s deerhound.”
“What a noble fellow! Where does your father live, and what are your names?”
Leonard lifted his hat again. “Pardon me, lady,” he said, “for replying instead of my sister. Father lives in London, at present. My name is Incognitus, and my sister’s name Incognita. My sister has already introduced you to the dog, permit me to introduce you to the donkey. His name is Don.”
The young ladies pouted, and looked half-inclined to be cross, but finally laughed such a pleasant, merry, ringing laugh, that Don pricked up his ears, and joined in with such a terrible lion-like roar, that the very hills rang for a mile around. It was not often that Don did give way to a fit of merriment, but when he did nobody else was able to get in a word until the strength of his lungs was quite exhausted.
He stopped presently, and helped himself to a fresh green thistle that was growing handy.
Meanwhile Ossian jumped up and kissed one of the ladies, as much as to say, —
“Don’t be afraid, Don often makes that row. He is only an ass, you know, but there isn’t a bit of harm in the whole of his body.”
“Come on then, my dears. Why, Lily, this is quite an adventure. What a providence it was that we rode in this direction! I would not have missed such an adventure for anything I can think of.”
Book One – Chapter Six
In a Smuggler’s Cave
“But now we go,
See, see we go,
To the deepest caves below.”
Scene: The interior of a cave on a lonely hillside; a huge fire of wood and peat is burning in a kind of recess hewn from the solid rock. A large cauldron is boiling over it, and the smoke and flames are roaring up the chimney. Wild-looking men, unkempt and unshorn, are eating and drinking on stone benches around the cave. There is a big oil lamp hanging from the roof, and that and the firelight shed a dim uncertain light throughout the cave.
“And so,” said one of the men, who appeared to be captain of this gang of smugglers, “Captain Bland and his fellows have promised to be here to-night.”
“That is what he told me,” said another. “The lugger has been dodging off and on the coast for days, and there is a sloop all ready down at the steps near St. Abb’s waiting to take the stuff off.”
“Well,” said the first speaker, “it is long past midnight, and as dark as pitch. No bothering moon to-night to interfere with the work. We should turn a pretty penny by this cargo. Ha! ha!” he laughed, “you Scotchmen didn’t know how to work the oracle on this hillside till we Saxons crossed the border and showed you. Scotchmen are – ”
Five men sprang to their feet in a moment, and dirks were flashing in the lamplight.
“Hold, you scoundrels, hold!” cried a tall and handsome man in the garb of a sailor, rushing into the cave, and throwing himself, sword in hand, between the belligerents.
“What!” he continued, “quarrelling when we should be busy at work. I came in good time, it seems.”
The Scotchmen sheathed their dirks, but sulkily.
“Right, Captain Bland,” said Rob McLure, “only Long Bill there thought fit to insult us wi’ his Saxon brag. We had the cave afore him, and did weel in it, and we’re independent yet, and fit to clear the English bodies out o’ the country, tho’ we’re but five and they are two to one – ay, and give their bodies to the corbies to pick.”
“Bill,” said Captain Bland, “you began this unseemly squabble; it is for you to apologise.”
“I do so heartily,” said Bill; “I bear no grudge against the Scotch.”
“Nor I, nor I, nor I,” cried half-a-dozen voices. Then hands were shaken all round, and peace restored.
Bland pitched down his cap – long black ringlets floating over his shoulder as he did so – and sank into a seat, as if weary.
“Give me food and drink; the long walk has quite tired me. Your Scottish hills, McLure, are hard on Saxon legs. By the way,” he added, “two of my fellows are outside, and they’ve caught a couple of gipsy creatures; they may or may not be spies. Bring them in, the little ones may be cold and hungry.”
In a minute more Leonard and poor Effie stood trembling before the smuggler chief.
We left them about three days ago in a lovely wood, with the greenery of trees, the song of birds, sunshine, and flowers all around them. They had gone to the Hall, as the young ladies called their home, and had created quite a sensation.
There was such an air of romance about the whole affair that everybody at the great house was charmed with them. Leonard and Effie were the hero and heroine of that evening, at all events, while Ossian made himself quite at home on the hearthrug, very much to the disgust of a beautiful Persian cat, whose place he had coolly usurped.
The young ladies again cross-questioned the little wanderers, in the prettiest and most insinuating way possible, but succeeded in obtaining no further information. But Effie read their fortunes without having her hand crossed with either gold or silver. No prince on gaily-caparisoned palfrey was to come riding to the Hall to beg for the hand of either, nor soldiers with sword and spear and nodding plumes come riding their way. Effie disposed of both in quite a humdrum fashion, which, although it did not please the young ladies, set every one in the room laughing at their expense. Their future spouses would be celebrated rather for negative than positive virtues.
“For neither would be guilty of any great crime,
Such as murder, rebellion, or arson;
One lady would wed with a wealthy old squire,
And the other would marry the parson.”
Leonard and Effie left the Hall that night, and a powdered servant carried a hamper to the caravan. Both insisted on bidding their kindly entertainers good-bye that night, saying it was certain they would be off very early next morning.
And so they were, long before a single wreath of smoke had begun to up-curl from even the kitchen chimneys of the great Hall.
The weather had continued fine, and although the nights were very dark, the wanderers did not mind that a bit, because they could hide their caravan under trees, so that, although they could see no one approaching, no one could see them. In two days’ time they bivouacked for the night near the cave in which we now find them prisoners, the faithful dog standing guard by their side.
About sunset they had started off to climb the hill, which was very high. They lost their way coming back,
