LITMIR.BIZ

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heard sniffing and growling along the bottom of the gate.

      “Hand in your letter,” said the warder.

      The gentle Johnston deftly thrust the sleeping infant through the opening, and feeling that it was grasped by the other, turned without a word, took to his heels, and was lost in the gloom.

      Judge of the amazement which seized upon the guardian of the portal when he found that instead of a letter he had received a bundle containing a young child, who being roughly awakened began to cry. For a moment was the warder struck speechless, but then, recovering his voice, he shouted through the aperture – “Hillo! man – what is this? Where’s the letter? A bairn! what does this mean? Curse the knave! and he had the password too. A vile trickster! Down, Ranger! down, lad!” – for the dog was climbing upon him, and smelling at the child in his arms. “By our lady! a rare gift at midnight! What will Sir James say to it? or his mother, either? I was a dolt to open the vizzy-hole; but the false-tongued knave swore it was a matter of life and death. The foul-fiend rive him! What ho! within there! Robin, Robin – up, man!”

      A young serving-man rushed out to the gateway, with a spear in one hand, and a round buckler on his arm, and ejaculated – “What’s the steer, Allan? I was dovering ower the ha’ fire, after dipping ower deep in the ale-jack, and I thocht I heard the dogs bark.”

      “Bring a torch,” cried Allan, “mayhap the wean is but a fairy changeling, and I must see to that ere it comes under our roof.”

      “The wean? whatna wean?” inquired Robin, rubbing his sleepy eyes with the knuckles of the hand that held the spear.

      “You hear the wean yaumering: and fairy weans are ever girning – devil take them!”

      “Allan, Allan, dinna speak o’ them in sic a way, and at sic an hour. Ha’e you forgotten the auld rhyme?

      “Gin you ca’ me Imp or Elf,

      I rede you look weel to yourself.

      Gin you ca’ me Fairy,

      I’ll work you muckle tarrie.

      “I beseech you, Allan, bethink yoursel’ that this is just the time when the gude neighbours are busiest for gude and ill.”

      “Pshaw!” exclaimed the warder. “I think a bad neighbour has been here. Fetch a torch, in Mahound’s name!”

      Robin hurried back to the hall, and, transferring his spear to his left hand that the right might be free, kindled a flambeau at the fire, and returned with it to the courtyard. The infant, on seeing the light, ceased crying, and stretched out his little hands towards the bickering flame.

      “By the mass! a bonnie babe, and no fairy changeling, I’ll be sworn,” said Allan, and he shut the espial opening. “Let us now within doors.”

      They accordingly withdrew into the hall, where Allan sat down on a buffet stool at the side of the hearth, with the young stranger on his knee, while the watch-dog stretched itself at his feet, and the clamour of its companions in the kennel died away. Robin fixed his torch into an iron sconce projecting half a foot from the wall, stirred the faggots on the andirons to a blaze, and was then told the story of the adventure.

      Seemingly nobody else in the place had been aroused, all remaining quiet; but Allan now directed his subordinate to call up one of the female domestics, to whose care the foundling should be committed till morning. The woman, when she came, being dubious as to whether the boy was not a fairy changeling after all, suggested the test usually applied to such supernatural impostors, namely, by “putting it on the fire to see if it wadna flee up the lum wi’ an eldritch lauch!” But Allan was opposed to the experiment. The child’s clothes were of fine materials, and around its neck was a slender gold chain of curious links suspending an antique golden reliquary; but there was no inscription on the trinket, or mark about the dress, to afford a clue to the little wearer’s parentage.

      The foundling being provided for, old Allan pulled his deerskin mantle closer around him, and went out to satisfy himself that the fastening of the aperture in the portal was secure.

      “By our lady,” he muttered, “I’ll not open that vizzy again until daylight, although a score of stories of life and death should be told me. A small family might be foisted upon me ere morning.”

      Chapter II

      He’s married a may, and he’s fessen her hame;

      But she was a grim and a laidly dame.

      When into the castle court drave she,

      The seven bairns stood wi’ the tear in their e’e.

      Nor ale nor mead to the bairnies she gave,

      “But hunger and hate frae me ye’s have.”

– Danish Ballad.

      TWENTY years elapsed after the midnight when the infant boy was left at Hawksglen Castle by the gentle Johnston, whom we dub with that epithet in accordance with the Border usage of characterizing the principal families, or clans, as the haughty Homes, the bauld Rutherfords, the sturdy Armstrongs, the gentle Johnstons, et sic de cæteris. But “gentle,” as applied to the Johnstons, was an ironical misnomer, they being a peculiarly rude and turbulent race, living in “sturt and strife.” A story is told that a Baron, who was at deadly feud with them, having captured several, ordered their heads to be cut off and flung into a sack, which he gave to one of his retainers to carry home; and the man, when he got the grisly burden upon his back, gave it a good shake, saying jocosely, “Gree amang yoursells, Johnstons!” Our Johnston seemed a full-fledged scion of this law-defying race.

      Let us now fill up the gap of those twenty years with a brief recital of events which concern our tale.

      Sir James Elliot of Hawksglen was the lineal descendant of a famous Border house; and a worthier representative of a baronial stock it would have been rather difficult to single out among his compeers. High renown had been earned by his ancestors in the feuds and wars of the marches. His father received his death-wound in resisting a Southron inroad some few years anterior to the period when our legend opens. Sir James, an only son and only child, was thus left master of wide domains when he had just passed his majority. His mother was an amiable lady; but after the loss of her husband she never regained that happy buoyancy of mind which had distinguished her during her wedded life. To all her dependants she was a kind and indulgent mistress, ever ready to forgive shortcomings, and to relieve the wants of humble vassals when overtaken by pinching poverty. Seeing that her son inherited the martial spirit of his sire, it became her aim to induce him to bury animosities and feuds, and to cultivate, as much as he could, and as far as the circumstances of the times allowed, the arts of peace. She meant well. But Sir James would say to himself, as he paced through his hall, and gazed on several grim portraits of the Elliots of Hawksglen with which it was decorated: —

      “My mother’s mild precepts would avail in some other age and land; but they are vain in this Border country, where every man rights himself by his own hand, and wins honour and esteem by martial valour. When every man draws his blade in his own quarrel, dare I keep mine unsheathed without incurring disdain and disgrace? Nay – in these times I must uphold the dignity of our house with the steel in my grasp and the corselet on my breast.”

      Sir James was ardent and fiery by nature, yet evincing generous and chivalrous impulses. In stature he rather exceeded the middle height, and had a manly and well-formed figure. His face was oval and swarthy-complexioned, its expression being mild and thoughtful in repose, but under excitement becoming instinct with strong animation. As yet in early manhood, he was unmarried, and so far as appeared had never been wounded by a shaft from Cupid’s bow.

      The midnight adventure at the gate exceedingly amazed the knight and his mother, and probably induced a certain suspicion in the latter’s mind; but they resolved to shelter and provide for the child until its parents should be discovered. Every means were used to penetrate the mystery; but, owing to troubles which broke out along the Border, all inquiries proved fruitless, and even rumour was dumb. The child’s habiliments and the ornament about its neck betokened that its lineage

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