Old Mortality, Complete by Walter Scott (ereader android TXT) 📕

“What!” exclaimed Morton, “it was you that sat in your red cloak by the high-road, and told him there was a lion in the path?”

“In the name of Heaven! wha are ye?” said the old woman, breaking off her narrative in astonishment. “But be wha ye may,” she continued, resuming it with tranquillity, “ye can ken naething waur o’ me than that I hae been willing to save the life o’ friend and foe.”

“I know no ill of you, Mrs. Maclure, and I mean no ill by you; I only wished to show you that I know so much of this person’s affairs that I might be safely intrusted with the rest. Proceed, if you please, in your narrative.”

“There is a strange command in your voice,” said the blind woman, “though its tones are sweet. I have little mair to say. The Stewarts hae been dethroned, and William and Mary reign in their stead; but nae mair word of the Covenant than if it were a dead letter. They hae taen the indulged clergy, and an Erastian General Assembly of the ante pure and triumphant Kirk of Scotland, even into their very arms and bosoms. Our faithfu’ champions o’ the testimony agree e’en waur wi’ this than wi’ the open tyranny and apostasy of the persecuting times, for souls are hardened and deadened, and the mouths of fasting multitudes are crammed wi’ fizenless bran instead of the sweet word in season; and mony an hungry, starving creature, when he sits down on a Sunday forenoon to get something that might warm him to the great work, has a dry clatter o’ morality driven about his lugs, and—”

“In short,” said Morton, desirous to stop a discussion which the good old woman, as enthusiastically attached to her religious profession as to the duties of humanity, might probably have indulged longer,—“In short, you are not disposed to acquiesce in this new government, and Burley is of the same opinion?”

“Many of our brethren, sir, are of belief we fought for the Covenant, and fasted and prayed and suffered for that grand national league, and now we are like neither to see nor hear tell of that which we suffered and fought and fasted and prayed for. And anes it was thought something might be made by bringing back the auld family on a new bargain and a new bottom, as, after a’, when King James went awa, I understand the great quarrel of the English against him was in behalf of seven unhallowed prelates; and sae, though ae part of our people were free to join wi’ the present model, and levied an armed regiment under the Yerl of Angus, yet our honest friend, and others that stude up for purity of doctrine and freedom of conscience, were determined to hear the breath o’ the Jacobites before they took part again them, fearing to fa’ to the ground like a wall built with unslaked mortar, or from sitting between twa stools.”

“They chose an odd quarter,” said Morton, “from which to expect freedom of conscience and purity of doctrine.”

“Oh, dear sir!” said the landlady, “the natural day-spring rises in the east, but the spiritual dayspring may rise in the north, for what we blinded mortals ken.”

“And Burley went to the north to seek it?” replied the guest.

“Truly ay, sir; and he saw Claver’se himsell, that they ca’ Dundee now.”

“What!” exclaimed Morton, in amazement; “I would have sworn that meeting would have been the last of one of their lives.”

“Na, na, sir; in troubled times, as I understand,” said Mrs. Maclure, “there’s sudden changes,—Montgomery and Ferguson and mony ane mair that were King James’s greatest faes are on his side now. Claver’se spake our friend fair, and sent him to consult with Lord Evandale. But then there was a break-off, for Lord Evandale wadna look at, hear, or speak wi’ him; and now he’s anes wud and aye waur, and roars for revenge again Lord Evandale, and will hear nought of onything but burn and slay. And oh, thae starts o’ passion! they unsettle his mind, and gie the Enemy sair advantages.”

“The enemy?” said Morton; “What enemy?”

“What enemy? Are ye acquainted familiarly wi’ John Balfour o’ Burley, and dinna ken that he has had sair and frequent combats to sustain against the Evil One? Did ye ever see him alone but the Bible was in his hand, and the drawn sword on his knee? Did ye never sleep in the same room wi’ him, and hear him strive in his dreams with the delusions of Satan? Oh, ye ken little o’ him if ye have seen him only in fair daylight; for nae man can put the face upon his doleful visits and strifes that he can do. I hae seen him, after sic a strife of agony, tremble that an infant might hae held him, while the hair on his brow was drapping as fast as ever my puir thatched roof did in a heavy rain.” As she spoke, Morton began to recollect the appearance of Burley during his sleep in the hay-loft at Milnwood, the report of Cuddie that his senses had become impaired, and some whispers current among the Cameronians, who boasted frequently of Burley’s soul-exercises and his strifes with the foul fiend,—which several circumstances led him to conclude that this man himself was a victim to those delusions, though his mind, naturally acute and forcible, not only disguised his superstition from those in whose opinion it might have discredited his judgment, but by exerting such a force as is said to be proper to those afflicted with epilepsy, could postpone the fits which it occasioned until he was either freed from superintendence, or surrounded by such as held him more highly on account of these visitations. It was natural to suppose, and could easily be inferred from the narrative of Mrs. Maclure, that disappointed ambition, wrecked hopes, and the downfall of the party which he had served with such desperate fidelity, were likely to aggravate enthusiasm into temporary insanity. It was, indeed, no uncommon circumstance in those singular times that men like Sir Harry Vane, Harrison, Overton, and others, themselves slaves to the wildest and most enthusiastic dreams, could, when mingling with the world, conduct themselves not only with good sense in difficulties, and courage in dangers, but with the most acute sagacity and determined valour. The subsequent part of Mrs. Maclure’s information confirmed Morton in these impressions.

“In the grey of the morning,” she said, “my little Peggy sail show ye the gate to him before the sodgers are up. But ye maun let his hour of danger, as he ca’s it, be ower, afore ye venture on him in his place of refuge. Peggy will tell ye when to venture in. She kens his ways weel, for whiles she carries him some little helps that he canna do without to sustain life.”

“And in what retreat, then,” said Morton, “has this unfortunate person found refuge?”

“An awsome place,” answered the blind woman, “as ever living creature took refuge in; they ca it the Black Linn of Linklater. It’s a doleful place, but he loves it abune a’ others, because he has sae often been in safe hiding there; and it’s my belief he prefers it to a tapestried chamber and a down bed. But ye’ll see ’t. I hae seen it mysell mony a day syne. I was a daft hempie lassie then, and little thought what was to come o’t.—Wad ye choose ony thing, sir, ere ye betake yoursell to your rest, for ye maun stir wi’ the first dawn o’ the grey light?”

“Nothing more, my good mother,” said Morton; and they parted