The Black Dwarf by Walter Scott (best desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📗

The old man was not upon his seat of audience, nor could Hobbie perceive him in his garden, or enclosures.

“He’s gotten into his very keep,” said Hobbie, “maybe to be out o’ the gate; but I’se pu’ it doun about his lugs, if I canna win at him otherwise.”

Having thus communed with himself, he raised his voice, and invoked Elshie in a tone as supplicating as his conflicting feelings would permit. “Elshie, my gude friend!” No reply. “Elshie, canny Father Elshie!” The Dwarf remained mute. “Sorrow be in the crooked carcass of thee!” said the Borderer between his teeth; and then again attempting a soothing tone,—“Good Father Elshie, a most miserable creature desires some counsel of your wisdom.”

“The better!” answered the shrill and discordant voice of the Dwarf through a very small window, resembling an arrow slit, which he had constructed near the door of his dwelling, and through which he could see any one who approached it, without the possibility of their looking in upon him.

“The better!” said Hobbie impatiently; “what is the better, Elshie? Do you not hear me tell you I am the most miserable wretch living?”

“And do you not hear me tell you it is so much the better! and did I not tell you this morning, when you thought yourself so happy, what an evening was coming upon you?”

“That ye did e’en,” replied Hobbie, “and that gars me come to you for advice now; they that foresaw the trouble maun ken the cure.”

“I know no cure for earthly trouble,” returned the Dwarf “or, if I did, why should I help others, when none hath aided me? Have I not lost wealth, that would have bought all thy barren hills a hundred times over? rank, to which thine is as that of a peasant? society, where there was an interchange of all that was amiable—of all that was intellectual? Have I not lost all this? Am I not residing here, the veriest outcast on the face of Nature, in the most hideous and most solitary of her retreats, myself more hideous than all that is around me? And why should other worms complain to me when they are trodden on, since I am myself lying crushed and writhing under the chariot-wheel?”

“Ye may have lost all this,” answered Hobbie, in the bitterness of emotion; “land and friends, goods and gear; ye may hae lost them a’,—but ye ne’er can hae sae sair a heart as mine, for ye ne’er lost nae Grace Armstrong. And now my last hopes are gane, and I shall ne’er see her mair.”

This he said in the tone of deepest emotion—and there followed a long pause, for the mention of his bride’s name had overcome the more angry and irritable feelings of poor Hobbie. Ere he had again addressed the Solitary, the bony hand and long fingers of the latter, holding a large leathern bag, was thrust forth at the small window, and as it unclutched the burden, and let it drop with a clang upon the ground, his harsh voice again addressed Elliot.

“There—there lies a salve for every human ill; so, at least, each human wretch readily thinks.—Begone; return twice as wealthy as thou wert before yesterday, and torment me no more with questions, complaints, or thanks; they are alike odious to me.”

“It is a’ gowd, by Heaven!” said Elliot, having glanced at the contents; and then again addressing the Hermit, “Muckle obliged for your goodwill; and I wad blithely gie you a bond for some o’ the siller, or a wadset ower the lands o’ Wideopen. But I dinna ken, Elshie; to be free wi’ you, I dinna like to use siller unless I kend it was decently come by; and maybe it might turn into sclate-stanes, and cheat some poor man.”

“Ignorant idiot!” retorted the Dwarf; “the trash is as genuine poison as ever was dug out of the bowels of the earth. Take it—use it, and may it thrive with you as it hath done with me!”

“But I tell you,” said Elliot, “it wasna about the gear that I was consulting you,—it was a braw barn-yard, doubtless, and thirty head of finer cattle there werena on this side of the Catrail; but let the gear gang,—if ye could but gie me speerings o’ puir Grace, I would be content to be your slave for life, in onything that didna touch my salvation. O, Elshie, speak, man, speak!”

“Well, then,” answered the Dwarf, as if worn out by his importunity, “since thou hast not enough of woes of thine own, but must needs seek to burden thyself with those of a partner, seek her whom thou hast lost in the WEST.”

“In the WEST? That’s a wide word.”

“It is the last,” said the Dwarf, “which I design to utter;” and he drew the shutters of his window, leaving Hobbie to make the most of the hint he had given.

The west! the west!—thought Elliot; the country is pretty quiet down that way, unless it were Jock o’ the Todholes; and he’s ower auld now for the like o’ thae jobs.—West!—By My life, it must be Westburnflat. “Elshie, just tell me one word. Am I right? Is it Westburnflat? If I am wrang, say sae. I wadna like to wyte an innocent neighbour wi’ violence—No answer?—It must be the Red Reiver—I didna think he wad hae ventured on me, neither, and sae mony kin as there’s o’ us—I am thinking he’ll hae some better backing than his Cumberland friends.—Fareweel to you, Elshie, and mony thanks—I downa be fashed wi’ the siller e’en now, for I maun awa’ to meet my friends at the Trysting-place—Sae, if ye carena to open the window, ye can fetch it in after I’m awa’.”

Still there was no reply.

“He’s deaf, or he’s daft, or he’s baith; but I hae nae time to stay to claver wi’ him.”

And off rode Hobbie Elliot towards the place of rendezvous which he had named to his friends.

Four or five riders were already gathered at the Trysting pool. They stood in close consultation together, while their horses were permitted to graze among the poplars which overhung the broad still pool. A more numerous party were seen coming from the southward. It proved to be Earnscliff and his party, who had followed the track of the cattle as far as the English border, but had halted on the information that a considerable force was drawn together under some of the Jacobite gentlemen in that district, and there were tidings of insurrection in different parts of Scotland. This took away from the act which had been perpetrated the appearance of private animosity, or love of plunder; and Earnscliff was now disposed to regard it as a symptom of civil war. The young gentleman greeted Hobbie with the most sincere sympathy, and informed him of the news he had received.

“Then, may I never stir frae the bit,” said Elliot, “if auld Ellieslaw is not at the bottom o’ the haill villainy! Ye see he’s leagued wi’ the Cumberland Catholics; and that agrees weel wi’ what Elshie hinted about Westburnflat, for Ellieslaw aye protected him, and he will want to harry and disarm the country about his ain hand before he breaks out.”

Some now remembered that the party of ruffians had been heard to say they were acting for James VIII., and were charged