contending stings of a guilty conscience, of hatred, of fear, and of suspicion.

"I wish to ask the name, sir," said Bertram, "of the family to whom this stately ruin belongs?"

"I

"It is my property, sir my name is Glossin.” "Glossin? Glossin?" repeated Bertram, as if the answer were somewhat different from what he expected. beg your pardon, Mr. Glossin; I am apt to be very absent. May I ask if the castle has been long in your family?"

"It was built, I believe, long ago, by a family called Mac-Dingawaie," answered Glossin; suppressing, for obvious reasons, the more familiar sound of Bertram, which might have awakened the recollections which he was anxious to lull to rest, and slurring with an evasive answer the question concerning the endurance of his own posses

sion.

"And how do you read the half-defaced motto, sir," said Bertram, "which is upon that scroll above the entablature with the arms?"

sin.

“I—I—I— really do not exactly know," replied Glos

"I should be apt to make it out, Our Right makes our Might."

"I believe it is something of that kind," said Glossin. May I ask, sir," said the stranger, "if it is your family motto?"

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no

no

not ours.

"N nThat is, I believe, the motto of the former people — mine is― mine is—in fact I have had some correspondence with Mr. Cumming of the Lyon Office in Edinburgh about mine. He writes me, the Glossins anciently bore for a motto, 'He who takes it, makes it.'

66

If there be any uncertainty, sir, and the case were mine," said Bertram, "I would assume the old motto, which seems to me the better of the two."

Glossin, whose tongue by this time clove to the roof of his mouth, only answered by a nod.

"It is odd enough," said Bertram, fixing his eye upon the arms and gateway, and partly addressing Glossin, partly as it were thinking aloud-"it is odd the tricks which

our memory plays us.

or song, or rhyme, of

The remnants of an old prophecy, some kind or other, return to my

recollection on hearing that motto-Stay-it is a strange jingle of sounds:

I cannot remember the last line-on some particular height height is the rhyme, I am sure; but I cannot hit upon the preceding word.'

"Confound your memory," muttered Glossin; "you remember by far too much of it!"

"There are other rhymes connected with these early recollections," continued the young man:-"Pray, sir, is there any song current in this part of the world respecting a daughter of the King of the Isle of Man eloping with a Scottish knight?"

"I am the worst person in the world to consult upon legendary antiquities," answered Glossin.

"I could sing such a ballad," said Bertram, "from one end to another, when I was a boy. You must know I left Scotland, which is my native country, very young, and those who brought me up discouraged all my attempts to preserve recollection of my native land, on account, I believe, of a boyish wish which I had to escape from their charge.'

"Very natural," said Glossin, but speaking as if his utmost efforts were unable to unseal his lips beyond the width of a quarter of an inch, so that his whole utterance was a kind of compressed muttering, very different from the round, bold, bullying voice with which he usually spoke. Indeed, his appearance and demeanor during all this conversation seemed to diminish even his strength and stature; so that he appeared to wither into the shadow of himself, now advancing one foot, now the other, now stooping and wriggling his shoulders, now fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat, now clasping his hands to

gether, in short, he was the picture of a mean-spirited shuffling rascal in the very agonies of detection. To these appearances Bertram was totally inattentive, being dragged on as it were by the current of his own associations. Indeed, although he addressed Glossin, he was not so much thinking of him, as arguing upon the embarrassing state of his own feelings and recollection. "Yes," he said, “I preserved my language among the sailors, most of whom spoke English, and when I could get into a corner by myself, I used to sing all that song over from beginning to end. I have forgot it all now but I remember the tune well, though I cannot guess what should at present so strongly recall it to my memory."

He took his flageolet from his pocket, and played a simple melody. Apparently the tune awoke the corresponding associations of a damsel, who, close beside a fine spring about half-way down the descent, and which had once supplied the castle with water, was engaged in bleaching linen. She immediately took up the song:

"Are these the Links of Forth, she said,

Or are they the crooks of Dee,

Or the bonny woods of Warroch-Head
That I so fain would see?"

"By heaven," said Bertram, "it is the very ballad! I must learn these words from the girl."

"Confusion!" thought Glossin; "if I cannot put a stop to this, all will be out. Oh the devil take all ballads, and ballad-makers, and ballad-singers! and that d-d jade too, to set up her pipe! You will have time enough for this on some other occasion," he said aloud; "at present," (for now he saw his emissary with two or three men coming up the bank)—"at present we must have some more serious conversation together."

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How do you mean, sir?" said Bertram, turning short upon him, and not liking the tone which he made use of. "Why, sir, as to that I believe your name is Brown?" said Glossin.

"And what of that, sir?"

"Van

Glossin looked over his shoulder to see how near his party had approached; they were coming fast on. beest Brown? if I mistake not."

"And what of that, sir?" said Bertram, with increasing astonishment and displeasure.

"Why, in that case," said Glossin, observing his friends had now got upon the level space close beside them "in that case you are my prisoner in the king's name!" At the same time he stretched his hand towards Bertram's collar, while two of the men who had come up seized upon his arms; he shook himself, however, free of their grasp by a violent effort, in which he pitched the most pertinacious down the bank, and, drawing his cutlass, stood on the defensive, while those who had felt his strength recoiled from his presence, and gazed at a safe distance. "Ob

serve," he called out at the same time, "that I have no purpose to resist legal authority; satisfy me that you have a magistrate's warrant, and are authorized to make this arrest, and I will obey it quietly; but let no man who loves his life venture to approach me, till I am satisfied for what crime, and by whose authority, I am apprehended."

Glossin then caused one of the officers to show a warrant for the apprehension of Vanbeest Brown, accused of the crime of wilfully and maliciously shooting at Charles Hazlewood, younger of Hazlewood, with an intent to kill, and also of other crimes and misdemeanours, and which appointed him, having been so apprehended, to be brought before the next magistrate for examination. The warrant being formal, and the fact such as he could not deny, Bertram threw down his weapon, and submitted himself to the officers, who, flying on him with eagerness corresponding to their former pusillanimity, were about to load him with irons, alleging the strength and activity which he had displayed, as a justification of this severity. But Glossin was ashamed or afraid to permit this unnecessary insult, and directed the prisoner to be treated with all the decency, and even respect, that was consistent with safety. Afraid, however, to introduce him into his own house, where still further subjects of recollection might have