It's no canny to hear ye speak like a Christian, my wee doggie."
"I'm nae your doggie, I'm a Man of Peace," was the reply. "Dinna
miscall your betters, Brockburn: why will ye not credit our existence,
man?"
"Seein's believin'," said the Laird, stubbornly; "but the mist's ower
thick for seein' the night, ye ken."
"Turn roun' to your left, man, and ye'll see," said the Dwarf, and
catching Brockburn by the arm, he twisted him swiftly round three
times, when a sudden blaze of light poured through the mist, and
revealed a crag of the mountain well known to the Laird, and which he
now saw to be a kind of turret, or tower.
Lights shone gaily through the crevices or windows of the _Shian_,
and sounds of revelry came forth, among which fiddling was
conspicuous. The tune played at that moment was "Delvyn-side."
Blinded by the light, and amazed at what he saw, the Laird staggered,
and was silent.
"Keep to your feet, man--keep to your feet!" said the Dwarf, laughing.
"I doubt ye're fou, Brockburn!"
"I'm nae fou," said the Laird, slowly, his rung grasped firmly in his
hand, and his bonnet set back from his face, which was deadly pale.
"But--man-_is yon Rory?_ I'd know his fiddle in a thousand."
"Ask no questions, and ye'll be tellt no lees," said the Dwarf. Then
stepping up to the door of the _Shian_, he stood so that the light
from within fell full upon him, and the astonished Laird saw a tiny
but well-proportioned man, with delicate features, and golden hair
flowing over his shoulders.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45