``Ah! it would have been a tale for poor Flora to have told you.Or, if that hill were Benmore, and that long blue lake, which you see just winding towards yon mountainous country, were Loch Tay, or my own Loch an Ri, the tale would be better suited with scenery.However, let us sit down on this knoll;even Saddleback and Ullswater will suit what I have to say better than the English hedge-rows, enclosures, and farm-houses.
You must know, then, that when my ancestor, Ian nan Chaistel, wasted Northumberland, there was associated with him in the expedition a sort of Southland Chief, or captain of a band of Lowlanders, called Halbert Hall.In their return through the Cheviots, they quarrelled about the division of the great booty they had acquired, and came from words to blows.The Lowlanders were cut off to a man, and their chief fell the last, covered with wounds by the sword of my ancestors.Since that time, his spirit has crossed the Vich Ian Vohr of the day when any great disaster was impending, but especially before approaching death.My father saw him twice; once before he was made prisoner at Sheriffmuir; another time, on the morning of the day on which he died.''
``How can you, my dear Fergus, tell such nonsense with a grave face?''
``I do not ask you to believe it; but I tell you the truth, ascertained by three hundred years' experience at least, and last night by my own eyes.''
``The particulars, for heaven's sake!'' said Waverley, with eagerness.
``I will, on condition you will not attempt a jest on the subject.
---Since this unhappy retreat commenced, I have scarce ever been able to sleep for thinking of my clan, and of this poor Prince, whom they are leading back like a dog in a string, whether he will or no, and of the downfall of my family.Last night I felt so feverish that I left my quarters, and walked out, in hopes the keen frosty air would brace my nerves---I cannot tell how much I dislike going on, for I know you will hardly believe me.However---I crossed a small foot-bridge, and kept walking backwards and forwards, when I observed with surprise, by the clear moonlight, a tall figure in a grey plaid, such as shepherds wear in the south of Scotland, which, move at what pace I would, kept regularly about four yards before me.''
``You saw a Cumberland peasant in his ordinary dress, probably.''
``No: I thought so at first, and was astonished at the man's audacity in daring to dog me.I called to him but received no answer.I felt an anxious throbbing at my heart; and to ascertain what I dreaded, I stood still, and turned myself on the same spot successively to the four points of the compass---By Heaven, Edward, turn where I would, the figure was instantly before my eyes, at precisely the same distance? I was then convinced it was the Bodach Glas.My hair bristled, and my knees shook.I manned myself, however, and determined to return to my quarters.My ghastly visitant glided before me (for I cannot say he walked), until he reached the foot-bridge:
there he stopped, and turned full round.I must either wade the river, or pass him as close as I am to you.A desperate courage, founded on the belief that my death was near, made me resolve to make my way in despite of him.I made the sign of the cross, drew my sword, and uttered, `In the name of God, Evil Spirit, give place!' `Vich Ian Vohr,' it said, in a voice that made my very blood curdle, `beware of to-morrow!'
It seemed at that moment not half a yard from my sword's point; but the words were no sooner spoken than it was gone, and nothing appeared further to obstruct my passage.I got home, and threw myself on my bed, where I spent a few hours heavily enough; and this morning, as no enemy was reported to be near us, I took my horse, and rode forward to make up matters with you.I would not willingly fall until I am in charity with a wronged friend.''
Edward had little doubt that this phantom was the operation of an exhausted frame and depressed spirits, working on the belief common to all Highlanders in such superstitions.
