The Heart of Mid-Lothian

them down at others by referring herself to the protection of the Deity, she at length approached the place assigned for this mysterious conference.

It was situated in the depth of the valley behind Salisbury Crags, which has for a background the north- western shoulder of the mountain called Arthur's Seat, on whose descent still remain the ruins of what was once a chapel, or hermitage, dedicated to St. Anthony the Eremite. A better site for such a building could hardly have been selected; for the chapel, situated among the rude and pathless cliffs, lies in a desert, even in the immediate vicinity of a rich, populous, and tumultuous capital: and the hum of the city might mingle with the orisons of the recluses, conveying as little of worldly interest as if it had been the roar of the distant ocean. Beneath the steep ascent on which these ruins are still visible, was, and perhaps is still pointed out, the place where the wretch Nichol Muschat, who has been already mentioned in these pages, had closed a long scene of cruelty towards his unfortunate wife, by murdering her, with circumstances of uncommon barbarity.[G]

The execration in which the man's crime was held extended itself to the place where it was perpetrated, which was marked by a small cairn, or heap of stones, composed of those which each chance passenger had thrown there in testimony of abhorrence, and on the principle, it would seem, of the ancient British malediction, 'May you have a cairn for your burial-place!'

As our heroine approached this ominous and unhallowed spot, she paused and looked to the moon, now rising broad in the north-west, and shedding a more distinct light than it had afforded during her walk thither. Eyeing the planet for a moment, she then slowly and fearfully turned her head towards the cairn, from which it was at first averted. She was at first disappointed. Nothing was visible beside the little pile of stones, which shone grey in the moonlight. A multitude of confused suggestions rushed on her mind. Had her correspondent deceived her, and broken his appointment?—was he too tardy at the appointment he had made?—or had some strange turn of fate prevented him from appearing as he proposed?—or, if he were an unearthly being, as her secret apprehensions suggested, was it his object merely to delude her with false hopes, and put her to unnecessary toil and terror, according to the nature, as she had heard, of those wandering demons?—or did he purpose to blast her with the sudden horrors of his presence when she had come close to the place of rendezvous? These anxious reflections did not prevent her approaching to the cairn with a pace that, though slow, was determined.

When she was within two yards of the heap of stones, a figure rose suddenly up from behind it, and Jeanie scarce forbore to scream aloud at what seemed the realisation of the most frightful of her anticipations. She constrained herself to silence, however, and, making a dead pause, suffered the figure to open the conversation, which he did, by asking, in a voice which agitation rendered tremulous and hollow, 'Are you the sister of that ill- fated young woman?'

'I am—I am the sister of Effie Deans!' exclaimed Jeanie. 'And as ever you hope God will hear you at your need, tell me, if you can tell, what can be done to save her!'

'I do not hope God will hear me at my need,' was the singular answer. 'I do not deserve—I do not expect he will.' This desperate language he uttered in a tone calmer than that with which he had at first spoken, probably because the shook of first addressing her was what he felt most difficult to overcome. Jeanie remained mute with horror to hear language expressed so utterly foreign to all which she had ever been acquainted with, that it sounded in her ears rather like that of a fiend than of a human being. The stranger pursued his address to her, without seeming to notice her surprise. 'You see before you a wretch, predestined to evil here and hereafter.'

'For the sake of Heaven, that hears and sees us,' said Jeanie, 'dinna speak in this desperate fashion! The gospel is sent to the chief of sinners—to the most miserable among the miserable.'

'Then should I have my own share therein,' said the stranger, 'if you call it sinful to have been the destruction of the mother that bore me—of the friend that loved me—of the woman that trusted me—of the innocent child that was born to me. If to have done all this is to be a sinner, and survive it is to be miserable, then am I most guilty and most miserable indeed.'

'Then you are the wicked cause of my sister's ruin?' said Jeanie, with a natural touch of indignation expressed in her tone of voice.

'Curse me for it, if you will,' said the stranger; 'I have well deserved it at your hand.'

'It is fitter for me,' said Jeanie, 'to pray to God to forgive you.'

'Do as you will, how you will, or what you will,' he replied, with vehemence; 'only promise to obey my directions, and save your sister's life.'

'I must first know,' said Jeanie, 'the means you would have me use in her behalf.'

'No!—you must first swear—solemnly swear, that you will employ them when I make them known to you.'

'Surely, it is needless to swear that I will do all that is lawful to a Christian to save the life of my sister?'

'I will have no reservation!' thundered the stranger; 'lawful or unlawful, Christian or heathen, you shall swear to do my hest, and act by my counsel, or—you little know whose wrath you provoke!'

'I will think on what you have said,' said Jeanie, who began to get much alarmed at the frantic vehemence of his manner, and disputed in her own mind, whether she spoke to a maniac, or an apostate spirit incarnate—'I will think on what you say, and let you ken to-morrow.'

'To-morrow!' exclaimed the man with a laugh of scorn—'And where will I be to-morrow?—or, where will you be to-night, unless you swear to walk by my counsel?—there was one accursed deed done at this spot before now; and there shall be another to match it, unless you yield up to my guidance body and soul.'

As he spoke, he offered a pistol at the unfortunate young woman. She neither fled nor fainted, but sunk on her knees, and asked him to spare her life.

'Is that all you have to say?' said the unmoved ruffian.

'Do not dip your hands in the blood of a defenceless creature that has trusted to you,' said Jeanie, still on her knees.

'Is that all you can say for your life?—Have you no promise to give?—Will you destroy your sister, and compel me to shed more blood?'

'I can promise nothing,' said Jeanie, 'which is unlawful for a Christian.'

He cocked the weapon, and held it towards her.

'May God forgive you!' she said, pressing her hands forcibly against her eyes.

'D—n!' muttered the man; and, turning aside from her, he uncocked the pistol, and replaced it in his pocket—'I am a villain,' he said, 'steeped in guilt and wretchedness, but not wicked enough to do you any harm! I only wished to terrify you into my measures—She hears me not—she is gone!—Great God! what a wretch am I become!'

As he spoke, she recovered herself from an agony which partook of the bitterness of death; and, in a minute or two, through the strong exertion of her natural sense and courage, collected herself sufficiently to understand he intended her no personal injury.

'No!' he repeated; 'I would not add to the murder of your sister, and of her child, that of any one belonging to her!—Mad, frantic, as I am, and unrestrained by either fear or mercy, given up to the possession of an evil being, and forsaken by all that is good, I would not hurt you, were the world offered me for a bribe! But, for the sake of all that is dear to you, swear you will follow my counsel. Take this weapon, shoot me through the head, and with your own hand revenge your sister's wrong, only follow the course—the only course, by which her life can be saved.'

'Alas! is she innocent or guilty?'

'She is guiltless—guiltless of every thing, but of having trusted a villain!—Yet, had it not been for those that were worse than I am—yes, worse than I am, though I am bad indeed—this misery had not befallen.'

'And my sister's child—does it live?' said Jeanie.

'No; it was murdered—the new-born infant was barbarously murdered,' he uttered in a low, yet stern and sustained voice.—'but,' he added hastily, 'not by her knowledge or consent.'

'Then, why cannot the guilty be brought to justice, and the innocent freed?'