He looked up; the spokeswoman was very tall, had a voluminous handkerchief rolled round her head, grizzled hair flowing in elf-locks from beneath it, a long red cloak, and a staff in her band, headed with a sort of spear-point--it was, in short, Meg Merrilies. Hazlewood had never seen this remarkable figure before; he drew up his reins in astonishment at her appearance, and made a full stop. "I think," continued she, "they that hae taen interest in the house of Ellangowan suld sleep nane this night; three men hae been seeking ye, and you are gaun hame to sleep in your bed--d'ye think if the lad-bairn fa's, the sister will do weel? na. na!" "I don't understand you, good woman," said Hazlewood . "If you speak of Miss--I mean of any of the late Ellangowan family, tell me what I can do for them." "Of the late Ellangowan family?" she answered with great vehemence; "of the late Ellangowan family! and when was there ever, or when will there ever be, a family of Ellangowan, but bearing the gallant name of the bauld Bertram?" "But what do you mean, good woman?" "I am nae good woman--a' the country kens I am bad eneugh, and baith they and I may be sorry eneugh that I am nae better. But I can do what good women canna, and daurna do. I can do what would freeze the blood o' them that is bred in biggit wa's [*Built-walls] for naething but to bind bairns' heads, and to hap them in the cradle. Hear me--the guard's drawn off at the Custom-house at Portanferry, and it's brought up to Hazlewood House by your father's orders, because he thinks his house is to be attacked this night by the smugglers;--there's naebody means to touch his house; he has gude blood and gentle blood--I say little o' him for himself, but there's naebody thinks him worth meddling wi'. Send the horsemen back to their post, cannily [*Cautiously] and quietly--see an they winna hae wark the night--ay will they--the guns will flash and the swords will glitter in the braw moon." "Good God! what do you mean?" said Hazlewood; "your words and manner would persuade me you are mad, and yet there is a strange combination in what you say." "I am not mad!" exclaimed the gipsy, "I have been imprisoned for mad--scourged for mad--banished for mad--but mad I am not. Hear ye, Charles Hazlewood of Hazlewood : d'ye bear malice against him that wounded you?" "No, dame, God forbid; my arm is quite well, and I have always said the shot was discharged by accident. I should be glad to tell the young man so himself." "Then do what I bid ye," answered Meg Merrilies, "and ye'll do him mair gude than ever he did you ill; for if he was left to his ill-wishers he would be a bloody corpse ere morn, or a banished man--but there's ane abune [*Above] a'.--Do as I bid you; send back the soldiers to Portanferry. There's nae mair fear o' Hazlewood House than there's o' Cruffelfell." And she vanished with her usual celerity of pace.