"Ye’ve come here to taunt me," said he, "but the Lord has prepared for you a speedy visitation. Puir fools, ye shall go down quick to the bottomless pit like Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, and none shall be left to tell the tale of you. Ye have led braw lives. Ye have robbed the widow and the fatherless, ye have slain by your numbers men ye darena have come near singly, ye have been the devil’s own braw servants, and, lads, ye’ll very soon get your wages. Ye have made thae bonny lands o’ Tweedside fit to spew ye forth for your wickedness. And ye think that there is nae jealous God in Heaven watching ower you and your doings and biding His time to repay. But, lads, ye’re wrang for yince. The men ye thocht to take are by this time far from ye, and there is only one left, an auld feckless man, that will no bring muckle credit to ye. But God has ordained that ye shall never leave here, but mix your banes to a’ time wi’ the hillside stanes. God hae pity on your souls, ye that had nae pity on others in your lives." And even as I watched, the end came, sudden and awful. Stretching out his great arms, he caught the two stone shafts and with one mighty effort pushed them asunder. I held my breath with horror. With a roar like a world falling the roof came down, and the great hillside sank among a ruin of rock. I was blinded by dust even in my secure seat, and driven half-mad with terror and grief. I know not how I got to the air, but by God’s good providence the passage where I lay was distinct from the cave, and a rift in the solid rock. As it was, I had to fight with falling splinters and choking dust all the way. At last—and it seemed ages—I felt free air and a glimmer of light, and with one fresh effort crawled out beneath a tuft of bracken. And this is why at this day there is no cave at the Cor Water, nothing but the bare side of a hill strewn with stones. When I gained breath to raise myself and look around, the sight was strange indeed. The vast cloud of dust was beginning to settle and the whole desolation lay clear. I know not how to tell of it. It was like some battlefield of giants of old time. Great rocks lay scattered amid the beds of earth and shingle, and high up toward the brow of the hill one single bald scarp showed where the fall had begun. A hundred yards away, by his horse’s side, gazing with wild eyes at the scene, stood a dragoon, doubtless the one whom the ill-fated company had set for guard. I hastened toward him as fast as my weak knees would carry me, and I saw without surprise that he was the Dutchman, Jan Hamman, whom I had already met thrice before. He scarce was aware of my presence, but stood weeping with weakness and terror, and whimpering like a child. I took him by the shoulder and shook him, until at last I had brought him back to his senses, and he knew me. "Where are they gone?" and he pointed feebly with his finger to the downfall.