“Ane that’s weel worth ony twa o’ us, Monkbarns;--it’s the young stranger lad they ca’ Lovel--and he’s behaved this blessed night as if he had three lives to rely on, and was willing to waste them a’ rather than endanger ither folk’s. Ca’ hooly, sirs, as ye, wad win an auld man’s blessing!--mind there’s naebody below now to haud the gy--Hae a care o’ the Cat’s-lug corner--bide weel aff Crummie’s-horn!” “Have a care indeed,” echoed Oldbuck. “What! is it my rara avis--my black swan--my phoenix of companions in a post-chaise?--take care of him, Mucklebackit.” “As muckle care as if he were a graybeard o’ brandy; and I canna take mair if his hair were like John Harlowe’s.--Yo ho, my hearts! bowse away with him!” Lovel did, in fact, run a much greater risk than any of his precursors. His weight was not sufficient to render his ascent steady amid such a storm of wind, and he swung like an agitated pendulum at the mortal risk of being dashed against the rocks. But he was young, bold, and active, and, with the assistance of the beggar’s stout piked staff, which he had retained by advice of the proprietor, contrived to bear himself from the face of the precipice, and the yet more hazardous projecting cliffs which varied its surface. Tossed in empty space, like an idle and unsubstantial feather, with a motion that agitated the brain at once with fear and with dizziness, he retained his alertness of exertion and presence of mind; and it was not until he was safely grounded upon the summit of the cliff, that he felt temporary and giddy sickness. As he recovered from a sort of half swoon, he cast his eyes eagerly around. The object which they would most willingly have sought, was already in the act of vanishing. Her white garment was just discernible as she followed on the path which her father had taken. She had lingered till she saw the last of their company rescued from danger, and until she had been assured by the hoarse voice of Mucklebackit, that “the callant had come off wi’ unbrizzed banes, and that he was but in a kind of dwam.” But Lovel was not aware that she had expressed in his fate even this degree of interest,--which, though nothing more than was due to a stranger who had assisted her in such an hour of peril, he would have gladly purchased by braving even more imminent danger than he had that evening been exposed to. The beggar she had already commanded to come to Knockwinnock that night. He made an excuse.--“Then to-morrow let me see you.” The old man promised to obey. Oldbuck thrust something into his hand--Ochiltree looked at it by the torchlight, and returned it--“Na, na! I never tak gowd--besides, Monkbarns, ye wad maybe be rueing it the morn.” Then turning to the group of fishermen and peasants--“Now, sirs, wha will gie me a supper and some clean pease-strae?” “I,” “and I,” “and I,” answered many a ready voice.