"Clermistonlee," began Juden, closing up to his master as the Long Gate became darker and more lonely, for the cottages of St. Ninian were now far behind; "If the auld witch, Elshender, by kecking through a spule bane should divine our errand, our riding will be to little purpose I reckon. She is an unco uncanny body, Lucky Elsie, and though her gudeman was a trooper, and did richt leal service in King Charles' wars, I would fain see her brought to the tar-barrel, for, wow, but I hate an auld blench-lippit, long-chaffit, sunk-eyed carlin, as I do sour ale or the deil." The Lord vouchsafed no reply to these sapient remarks, and Juden, feeling somewhat uneasy at his silence, the darkness, and their vicinity to the old Cross-kirk of St. Cuthbert, with its great square central tower and broad burial grounds, studded with mossy tombstones and slabs half sunk in the long reedy grass, spurred nearer and spoke again. "And then to think o' Meg, puir beastie! to fa' ill o' the wheezlock, the malanders, and deil kens a' what, the very night ye trampled down that auld cummer's kailcastocks, and wi' this match wi' Holsterlee to come off at Easter! Troth, my Lord Mersington has thumbscrewed and tar-barrelled scores o' auld besoms on the half o' sic evidence o' malice, and ungodly ill will. And I would beg o' you to gie Mersington a hint, that she was the gossip of Helen of Peaston, who was burned ten years byegone. Od's fish! I saw the brodder o' the High Court run his steel pricker thrice into Belzeebub's mark on her bare back--a lang black teat whereat she suckled Hornie's imps, and she neither winced nor skirled. And for what I would like mickle to ken----" "Silence." "Doth not this auld deevil, Elshender, deserve the tar-barrel as weel as her neighbour cummer." "I tell thee, silence! Blow the match that must light the link." "The link--now?" "Thou hast it I hope, pumpkin-head?" "Yes--yes, my Lord--but wow I wish this desperate job weel oure." "Art getting white-livered? Is this our first affair of the kind?" "What, if the coach with the skeleton Lady cam' rumbling up Leith loan after us! It is about her hour noo. Burn my beard, if I wadna die o' sheer fright." "Would to Heaven she came then, and rid me of a thorough household pest."