Their astonishment was mutual. “O Donald!” exclaimed the lady, “what brings you here?” “I come in quest of my fish,” said Donald, “but, O lady! what _keeps_ you here? Come away with me, and I will bring you home; and you will be lady of Balconie yet.” “No, no!” she replied, “that day is past; I am fixed to this seat, and all the Highlands could not raise me from it.” Donald looked hard at the iron chair; its ponderous legs rose direct out of the solid rock as if growing out of it, and a thick iron chain red with rust, that lay under it, communicated at the one end to a strong ring, and was fastened round the other to one of the lady’s ankles. “Besides,” continued the lady, “look at these dogs.--Oh! why have you come here? The fish you have denied to your mistress in the name of my jailer, and his they have become; but how are you yourself to escape!” Donald looked at the dogs. They had again risen from their beds, and were now eyeing him with a keen vigilant expression, very unlike that with which they had regarded him on his entrance. He scratched his head. “’Deed, mem,” he said, “I dinna weel ken;--I maun first durk the twa tykes, I’m thinking.” “No,” said the lady, “there is but one way; be on the alert.” She laid hold of the mass of leaven which lay on the table, flung a piece to each of the dogs, and waved her hand for Donald to quit the cave. Away he sprang; stood for a moment as he reached the path to bid farewell to the lady; and after a long and dangerous scramble among the precipices, for the way seemed narrower, and steeper, and more slippery than when he had passed by it to the cave, he emerged from the chasm just as the evening was beginning to darken into night. And no one, since the adventure of Donald, has seen aught of the lady of Balconie. CHAPTER XII. Fu’ mony a schriek that waefu’ nicht Raise fra the boisterous main, An’ vow’d was mony a bootless vow, An’ praied war’ praiers vaine. An’ sair-pyned widows moned forlorn For mony a wearie daye, An’ maidens, ance o’ blithsome mood, Tined heart and dwyned away.--OLD BALLAD. [Sidenote: THE FISHERMAN’S WIDOW.]