“What, him we read of in the papers?”

“Lord safe us!” said the landlady.  “I must go and see what he would have for supper—­that I should set him down here.”

When the landlady re-entered, Colonel Mannering asked her if Mr. Bertram lost his son in his fifth year.

“O ay, sir, there’s nae doubt of that; though there are many idle clashes about the way and manner.  And the news being rashly told to the leddy cost her her life that saym night; and the laird never throve from that day, was just careless of everything.  Though when Miss Lucy grew up she tried to keep order.  But what could she do, poor thing?  So now they’re out of house and hauld.”

II.—­Vanbeest Brown’s Reappearance

Early next morning, Mannering took the road to Ellangowan.  He had no need to inquire the way; people of all descriptions streamed to the sale from all quarters.

When the old towers of the ruin rose upon his view, thoughts thronged upon the mind of the traveller.  How changed his feelings since he lost sight of them so many years before!  Then life and love were new, and all the prospect was gilded by their rays.  And now, disappointed in affection, sated with fame, goaded by bitter and repentant recollections, his best hope was to find a retirement in which to nurse the melancholy which was to accompany him to his grave.  About a year before, in India, he had returned from a distant expedition to find a young cadet named Brown established as the habitual attendant on his wife and daughter, an arrangement which displeased him greatly, owing to the suggestions of another cadet, though no objection could be made to the youth’s character or manners.  Brown made some efforts to overcome his colonel’s prejudice, but feeling himself repulsed, and with scorn, desisted, and continued his attentions in defiance.  At last some trifle occurred which occasioned high words and a challenge.  They met on the frontiers of the settlement, and Brown fell at the first shot.  A horde of Looties, a species of banditti, poured in upon them, and Colonel Mannering and his second escaped with some difficulty.  His wife’s death shortly after, and his daughter’s severe illness, made him throw up his command and come home.  She was now staying with some old friends in Westmoreland, almost restored to her wonted health and gaiety.

When Colonel Mannering reached the house he found his old acquaintance paralysed, helpless, waiting for the postchaise to take him away.  Mannering’s evident emotion at once attained him the confidence of Lucy Bertram.  The laird showed no signs of recognising Mannering; but when the man, Gilbert Glossin, who had brought him to this pass, had the effrontery to make his appearance, he started up, violently reproaching him, sank into his chair again, and died almost without a groan.

A torrent of sympathy now poured forth, the sale was postponed, and Mannering decided on making a short tour till it should take place, but he was called back to Westmoreland, and, owing to the delay of his messenger, the estate passed into the hands of Glossin.  Lucy and Dominie Sampson, who would not be separated from his pupil, found a temporary home in the house of Mr. MacMorlan, the sheriff-substitute, a good friend of the family.