Dymock having spent his breath and his indignation through the window, to the disturbance of sundry bats and daws, which resided in the roof of the Tower, was become so calm that he made the rest of his descent in his usually tranquil and sluggish style, and even before he had crossed the court towards the draw-bridge, he had made up his mind to get Shanty to settle this knotty business, feeling that the old blacksmith would have been the proper person to have done it from the first.

Jacob, the ugly, ill-conditioned serving-man, was waiting to turn the light bridge, and had Dymock looked upon him, he would have seen that there was triumph on the features of this deformed animal, for Jacob was in all his master’s secrets; he knew that he meant to cheat the Laird, and he being Salmon’s foster brother, already counted upon his master’s riches as his own.  Salmon’s constitution was failing rapidly, and Jacob, therefore, soon hoped to gather in his golden harvest.

Jacob too, hated every creature about him, and his hatred being inherited from his parents, was likely to be coeval with his life.  The cause of this hatred will be seen in the sequel; but Jacob had no sooner turned the bridge and fixed it against the opposite bank, than Tamar springing from behind a cluster of bushes, jumped lightly on the boards, and the next moment she was with Dymock and Jacob on the inner side of the moat, under the tower.

Jacob had started back, as if he had seen a spectre, at the appearance of the blooming, sparkling Tamar, who came forward without hat or other head dress, her raven tresses floating in the breeze.

“Why are you here, my daughter?” said Dymock.

“Do not restrain me, dear father,” she answered, “you have not sped you say, only permit me to try my skill;” and then turning suddenly to Jacob, she drew herself up, as Dymock would have said, like a daughter of kings, and added, “show me to your master, I have business with him; go and tell him that I am here, and that I would see him.”

“And who are you?” asked Jacob, not insolently as was his wont, but as if under the impression of some kind of awe; “who shall I say you are?”

Dymock was about to answer; but Tamar placed her hand playfully on his lips, and took no other notice of the question of the serving man, but by repeating her command.

“What are you doing,—­what do you propose to do, Tamar?” said the Laird.  Tamar was fully aware that she had power to cause her patron at any time, to yield to her caprices; and she now used this power, as women know so well how to effect these things—­not by reason—­or persuasion, but by those playful manoeuvrings, which used in an evil cause have wrought the ruin of many a more steadfast character than Dymock.

“I have a thought dear father,” she said, “a wish, a fancy, a mere whim, and you shall not oppose me:  only remain where you are; keep guard upon the bridge, I shall not be absent long, only tell me how it has happened that your errand here has failed, and you,” she added, addressing Jacob, “go to your master and tell him I am here.”