In this disposition of accommodation he approached the hut of the Solitary.

The old man was not upon his seat of audience, nor could Hobbie perceive him in his garden, or enclosures.

“He’s gotten into his very keep,” said Hobbie, “maybe to be out o’ the gate; but I’se pu’ it doun about his lugs, if I canna win at him otherwise.”

Having thus communed with himself, he raised his voice, and invoked Elshie in a tone as supplicating as his conflicting feelings would permit.  “Elshie, my gude friend!” No reply.  “Elshie, canny Father Elshie!” The Dwarf remained mute.  “Sorrow be in the crooked carcass of thee!” said the Borderer between his teeth; and then again attempting a soothing tone,—­“Good Father Elshie, a most miserable creature desires some counsel of your wisdom.”

“The better!” answered the shrill and discordant voice of the Dwarf through a very small window, resembling an arrow slit, which he had constructed near the door of his dwelling, and through which he could see any one who approached it, without the possibility of their looking in upon him.

“The better!” said Hobbie impatiently; “what is the better, Elshie?  Do you not hear me tell you I am the most miserable wretch living?”

“And do you not hear me tell you it is so much the better! and did I not tell you this morning, when you thought yourself so happy, what an evening was coming upon you?”

“That ye did e’en,” replied Hobbie, “and that gars me come to you for advice now; they that foresaw the trouble maun ken the cure.”

“I know no cure for earthly trouble,” returned the Dwarf “or, if I did, why should I help others, when none hath aided me?  Have I not lost wealth, that would have bought all thy barren hills a hundred times over? rank, to which thine is as that of a peasant? society, where there was an interchange of all that was amiable—­of all that was intellectual?  Have I not lost all this?  Am I not residing here, the veriest outcast on the face of Nature, in the most hideous and most solitary of her retreats, myself more hideous than all that is around me?  And why should other worms complain to me when they are trodden on, since I am myself lying crushed and writhing under the chariot-wheel?”

“Ye may have lost all this,” answered Hobbie, in the bitterness of emotion; “land and friends, goods and gear; ye may hae lost them a’,—­but ye ne’er can hae sae sair a heart as mine, for ye ne’er lost nae Grace Armstrong.  And now my last hopes are gane, and I shall ne’er see her mair.”

This he said in the tone of deepest emotion—­and there followed a long pause, for the mention of his bride’s name had overcome the more angry and irritable feelings of poor Hobbie.  Ere he had again addressed the Solitary, the bony hand and long fingers of the latter, holding a large leathern bag, was thrust forth at the small window, and as it unclutched the burden, and let it drop with a clang upon the ground, his harsh voice again addressed Elliot.