“There—­there lies a salve for every human ill; so, at least, each human wretch readily thinks.—­Begone; return twice as wealthy as thou wert before yesterday, and torment me no more with questions, complaints, or thanks; they are alike odious to me.”

“It is a’ gowd, by Heaven!” said Elliot, having glanced at the contents; and then again addressing the Hermit, “Muckle obliged for your goodwill; and I wad blithely gie you a bond for some o’ the siller, or a wadset ower the lands o’ Wideopen.  But I dinna ken, Elshie; to be free wi’ you, I dinna like to use siller unless I kend it was decently come by; and maybe it might turn into sclate-stanes, and cheat some poor man.”

“Ignorant idiot!” retorted the Dwarf; “the trash is as genuine poison as ever was dug out of the bowels of the earth.  Take it—­use it, and may it thrive with you as it hath done with me!”

“But I tell you,” said Elliot, “it wasna about the gear that I was consulting you,—­it was a braw barn-yard, doubtless, and thirty head of finer cattle there werena on this side of the Catrail; but let the gear gang,—­if ye could but gie me speerings o’ puir Grace, I would be content to be your slave for life, in onything that didna touch my salvation.  O, Elshie, speak, man, speak!”

“Well, then,” answered the Dwarf, as if worn out by his importunity, “since thou hast not enough of woes of thine own, but must needs seek to burden thyself with those of a partner, seek her whom thou hast lost in the west.”

“In the west?  That’s a wide word.”

“It is the last,” said the Dwarf, “which I design to utter;” and he drew the shutters of his window, leaving Hobbie to make the most of the hint he had given.

The west! the west!—­thought Elliot; the country is pretty quiet down that way, unless it were Jock o’ the Todholes; and he’s ower auld now for the like o’ thae jobs.—­West!—­By My life, it must be Westburnflat.  “Elshie, just tell me one word.  Am I right?  Is it Westburnflat?  If I am wrang, say sae.  I wadna like to wyte an innocent neighbour wi’ violence—­No answer?—­It must be the Red Reiver—­I didna think he wad hae ventured on me, neither, and sae mony kin as there’s o’ us—­I am thinking he’ll hae some better backing than his Cumberland friends.—­Fareweel to you, Elshie, and mony thanks—­I downa be fashed wi’ the siller e’en now, for I maun awa’ to meet my friends at the Trysting-place—­Sae, if ye carena to open the window, ye can fetch it in after I’m awa’.”

Still there was no reply.

“He’s deaf, or he’s daft, or he’s baith; but I hae nae time to stay to claver wi’ him.”

And off rode Hobbie Elliot towards the place of rendezvous which he had named to his friends.