“I am wae ye suld hae stude waiting at your ain gate; but wha wad hae thought o’ seeing ye sae sune, and a strange gentleman with a—­(Here he exclaimed apart, as it were, and to some inmate of the tower, in a voice not meant to be heard by those in the court)—­Mysie—­Mysie, woman! stir for dear life, and get the fire mended; take the auld three-legged stool, or ony thing that’s readiest that will make a lowe.  I doubt we are but puirly provided, no expecting ye this some months, when doubtless ye was hae been received conform till your rank, as gude right is; but natheless——­”

“Natheless, Caleb,” said the Master, “we must have our horses put up, and ourselves too, the best way we can.  I hope you are not sorry to see me sooner than you expected?”

“Sorry, my lord!  I am sure ye sall aye be my lord wi’ honest folk, as your noble ancestors hae been these three hundred years, and never asked a Whig’s leave.  Sorry to see the Lord of Ravenswood at ane o’ his ain castles! (Then again apart to his unseen associate behind the screen) Mysie, kill the brood-hen without thinking twice on it; let them care that come ahint.  No to say it’s our best dwelling,” he added, turning to Bucklaw; “but just a strength for the Lord of Ravenswood to flee until—­that is, no to flee, but to retreat until in troublous times, like the present, when it was ill convenient for him to live farther in the country in ony of his better and mair principal manors; but, for its antiquity, maist folk think that the outside of Wolf’s Crag is worthy of a large perusal.”

“And you are determined we shall have time to make it,” said Ravenswood, somewhat amused with the shifts the old man used to detain them without doors until his confederate Mysie had made her preparations within.

“Oh, never mind the outside of the house, my good friend,” said Bucklaw; “let’s see the inside, and let our horses see the stable, that’s all.”  “Oh yes, sir—­ay, sir—­unquestionably, sir—­my lord and ony of his honourable companions——­”

“But our horses, my friend—­our horses; they will be dead-founded by standing here in the cold after riding hard, and mine is too good to be spoiled; therefore, once more, our horses!” exclaimed Bucklaw.

“True—­ay—­your horses—­yes—­I will call the grooms”; and sturdily did Caleb roar till the old tower rang again:  “John—­William—­Saunders!  The lads are gane out, or sleeping,” he observed, after pausing for an answer, which he knew that he had no human chance of receiving.  “A’ gaes wrang when the Master’s out-bye; but I’ll take care o’ your cattle mysell.”

“I think you had better,” said Ravenswood, “otherwise I see little chance of their being attended to at all.”

“Whisht, my lord—­whisht, for God’s sake,” said Caleb, in an imploring tone, and apart to his master; “if ye dinna regard your ain credit, think on mine; we’ll hae hard eneugh wark to make a decent night o’t, wi’ a’ the lees I can tell.”