cold, bloodless
fingers of the goblin.

The old chapel among the woods formed the scene, says tradition, of an
incident similar to that which Sir Walter Scott relates in his "Heart of
Mid-Lothian," when borrowing, as the motto of the chapter in which he
describes the preparations for the execution of Porteous, from an author
rarely quoted--the Kelpie. "The hour's come," so runs the extract, "but
not the man;"--nearly the same words which the same author employs in
his "Guy Mannering," in the cave scene between Meg Merrilies and Dirk
Hatteraick. "There is a tradition," he adds in the accompanying note,
"that while a little stream was swollen into a torrent by recent
showers, the discontented voice of the water-spirit was heard to
pronounce these words. At the same moment, a man urged on by his fate,
or, in Scottish language, _fey_, arrived at a gallop, and prepared to
cross the water. No remonstrance from the bystanders was of power to
stop him: he plunged into the stream, and perished." So far Sir Walter.
The Ross-shire story is fuller, and somewhat different in its details.
On a field in the near neighbourhood of the chapel, now laid out into
the gardens of Conon House, there was a party of Highlanders engaged in
an autumnal day at noon, some two or three centuries ago, in cutting
down their corn, when the boding voice of the wraith was heard rising
from the Conon beneath--"The hour's come, but not the man." Immediately
after, a courier on horseback was seen spurring down the hill in hot
haste, making directly for what is known as a "fause ford," that lies
across the stream just opposite the old building, in the form of a
rippling bar, which, indicating apparently, though very falsely, little
depth of water, is flanked by a deep black pool above and below. The
Highlanders sprang forward to warn him of his danger, and keep him back;
but he was unbelieving and in haste, and rode express, he said, on
business that would brook no delay; and as for the "fause ford," if it
could not be ridden, it could be swam; and, whether by riding or
swimming, he was resolved on getting across. Determined, however, on
saving him in his own despite, the Highlanders forced him from his
horse, and, thrusting him into the little chapel, locked him in; and
then, throwing open the door when the fatal hour had passed, they called
to him that he might now pursue his journey. But there was no reply, and
no one came forth; and on going in they fou