g Merrilies fell heavy on his mind. 'You have
stripped the thatch from seven cottages; see that the roof-tree of your
own house stand the surer!'

'Restore,' he cried, 'restore my bairn! bring me back my son, and all
shall be forgot and forgiven!' As he uttered these words in a sort of
frenzy, his eye caught a glimmering of light in one of the dismantled
cottages; it was that in which Meg Merrilies formerly resided. The light,
which seemed to proceed from fire, glimmered not only through the window,
but also through the rafters of the hut where the roofing had been torn
off.

He flew to the place; the entrance was bolted. Despair gave the miserable
father the strength of ten men; he rushed against the door with such
violence that it gave way before the momentum of his weight and force.
The cottage was empty, but bore marks of recent habitation: there was
fire on the hearth, a kettle, and some preparation for food. As he
eagerly gazed around for something that might confirm his hope that his
child yet lived, although in the power of those strange people, a man
entered the hut.

It was his old gardener. 'O sir!' said the old man, 'such a night as this
I trusted never to live to see! ye maun come to the Place directly!'

'Is my boy found? is he alive? have ye found Harry Bertram? Andrew, have
ye found Harry Bertram?'

'No, sir; but-'

'Then he is kidnapped! I am sure of it, Andrew! as sure as that I tread
upon earth! She has stolen him; and I will never stir from this place
till I have tidings of my bairn!'

'O, but ye maun come hame, sir! ye maun come hame! We have sent for the
Sheriff, and we'll seta watch here a' night, in case the gipsies return;
but YOU--ye maun come hame, sir, for my lady's in the dead-thraw.'

Bertram turned a stupefied and unmeaning eye on the messenger who uttered
this calamitous news; and, repeating the words 'in the dead-thraw!' as if
he could not comprehend their meaning, suffered the old man to drag him
towards his horse. During the ride home he only said, 'Wife and bairn
baith--mother and son baith,--sair, sair to abide!'

It is needless to dwell upon the new scene of agony which awaited him.
The news of Kennedy's fate had been eagerly and incautiously communicated
at Ellangowan, with the gratuitous addition, that, doubtless, 'he had
drawn the young Laird over the craig with him, though the tide had swept
away the child's body; he was light, puir thing, and would flee farther
into