a-guinea, the gipsy
suddenly made two strides and seized Brown's hand. He expected, of
course, a display of her skill in palmistry, but she seemed agitated by
other feelings.

'Tell me,' she said, 'tell me, in the name of God, young man, what is
your name, and whence you came?'

'My name is Brown, mother, and I come from the East Indies.'

'From the East Indies!' dropping his hand with a sigh; 'it cannot be
then. I am such an auld fool, that everything I look on seems the thing I
want maist to see. But the East Indies! that cannot be. Weel, be what ye
will, ye hae a face and a tongue that puts me in mind of auld times. Good
day; make haste on your road, and if ye see ony of our folk, meddle not
and make not, and they'll do you nae harm.'

Brown, who had by this time received his change, put a shilling into her
hand, bade his hostess farewell, and, taking the route which the farmer
had gone before, walked briskly on, with the advantage of being guided by
the fresh hoof-prints of his horse. Meg Merrilies looked after him for
some time, and then muttered to herself, 'I maun see that lad again; and
I maun gang back to Ellangowan too. The Laird's dead! aweel, death pays
a' scores; he was a kind man ance. The Sheriff's flitted, and I can keep
canny in the bush; so there's no muckle hazard o' scouring the
cramp-ring. I would like to see bonny Ellangowan again or I die.'

Brown meanwhile proceeded northward at a round pace along the moorish
tract called the Waste of Cumberland. He passed a solitary house, towards
which the horseman who preceded him had apparently turned up, for his
horse's tread was evident in that direction. A little farther, he seemed
to have returned again into the road. Mr. Dinmont had probably made a
visit there either of business or pleasure. 'I wish,' thought Brown, 'the
good farmer had staid till I came up; I should not have been sorry to ask
him a few questions about the road, which seems to grow wilder and
wilder.'

In truth, nature, as if she had designed this tract of country to be the
barrier between two hostile nations, has stamped upon it a character of
wildness and desolation. The hills are neither high nor rocky, but the
land is all heath and morass; the huts poor and mean, and at a great
distance from each other. Immediately around them there is generally some
little attempt at cultivation; but a half-bred foal or two, straggling
about with shackles on their hind legs, to save the troubl