ours. That is, I believe, the motto of the former
people; mine is--mine is--in fact, I have had some correspondence with
Mr. Cumming of the Lyon Office in Edinburgh about mine. He writes me the
Glossins anciently bore for a motto, "He who takes it, makes it."'

'If there be any uncertainty, sir, and the case were mine,' said Bertram,
'I would assume the old motto, which seems to me the better of the two.'

Glossin, whose tongue by this time clove to the roof of his mouth, only
answered by a nod.

'It is odd enough,' said Bertram, fixing his eye upon the arms and
gateway, and partly addressing Glossin, partly as it were thinking
aloud--'it is odd the tricks which our memory plays us. The remnants of
an old prophecy, or song, or rhyme of some kind or other, return to my
recollection on hearing that motto; stay--it is a strange jingle of
sounds:--

The dark shall be light, And the wrong made right, When Bertram's right
and Bertram's might Shall meet on---

I cannot remember the last line--on some particular height; HEIGHT is the
rhyme, I am sure; but I cannot hit upon the preceding word.'

'Confound your memory,' muttered Glossin, 'you remember by far too much
of it!'

'There are other rhymes connected with these early recollections,'
continued the young man. 'Pray, sir, is there any song current in this
part of the world respecting a daughter of the King of the Isle of Man
eloping with a Scottish knight?'

'I am the worst person in the world to consult upon legendary
antiquities,' answered Glossin.

'I could sing such a ballad,' said Bertram, 'from one end to another when
I was a boy. You must know I left Scotland, which is my native country,
very young, and those who brought me up discouraged all my attempts to
preserve recollection of my native land, on account, I believe, of a
boyish wish which I had to escape from their charge.'

'Very natural,' said Glossin, but speaking as if his utmost efforts were
unable to unseal his lips beyond the width of a quarter of an inch, so
that his whole utterance was a kind of compressed muttering, very
different from the round, bold, bullying voice with which he usually
spoke. Indeed, his appearance and demeanour during all this conversation
seemed to diminish even his strength and stature; so that he appeared to
wither into the shadow of himself, now advancing one foot, now the other,
now stooping and wriggling his shoulders, now fumbling with the buttons
of his waistcoat