ed him to conclude that this man himself was a
victim to those delusions, though his mind, naturally acute and forcible,
not only disguised his superstition from those in whose opinion it might
have discredited his judgment, but by exerting such a force as is said to
be proper to those afflicted with epilepsy, could postpone the fits which
it occasioned until he was either freed from superintendence, or
surrounded by such as held him more highly on account of these
visitations. It was natural to suppose, and could easily be inferred from
the narrative of Mrs. Maclure, that disappointed ambition, wrecked hopes,
and the downfall of the party which he had served with such desperate
fidelity, were likely to aggravate enthusiasm into temporary insanity. It
was, indeed, no uncommon circumstance in those singular times that men
like Sir Harry Vane, Harrison, Overton, and others, themselves slaves to
the wildest and most enthusiastic dreams, could, when mingling with the
world, conduct themselves not only with good sense in difficulties, and
courage in dangers, but with the most acute sagacity and determined
valour. The subsequent part of Mrs. Maclure's information confirmed
Morton in these impressions.

"In the grey of the morning," she said, "my little Peggy sail show ye the
gate to him before the sodgers are up. But ye maun let his hour of
danger, as he ca's it, be ower, afore ye venture on him in his place of
refuge. Peggy will tell ye when to venture in. She kens his ways weel,
for whiles she carries him some little helps that he canna do
without to sustain life."

"And in what retreat, then," said Morton, "has this unfortunate person
found refuge?"

"An awsome place," answered the blind woman, "as ever living creature
took refuge in; they ca it the Black Linn of Linklater. It's a doleful
place, but he loves it abune a' others, because he has sae often been in
safe hiding there; and it's my belief he prefers it to a tapestried
chamber and a down bed. But ye'll see 't. I hae seen it mysell mony a day
syne. I was a daft hempie lassie then, and little thought what was to
come o't.--Wad ye choose ony thing, sir, ere ye betake yoursell to your
rest, for ye maun stir wi' the first dawn o' the grey light?"

"Nothing more, my good mother," said Morton; and they parted for the
evening.

Morton recommended himself to Heaven, threw himself on the bed, heard,
between sleeping and waking, the trampling of the dragoon horses at the