d digs a grave--was wisely withdrawn
in the sequel, _The Abbot_. In the Introduction Scott states:

"The White Lady is scarcely supposed to have possessed
either the power or the inclination to do more than
inflict terror or create embarrassment, and is always
subjected by those mortals who ... could assert
superiority over her."

The only apology Scott could offer to the critics who derided his
wraith was that the readers "ought to allow for the capriccios of
what is after all but a better sort of goblin." She was suggested
by the Undine of De La Motte Fouque. In his next novel, _The
Fortunes of Nigel_, Scott formally renounced the mystic and the
magical: "Not a Cock Lane scratch--not one bounce on the drum of
Tedworth--not so much as the poor tick of a solitary death-watch
in the wainscot." But Scott cannot banish spectres so lightly
from his imagination. Apparitions--such as the Bodach Glas who
warns Fergus M'Ivor of his approaching death in _Waverley_, or
the wraith of a Highlander in a white cockade who is seen on the
battlefield in _The Legend of Montrose_--had appeared in his
earlier novels, and others appear again and again later. In _The
Bride of Lammermoor_--the only one of Scott's novels which might
fitly be called a "tale of terror"--the atmosphere of horror and
the sense of overhanging calamity effectually prepare our minds
for the supernatural, and the wraith of old Alice who appears to
the master of Ravenswood is strangely solemn and impressive. But
even more terrible is the description of the three hags laying
out her corpse. The appearance of Vanda with the Bloody Finger in
the haunted chamber of the Saxon manor in _The Betrothed_ is
skilfully arranged, and Eveline's terror is described with
convincing reality. In _Woodstock_, Scott adopted the method of
explaining away the apparently supernatural, although in his
_Lives of the Novelists_ he expressly disapproves of what he
calls the "precaution of Snug the joiner." Charged by Ballantyne
with imitating Mrs. Radcliffe, Scott defended himself by
asserting:

"My object is not to excite fear of supernatural things
in my reader, but to show the effect of such fear upon
the agents of the story--one a man in sense and
firmness, one a man unhinged by remorse, one a stupid,
unenquiring clown, one a learned and worthy but
superstitious divine."[116]

As Scott in his introduction quotes the passage fro