The Waverley novels, by Sir Walter Scott, complete in 12 vol., printed from the latest English ed., embracing the author's last corrections, prefaces & notes.

308 WAVERLEY NOVELS.
not tell you this morning, when you thought yourself so happy, what an
evening was coming upon you?"
" That ye did e'en," replied Hobbie, " and that gars me come to you for
advice now; they that foresaw the trouble maun ken the cure."
" I know no cure for earthly trouble," returned the Dwarf; "or if I did,
-why should I help others, when none hath aided me? Have I not lost
wealth, that would have bought all thy barren hills a hundred times over?
rank, to which thine is as that of a peasant? society, where there was an
interchange of all that was amiable-of all that was intellectual? Have I
not lost all this? Am I not residing here, the veriest outcast on the face
of Nature, in the most hideous and most solitary of her retreats, myself
more hideous than all that is around me? And why should other worms
complain to me when they are trodden on, since I am myself lying crushed
and writhing under the chariot wheel?"
"Ye may have lost all this," answered IHobbie, in the bitterness of emotion; "land and friends, goods and gear; ye may hae lost them a',-but
ye ne'er can hae sae sair a heart as mine, for ye ne'er lost nae Grace Armstrong. And now my last hopes are gane, and I shall ne'er see her mair."
This he said in the tone of deepest emotion-and there followed a long
pause, for the mention of his bride's name had overcome the more angry
and irritable feelings of poor Hobbie. Ere lie had again addressed the
Solitary, the bony hand and long fingers of the latter, holding a large
leathern bag, was thrust forth at the small window, and as it unclutched
the burden, and let it drop with a clang upon the ground, his harsh voice
again addressed Elliot.
" There-there lies a salve for every human ill; so, at least, each human
wretch readily thinks. —Begone; return twice as wealthy as thou wert
before yesterday, and torment.me no more with questions, complaints, or
thanks; they are alike odious to me."
"It's a' gowd, by Heaven!" said Elliot, having glanced at the contents;
and then again addressing the Hermit, "Muckle obliged for your good-will;
and I. wad blithely gie you a bond for some o' the siller, or a wadset ower
the lands o' Wideopen. But I dinna ken, Elshie; to be free wi' you, I
dinna like to use siller unless I kend it was decently come by; and maybe
it might turn into sclate-stanes, and cheat some poor man."
"Ignorant idiot!" retorted the Dwarf; "the trash is as genuine poison
as ever was dug out of the bowels of the earth. Take it-use it, and may
it thrive with you as it hath done with me!"
"But I tell you," said Elliot, " it wasna about the gear that I was consulting you, —it was a, braw barn-yard, doubtless, and thirty head of finer
cattle there werena on this side of the Catrail; but let the gear gang, —if
ye could gie me but speerings o' puir Grace, I would be content to be your
slave for life, in ony thing that didna touch my salvation. 0, Elshie, speak,
man, speak!"
"Well, then," answered the Dwarf, as if worn out by his importunity,
"since thou hast not enough of woes of thine own, but must needs seek to
burden thyself with those of a partner, seek her whom thou hast lost in the
West."
"In the West? That's a wide word."
" It is the last," said the Dwarf, " which I design to utter;" and he drew
the shutters of his window, leaving Hobbie to make the most of the hint
he had given.
The west! the west! - thought Elliot; the country is pretty quiet down
that way, unless it were Jock o' the Todholes; and he's ower auld now
for the like o' thae jobs.- West! - By my life, it must be Westburnflat.
"Elshie, just tell me one word. Am I right? Is it Westburnflat? If I
am wrang, say sae. I wadna like to wyte an innocent neighbour wi' violence-No answer?-It must be the Red Reiver-I didna think he wad hae