"can a' the dainties they could gi'e us be half sae sweet as this hour's vengeance? There they are that were capering on their prancing nags four days since, and they are now ganging as driegh and sober as oursells the day. They were a' glistening wi' gowd and silver—they're now as black as the crook. And Miss Lucy Ashton, that grudged when an honest woman came near her, a taed may sit on her coffin the day, and she never scunner when he croaks. And Lady Ashton has hell-fire burning in her breast by this time; and Sir William, wi' his gibbets, and his faggots, and his chains, how likes he the witcheries of his ain dwelling house?"
"And is it true then," mumbled the paralytic wretch, "that the bride was trailed out of her bed and up the chimley by evil spirits, and that the bridegroom's face was wrung round ahint him?"
"Ye needna care wha did it, or how it was done," said Ailsie Gourley; "but I'll uphaud it for nae sticket job, and that the lairds and ladies ken this day."
