With a quivering voice, and a cheek pale with apprehension, Caleb faultered out the following lines:—
"When the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravenswood shall ride,
And wooe a dead maiden to be his bride,
He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's flow,
And his name shall be lost for evermoe!"
"I know the Kelpie's flow well enough; I suppose, at least, you mean the quick-sand betwixt this tower and Wolf's-hope; but why any man in his senses should stable a steed there"
"O, never speer ony thing about that, sir—God forbid we should ken what the prophecy means—but just bide you at hame, and let the strangers ride to Ravenswood by themselves. We have done aneugh for them; and to do mair, would be mair against the credit of the family than in its favour."
"Well, Caleb," said the Master, "I give you the best possible credit for your good
