“There is a mystery in this,—a mystery
that I cannot fathom,” he said. “And
now I would I knew what measures it would be proper
to take.”
“Get you on horseback, Dr. Melmoth, and proceed
as speedily as may be down the valley to the town,”
said the dame, the influence of whose firmer mind
was sometimes, as in the present case, most beneficially
exerted over his own. “You must not spare
for trouble, no, nor for danger. Now—Oh,
if I were a man!”—
“Oh, that you were!” murmured the doctor,
in a perfectly inaudible voice, “Well—and
when I reach the town, what then?”
“As I am a Christian woman, my patience cannot
endure you!” exclaimed Mrs. Melmoth. “Oh,
I love to see a man with the spirit of a man! but you”—And
she turned away in utter scorn.
“But, dearest wife,” remonstrated the
husband, who was really at a loss how to proceed,
and anxious for her advice, “your worldly experience
is greater than mine, and I desire to profit by it.
What should be my next measure after arriving at the
town?”
Mrs. Melmoth was appeased by the submission with which
the doctor asked her counsel; though, if the truth
must be told, she heartily despised him for needing
it. She condescended, however, to instruct him
in the proper method of pursuing the runaway maiden,
and directed him, before his departure, to put strict
inquiries to Hugh Crombie respecting any stranger
who might lately have visited his inn. That there
would be wisdom in this, Dr. Melmoth had his own reasons
for believing; and still, without imparting them to
his lady, he proceeded to do as he had been bid.
The veracious landlord acknowledged that a stranger
had spent a night and day at his inn, and was missing
that morning; but he utterly denied all acquaintance
with his character, or privity to his purposes.
Had Mrs. Melmoth, instead of her husband, conducted
the examination, the result might have been different.
As the case was, the doctor returned to his dwelling
but little wiser than he went forth; and, ordering
his steed to be saddled, he began a journey of which
he knew not what would be the end.
In the mean time, the intelligence of Ellen’s
disappearance circulated rapidly, and soon sent forth
hunters more fit to follow the chase than Dr. Melmoth.
“There was racing and chasing o’er
Cannobie Lee.”
Walter Scott.
When Edward Walcott awoke the next morning from his
deep slumber, his first consciousness was of a heavy
weight upon his mind, the cause of which he was unable
immediately to recollect. One by one, however,
by means of the association of ideas, the events of
the preceding night came back to his memory; though
those of latest occurrence were dim as dreams.
But one circumstance was only too well remembered,—the
discovery of Ellen Langton. By a strong effort
he next attained to an uncertain recollection of a
