'There was once a beautiful woman lived there-away,' began Ericson.--But I have not room to give the story as he told it, embellishing it, no doubt, as with such a mere tale was lawful enough, from his own imagination.The substance was that a young man fell in love with a beautiful witch, who let him go on loving her till he cared for nothing but her, and then began to kill him by laughing at him.For no witch can fall in love herself, however much she may like to be loved.She mocked him till he drowned himself in a pool on the seashore.Now the witch did not know that;but as she walked along the shore, looking for things, she saw his hand lying over the edge of a rocky basin.Nothing is more useful to a witch than the hand of a man, so she went to pick it up.When she found it fast to an arm, she would have chopped it off, but seeing whose it was, she would, for some reason or other best known to a witch, draw off his ring first.For it was an enchanted ring which she had given him to bewitch his love, and now she wanted both it and the hand to draw to herself the lover of a young maiden whom she hated.But the dead hand closed its fingers upon hers, and her power was powerless against the dead.And the tide came rushing up, and the dead hand held her till she was drowned.She lies with her lover to this day at the bottom of the Swalchie whirlpool; and when a storm is at hand, strange moanings rise from the pool, for the youth is praying the witch lady for her love, and she is praying him to let go her hand.
While Ericson told the story the room still glimmered about Robert as if all its light came from Mysie's face, upon which the flickering firelight alone played.Mr.Lindsay sat a little back from the rest, with an amused expression: legends of such sort did not come within the scope of his antiquarian reach, though he was ready enough to believe whatever tempted his own taste, let it be as destitute of likelihood as the story of the dead hand.When Ericson ceased, Mysie gave a deep sigh, and looked full of thought, though Idaresay it was only feeling.Mr.Lindsay followed with an old tale of the Sinclairs, of which he said Ericson's reminded him, though the sole association was that the foregoing was a Caithness story, and the Sinclairs are a Caithness family.As soon as it was over, Mysie, who could not hide all her impatience during its lingering progress, asked Robert to play again.He took up his violin, and with great expression gave the air of Ericson's ballad two or three times over, and then laid down the instrument.He saw indeed that it was too much for Mysie, affecting her more, thus presented after the story, than the singing of the ballad itself.Thereupon Ericson, whose spirits had risen greatly at finding that he could himself secure Mysie's attention, and produce the play of soul in feature which he so much delighted to watch, offered another story;and the distant rush of the sea, borne occasionally into the 'grateful gloom' upon the cold sweep of a February wind, mingled with one tale after another, with which he entranced two of his audience, while the third listened mildly content.
The last of the tales Ericson told was as follows:--'One evening-twilight in spring, a young English student, who had wandered northwards as far as the outlying fragments of Scotland called the Orkney and Shetland islands, found himself on a small island of the latter group, caught in a storm of wind and hail, which had come on suddenly.It was in vain to look about for any shelter; for not only did the storm entirely obscure the landscape, but there was nothing around him save a desert moss.
'At length, however, as he walked on for mere walking's sake, he found himself on the verge of a cliff, and saw, over the brow of it, a few feet below him, a ledge of rock, where he might find some shelter from the blast, which blew from behind.Letting himself down by his hands, he alighted upon something that crunched beneath his tread, and found the bones of many small animals scattered about in front of a little cave in the rock, offering the refuge he sought, He went in, and sat upon a stone.The storm increased in violence, and as the darkness grew he became uneasy, for he did not relish the thought of spending the night in the cave.He had parted from his companions on the opposite side of the island, and it added to his uneasiness that they must be full of apprehension about him.
At last there came a lull in the storm, and the same instant he heard a footfall, stealthy and light as that of a wild beast, upon the bones at the mouth of the cave.He started up in some fear, though the least thought might have satisfied him that there could be no very dangerous animals upon the island.Before he had time to think, however, the face of a woman appeared in the opening.
Eagerly the wanderer spoke.She started at the sound of his voice.
He could not see her well, because she was turned towards the darkness of the cave.
'"Will you tell me how to find my way across the moor to Shielness?"he asked.
'"You cannot find it to-night," she answered, in a sweet tone, and with a smile that bewitched him, revealing the whitest of teeth.
'"What am I to do, then?" he asked.
'"My mother will give you shelter, but that is all she has to offer."'"And that is far more than I expected a minute ago," he replied."Ishall be most grateful."
'She turned in silence and left the cave.The youth followed.
'She was barefooted, and her pretty brown feet went catlike over the sharp stones, as she led the way down a rocky path to the shore.
