"Psha! Wherever you have a mind."

"Ay, or pitch him overboard?"

"Nay, I advise no violence."

"Nein, nein! You leave that to me Sturm-wetter; I know you of old. But,
hark ye, what am I, Dirk Hatteraick, to be the better for this?"

Glossin made him understand it would not be safe for either of them if
young Ellangowan settled in the country, and their plans were soon
arranged. None of the old crew were alive but the gipsy who had sent the
news of Brown's whereabouts and identity.

Brown, or, as we may now call him, Harry Bertram, had retreated into
England, but now, hearing that Hazlewood's wound was trifling, returned
and landed at Ellangowan Bay; he approached the castle, unconscious as
the most absolute stranger, where his ancestors had exercised all but
regal dominion.

Confused memories thronged his mind, and he paused by a curious
coincidence on nearly the same spot on which his father had died, just
as Glossin came up the bank with an architect, to whom he was talking of
alterations; Bertram turned short round upon him, and said:

"Would you destroy this fine old castle, sir?"

He was so exactly like his father in his best days that Glossin thought
the grave had given up its dead. He staggered back, but instantly
recovered, and whispered a few words in the ear of his companion, who