Bertram, and sung ye sangs of the auld barons and their bloody
wars. It will ne'er be green again, and Meg Merrilies will never
sing sangs mair, be they blythe or sad. But ye'll no forget her,
and ye'll gar big up the auld wa's for her sake? And let somebody
live there that's ower gude to fear them of another warld. For if
ever the dead came back amang the living, I'll be seen in this
glen mony a night after these crazed banes are in the mould.'

The mixture of insanity and wild pathos with which she spoke these
last words, with her right arm bare and extended, her left bent
and shrouded beneath the dark red drapery of her mantle, might
have been a study worthy of our Siddons herself. 'And now,' she
said, resuming at once the short, stern, and hasty tone which was
most ordinary to her, 'let us to the wark, let us to the wark.'

She then led the way to the promontory on which the Kaim of
Derncleugh was situated, produced a large key from her pocket, and
unlocked the door. The interior of this place was in better order
than formerly. 'I have made things decent,' she said; 'I may be
streekit here or night. There will be few, few at Meg's lykewake,
for mony of our folk will blame what I hae done, and am to do!'

She then pointed to a table, upon which was some cold meat,
arranged with more attention to neatness than could have been
expected from Meg's habits. 'Eat,' she said--'eat; ye'll need it
this night yet.'

Bertram, in complaisance, eat a morsel or two; and Dinmont, whose
appetite was unabated either by wonder, apprehension, or the meal
of the morning, made his usual figure as a trencherman. She then