"Did not I say," said Dame Gourlay, "that the braw bridal would be
followed by as braw a funeral?"

"I think," answered Dame Winnie, "there's little bravery at it: neither
meat nor drink, and just a wheen silver tippences to the poor folk; it
was little worth while to come sae far a road for sae sma' profit, and
us sae frail."

"Out, wretch!" replied Dame Gourlay, "can a' the dainties they could gie
us be half sae sweet as this hour's vengeance? There they are that
were capering on their prancing nags four days since, and they are now
ganging as dreigh and sober as oursells the day. They were a' glistening
wi' gowd and silver; they're now as black as the crook. And Miss Lucy
Ashton, that grudged when an honest woman came near her--a taid may sit
on her coffin that day, and she can never scunner when he croaks. And
Lady Ashton has hell-fire burning in her breast by this time; and Sir
William, wi' his gibbets, and his faggots, and his chains, how likes he
the witcheries of his ain dwelling-house?"

"And is it true, then," mumbled the paralytic wretch, "that the bride
was trailed out of her bed and up the chimly by evil spirits, and that
the bridegroom's face was wrung round ahint him?"

"Ye needna care wha did it, or how it was done," said Aislie Gourlay;
"but I'll uphaud it for nae stickit job, and that the lairds and leddies
ken weel this day."