Chapter 9

So spak the knicht; the geaunt sed,
Lend forth with the the sely maid,
And mak me quile of the and sche;
For glaunsing ee, or brow so brent,
Or cheek with rose and lilye blent,
Me lists not ficht with the.--ROMANCE OF THE FALCON.

The tower, before which the party now stood, was a small square
building, of the most gloomy aspect. The walls were of great thickness,
and the windows, or slits which served the purpose of windows, seemed
rather calculated to afford the defenders the means of employing missile
weapons, than for admitting air or light to the apartments within. A
small battlement projected over the walls on every side, and afforded
farther advantage of defence by its niched parapet, within which arose
a steep roof, flagged with grey stones. A single turret at one angle,
defended by a door studded with huge iron nails, rose above the
battlement, and gave access to the roof from within, by the spiral
staircase which it enclosed. It seemed to the party that their motions
were watched by some one concealed within this turret; and they were
confirmed in their belief when, through a narrow loophole, a female hand
was seen to wave a handkerchief, as if by way of signal to them. Hobbie
was almost out of his senses with joy and eagerness.

"It was Grace's hand and arm," he said; "I can swear to it amang a
thousand. There is not the like of it on this side of the Lowdens--We'll
have her out, lads, if we should carry off the Tower of Westburnflat
stane by stane."

Earnscliff, though he doubted the possibility of recognising a fair
maiden's hand at such a distance from the eye of the lover, would say
nothing to damp his friend's animated hopes, and it was resolved to
summon the garrison.

The shouts of the party, and the winding of one or two horns, at length
brought to a loophole, which flanked the entrance, the haggard face of
an old woman.

"That's the Reiver's mother," said one of the Elliots; "she's ten times
waur than himsell, and is wyted for muckle of the ill he does about the
country."

"Wha are ye? what d'ye want here?" were the queries of the respectable
progenitor.

"We are seeking William Graeme of Westburnflat," said Earnscliff.

"He's no at hame," returned the old dame.

"When did he leave home?" pursued Earnscliff.

"I canna tell," said the portress.

"When will he return?" said Hobbie Elliot.

"I dinna ken naething about it," replied the inexorable guardian of the
keep.

"Is there anybody within the tower with you?" again demanded Earnscliff.

"Naebody but mysell and baudrons," said