 written
memoranda.
    I proceeded, however, to decipher the substance of the manuscript as well as
I could, and wove it into the following Tale, in which, following in part,
though not entirely, my friend Tinto's advice, I endeavoured to render my
narrative rather descriptive than dramatic. My favourite propensity, however,
has at times overcome me, and my persons, like many others in this talking
world, speak now and then a great deal more than they act.
 

                                 Chapter First

 Well, lords, we have not got that which we have;
 'Tis not enough our foes are this time fled,
 Being opposites of such repairing nature.
                                                        Second Part of Henry VI.
 
In the gorge of a pass or mountain glen, ascending from the fertile plains of
East-Lothian, there stood in former times an extensive castle, of which only the
ruins are now visible. Its ancient proprietors were a race of powerful and
warlike barons, who bore the same name with the castle itself, which was
Ravenswood. Their line extended to a remote period of antiquity, and they had
intermarried with the Douglases, Humes, Swintons, Hays, and other families of
power and distinction in the same country. Their history was frequently involved
in that of Scotland itself, in whose annals their feats are recorded. The castle
of Ravenswood, occupying, and in some measure commanding, a pass betwixt
Berwickshire, or the Merse, as the south-eastern province of Scotland is termed,
and the Lothians, was of importance both in times of foreign war and domestic
discord. It was frequently besieged with ardour, and defended with obstinacy,
and, of course, its owners played a conspicuous part in story. But their house
had its revolutions, like all sublunary things; it became greatly declined from
its splendour about the middle of the seventeenth century; and towards the
period of the Revolution, the last proprietor of Ravenswood Castle saw himself
compelled to part with the ancient family seat, and to remove himself to a
lonely and sea-beaten tower, which, situated on the bleak shores between Saint
Abb's Head and the village of Eyemouth, looked out on the lonely and boisterous
German Ocean. A black domain of wild pasture-land surrounded their new
residence, and formed the remains of their property.
    Lord Ravenswood, the heir of this ruined family, was far from bending his
mind to his new condition of life. In the civil war of 1689, he had espoused the
sinking side, and although he had escaped without the forfeiture of life or
land, his blood had been attainted, and
