"Undoubtedly," thought the clergyman, "this mountain rivulet,
suddenly swelled by a waterspout or thunderstorm, has often been
the cause of those accidents which, happening in the glen called
by her name, have been ascribed to the agency of the Cloght-
dearg."
Just as this idea crossed his mind, he heard a female voice
exclaim, in a wild and thrilling accent, "Michael Tyrie! Michael
Tyrie!" He looked round in astonishment, and not without some
fear. It seemed for an instant, as if the evil being, whose
existence he had disowned, was about to appear for the punishment
of his incredulity. This alarm did not hold him more than an
instant, nor did it prevent his replying in a firm voice, "Who
calls? and where are you?"
"One who journeys in wretchedness, between life and death,"
answered the voice; and the speaker, a tall female, appeared from
among the fragments of rocks which had concealed her from view.
As she approached more closely, her mantle of bright tartan, in
which the red colour much predominated, her stature, the long
stride with which she advanced, and the writhen features and wild
eyes which were visible from under her curch, would have made her
no inadequate representative of the spirit which gave name to the
valley.
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