Catriona (Kidnapped2)
by Robert Louis Stevenson
Hypertext Meanings and Commentaries
from the Encyclopedia of the Self
by Mark Zimmerman

Catriona

DEDICATION.

TO CHARLES BAXTER, WRITER TO THE SIGNET.

MY DEAR CHARLES,

It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them;
and my David, having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustre
in the British Linen Company's office, must expect his late re-
appearance to be greeted with hoots, if not with missiles. Yet, when I
remember the days of our explorations, I am not without hope. There
should be left in our native city some seed of the elect; some long-
legged, hot-headed youth must repeat to-day our dreams and wanderings
of so many years ago; he will relish the pleasure, which should have
been ours, to follow among named streets and numbered houses the
country walks of David Balfour, to identify Dean, and Silvermills, and
Broughton, and Hope Park, and Pilrig, and poor old Lochend - if it
still be standing, and the Figgate Whins - if there be any of them
left; or to push (on a long holiday) so far afield as Gillane or the
Bass. So, perhaps, his eye shall be opened to behold the series of the
generations, and he shall weigh with surprise his momentous and
nugatory gift of life.

You are still - as when first I saw, as when I last addressed you - in
the venerable city which I must always think of as my home. And I have
come so far; and the sights and thoughts of my youth pursue me; and I
see like a vision the youth of my father, and of his father, and the
whole stream of lives flowing down there far in the north, with the
sound of laughter and tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden
freshet, on these ultimate islands. And I admire and bow my head
before the romance of destiny.

R. L. S.

Vailima, Upolu,

Samoa, 1892.

CATRIONA - Part I - THE LORD ADVOCATE

CHAPTER  I - A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK

THE 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David
Balfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending me
with a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing me
from their doors. Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning,
I was like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to
my last shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my
own head for a crime with the news of which the country rang. To-day I
was served heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter
by me carrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words
of the saying) the ball directly at my foot.

There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail.
The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still to
handle; the second, the place that I was in. The tall, black city, and
the numbers and movement and noise of so many folk, made a new world
for me, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands and the still country-
sides that I had frequented up to then. The throng of the citizens in
particular abashed me. Rankeillor's son was short and small in the
girth; his clothes scarce held on me; and it was plain I was ill
qualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter. It was plain, if I
did so, I should but set folk laughing, and (what was worse in my case)
set them asking questions. So that I behooved to come by some clothes
of my own, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porter's side, and put
my hand on his arm as though we were a pair of friends.

At a merchant's in the Luckenbooths I had myself fitted out: none too
fine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar on horseback; but
comely and responsible, so that servants should respect me. Thence to
an armourer's, where I got a plain sword, to suit with my degree in
life. I felt safer with the weapon, though (for one so ignorant of
defence) it might be called an added danger. The porter, who was
naturally a man of some experience, judged my accoutrement to be well
chosen.

"Naething kenspeckle," said he; "plain, dacent claes. As for the
rapier, nae doubt it sits wi' your degree; but an I had been you, I
would has waired my siller better-gates than that."  And he proposed I
should buy winter-hosen from a wife in the Cowgate-back, that was a
cousin of his own, and made them "extraordinar endurable."

But I had other matters on my hand more pressing. Here I was in this
old, black city, which was for all the world like a rabbit-warren, not
only by the number of its indwellers, but the complication of its
passages and holes. It was, indeed, a place where no stranger had a
chance to find a friend, let be another stranger. Suppose him even to
hit on the right close, people dwelt so thronged in these tall houses,
he might very well seek a day before he chanced on the right door. The
ordinary course was to hire a lad they called a CADDIE, who was like a
guide or pilot, led you where you had occasion, and (your errands being
done) brought you again where you were lodging. But these caddies,
being always employed in the same sort of services, and having it for
obligation to be well informed of every house and person in the city,
had grown to form a brotherhood of spies; and I knew from tales of Mr.
Campbell's how they communicated one with another, what a rage of
curiosity they conceived as to their employer's business, and how they
were like eyes and fingers to the police. It would be a piece of
little wisdom, the way I was now placed, to take such a ferret to my
tails. I had three visits to make, all immediately needful: to my
kinsman Mr. Balfour of Pilrig, to Stewart the Writer that was Appin's
agent, and to William Grant Esquire of Prestongrange, Lord Advocate of
Scotland. Mr. Balfour's was a non-committal visit; and besides (Pilrig
being in the country) I made bold to find the way to it myself, with
the help of my two legs and a Scots tongue. But the rest were in a
different case. Not only was the visit to Appin's agent, in the midst
of the cry about the Appin murder, dangerous in itself, but it was
highly inconsistent with the other. I was like to have a bad enough
time of it with my Lord Advocate Grant, the best of ways; but to go to
him hot-foot from Appin's agent, was little likely to mend my own
affairs, and might prove the mere ruin of friend Alan's. The whole
thing, besides, gave me a look of running with the hare and hunting
with the hounds that was little to my fancy. I determined, therefore,
to be done at once with Mr. Stewart and the whole Jacobitical side of
my business, and to profit for that purpose by the guidance of the
porter at my side. But it chanced I had scarce given him the address,
when there came a sprinkle of rain - nothing to hurt, only for my new
clothes - and we took shelter under a pend at the head of a close or
alley.

Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther in. The narrow
paved way descended swiftly. Prodigious tall houses sprang upon each
side and bulged out, one storey beyond another, as they rose. At the
top only a ribbon of sky showed in. By what I could spy in the
windows, and by the respectable persons that passed out and in, I saw
the houses to be very well occupied; and the whole appearance of the
place interested me like a tale.

I was still gazing, when there came a sudden brisk tramp of feet in
time and clash of steel behind me. Turning quickly, I was aware of a
party of armed soldiers, and, in their midst, a tall man in a great
coat. He walked with a stoop that was like a piece of courtesy,
genteel and insinuating: he waved his hands plausibly as he went, and
his face was sly and handsome. I thought his eye took me in, but could
not meet it. This procession went by to a door in the close, which a
serving-man in a fine livery set open; and two of the soldier-lads
carried the prisoner within, the rest lingering with their firelocks by
the door.

There can nothing pass in the streets of a city without some following
of idle folk and children. It was so now; but the more part melted
away incontinent until but three were left. One was a girl; she was
dressed like a lady, and had a screen of the Drummond colours on her
head; but her comrades or (I should say) followers were ragged gillies,
such as I had seen the matches of by the dozen in my Highland journey.
They all spoke together earnestly in Gaelic, the sound of which was
pleasant in my ears for the sake of Alan; and, though the rain was by
again, and my porter plucked at me to be going, I even drew nearer
where they were, to listen. The lady scolded sharply, the others
making apologies and cringeing before her, so that I made sure she was
come of a chief's house. All the while the three of them sought in
their pockets, and by what I could make out, they had the matter of
half a farthing among the party; which made me smile a little to see
all Highland folk alike for fine obeisances and empty sporrans.

It chanced the girl turned suddenly about, so that I saw her face for
the first time. There is no greater wonder than the way the face of a
young woman fits in a man's mind, and stays there, and he could never
tell you why; it just seems it was the thing he wanted. She had
wonderful bright eyes like stars, and I daresay the eyes had a part in
it; but what I remember the most clearly was the way her lips were a
trifle open as she turned. And, whatever was the cause, I stood there
staring like a fool. On her side, as she had not known there was
anyone so near, she looked at me a little longer, and perhaps with more
surprise, than was entirely civil.

It went through my country head she might be wondering at my new
clothes; with that, I blushed to my hair, and at the sight of my
colouring it is to be supposed she drew her own conclusions, for she
moved her gillies farther down the close, and they fell again to this
dispute, where I could hear no more of it.

I had often admired a lassie before then, if scarce so sudden and
strong; and it was rather my disposition to withdraw than to come
forward, for I was much in fear of mockery from the womenkind. You
would have thought I had now all the more reason to pursue my common
practice, since I had met this young lady in the city street, seemingly
following a prisoner, and accompanied with two very ragged indecent-
like Highlandmen. But there was here a different ingredient; it was
plain the girl thought I had been prying in her secrets; and with my
new clothes and sword, and at the top of my new fortunes, this was more
than I could swallow. The beggar on horseback could not bear to be
thrust down so low, or, at least of it, not by this young lady.

I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her the best that I
was able.

"Madam," said I, "I think it only fair to myself to let you understand
I have no Gaelic. It is true I was listening, for I have friends of my
own across the Highland line, and the sound of that tongue comes
friendly; but for your private affairs, if you had spoken Greek, I
might have had more guess at them."

She made me a little, distant curtsey. "There is no harm done," said
she, with a pretty accent, most like the English (but more agreeable).
"A cat may look at a king."

"I do not mean to offend," said I. "I have no skill of city manners; I
never before this day set foot inside the doors of Edinburgh. Take me
for a country lad - it's what I am; and I would rather I told you than
you found it out."

"Indeed, it will be a very unusual thing for strangers to be speaking
to each other on the causeway," she replied. "But if you are landward
bred it will be different. I am as landward as yourself; I am
Highland, as you see, and think myself the farther from my home."

"It is not yet a week since I passed the line," said I. "Less than a
week ago I was on the braes of Balwhidder."

"Balwhither?" she cries. "Come ye from Balwhither! The name of it
makes all there is of me rejoice. You will not have been long there,
and not known some of our friends or family?"

"I lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan Dhu Maclaren," I
replied.

"Well, I know Duncan, and you give him the true name!" she said; "and
if he is an honest man, his wife is honest indeed."

"Ay," said I, "they are fine people, and the place is a bonny place."

"Where in the great world is such another!" she cries; "I am loving the
smell of that place and the roots that grow there."

I was infinitely taken with the spirit of the maid. "I could be
wishing I had brought you a spray of that heather," says I. "And,
though I did ill to speak with you at the first, now it seems we have
common acquaintance, I make it my petition you will not forget me.
David Balfour is the name I am known by. This is my lucky day, when I
have just come into a landed estate, and am not very long out of a
deadly peril. I wish you would keep my name in mind for the sake of
Balwhidder," said I, "and I will yours for the sake of my lucky day."

"My name is not spoken," she replied, with a great deal of haughtiness.
"More than a hundred years it has not gone upon men's tongues, save for
a blink. I am nameless, like the Folk of Peace. Catriona Drummond is
the one I use."

Now indeed I knew where I was standing. In all broad Scotland there
was but the one name proscribed, and that was the name of the
Macgregors. Yet so far from fleeing this undesirable acquaintancy, I
plunged the deeper in.

"I have been sitting with one who was in the same case with yourself,"
said I, "and I think he will be one of your friends. They called him
Robin Oig."

"Did ye so?" cries she. "Ye met Rob?"

"I passed the night with him," said I.

"He is a fowl of the night," said she.

"There was a set of pipes there," I went on, "so you may judge if the
time passed."

"You should be no enemy, at all events," said she. "That was his
brother there a moment since, with the red soldiers round him. It is
him that I call father."

"Is it so?" cried I. "Are you a daughter of James More's?"

"All the daughter that he has," says she: "the daughter of a prisoner;
that I should forget it so, even for one hour, to talk with strangers!"

Here one of the gillies addressed her in what he had of English, to
know what "she" (meaning by that himself) was to do about "ta
sneeshin."  I took some note of him for a short, bandy-legged, red-
haired, big-headed man, that I was to know more of to my cost.

"There can be none the day, Neil," she replied. "How will you get
'sneeshin,' wanting siller! It will teach you another time to be more
careful; and I think James More will not be very well pleased with Neil
of the Tom."

"Miss Drummond," I said, "I told you I was in my lucky day. Here I am,
and a bank-porter at my tail. And remember I have had the hospitality
of your own country of Balwhidder."

"It was not one of my people gave it," said she.

"Ah, well." said I, "but I am owing your uncle at least for some
springs upon the pipes. Besides which, I have offered myself to be
your friend, and you have been so forgetful that you did not refuse me
in the proper time."

"If it had been a great sum, it might have done you honour," said she;
"but I will tell you what this is. James More lies shackled in prison;
but this time past they will be bringing him down here daily to the
Advocate's. . . ."

"The Advocate's!" I cried. "Is that . . . ?"

"It is the house of the Lord Advocate Grant of Prestongrange," said
she. "There they bring my father one time and another, for what
purpose I have no thought in my mind; but it seems there is some hope
dawned for him. All this same time they will not let me be seeing him,
nor yet him write; and we wait upon the King's street to catch him; and
now we give him his snuff as he goes by, and now something else. And
here is this son of trouble, Neil, son of Duncan, has lost my four-
penny piece that was to buy that snuff, and James More must go wanting,
and will think his daughter has forgotten him."

I took sixpence from my pocket, gave it to Neil, and bade him go about
his errand. Then to her, "That sixpence came with me by Balwhidder,"
said I.

"Ah!" she said, "you are a friend to the Gregara!"

"I would not like to deceive you, either," said I. "I know very little
of the Gregara and less of James More and his doings, but since the
while I have been standing in this close, I seem to know something of
yourself; and if you will just say 'a friend to Miss Catriona' I will
see you are the less cheated."

"The one cannot be without the other," said she.

"I will even try," said I.

"And what will you be thinking of myself!" she cried, "to be holding my
hand to the first stranger!"

"I am thinking nothing but that you are a good daughter," said I.

"I must not be without repaying it," she said; "where is it you stop!"

"To tell the truth, I am stopping nowhere yet," said I, "being not full
three hours in the city; but if you will give me your direction, I will
he no bold as come seeking my sixpence for myself."

"Will I can trust you for that?" she asked.

"You need have little fear," said I.

"James More could not bear it else," said she. "I stop beyond the
village of Dean, on the north side of the water, with Mrs. Drummond-
Ogilvy of Allardyce, who is my near friend and will be glad to thank
you."

"You are to see me, then, so soon as what I have to do permits," said
I; and, the remembrance of Alan rolling in again upon my mind, I made
haste to say farewell.

I could not but think, even as I did so, that we had made extraordinary
free upon short acquaintance, and that a really wise young lady would
have shown herself more backward. I think it was the bank-porter that
put me from this ungallant train of thought.

"I thoucht ye had been a lad of some kind o' sense," he began, shooting
out his lips. "Ye're no likely to gang far this gate. A fule and his
siller's shune parted. Eh, but ye're a green callant!" he cried, "an'
a veecious, tae! Cleikin' up wi' baubeejoes!"

"If you dare to speak of the young lady. . . " I began.

"Leddy!" he cried. "Haud us and safe us, whatten leddy? Ca' THON a
leddy? The toun's fu' o' them. Leddies! Man, its weel seen ye're no
very acquant in Embro!"

A clap of anger took me.

"Here," said I, "lead me where I told you, and keep your foul mouth
shut!"

He did not wholly obey me, for, though he no more addressed me
directly, he very impudent sang at me as he went in a manner of
innuendo, and with an exceedingly ill voice and ear -

"As Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee,
She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee.
And we're a' gaun east and wast, we're a' gann ajee,
We're a' gaun east and wast courtin' Mally Lee."

CHAPTER II - THE HIGHLAND WRITER

MR. CHARLES STEWART the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair
ever mason set a hand to; fifteen flights of it, no less; and when I
had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his master
was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my porter packing.

"Awa' east and west wi' ye!" said I, took the money bag out of his
hands, and followed the clerk in.

The outer room was an office with the clerk's chair at a table spread
with law papers. In the inner chamber, which opened from it, a little
brisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raised his eyes on
my entrance; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, as though
prepared to show me out and fall again to his studies. This pleased me
little enough; and what pleased me less, I thought the clerk was in a
good posture to overhear what should pass between us.

I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer.

"The same," says he; "and, if the question is equally fair, who may you
be yourself?"

"You never heard tell of my name nor of me either," said I, "but I
bring you a token from a friend that you know well. That you know
well," I repeated, lowering my voice, "but maybe are not just so keen
to hear from at this present being. And the bits of business that I
have to propone to you are rather in the nature of being confidential.
In short, I would like to think we were quite private."

He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man ill-
pleased, sent forth his clerk of an errand, and shut to the house-door
behind him.

"Now, sir," said he, returning, "speak out your mind and fear nothing;
though before you begin," he cries out, "I tell you mine misgives me!
I tell you beforehand, ye're either a Stewart or a Stewart sent ye. A
good name it is, and one it would ill-become my father's son to
lightly. But I begin to grue at the sound of it."

"My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for
him that sent me, I will let his token speak."  And I showed the silver
button.

"Put it in your pocket, sir!" cries he. "Ye need name no names. The
deevil's buckie, I ken the button of him! And de'il hae't! Where is
he now!"

I told him I knew not where Alan was, but he had some sure place (or
thought he had) about the north side, where he was to lie until a ship
was found for him; and how and where he had appointed to be spoken
with.

"It's been always my opinion that I would hang in a tow for this family
of mine," he cried, "and, dod! I believe the day's come now! Get a
ship for him, quot' he! And who's to pay for it? The man's daft!"

"That is my part of the affair, Mr. Stewart," said I. "Here is a bag
of good money, and if more be wanted, more is to be had where it came
from."

"I needn't ask your politics," said he.

"Ye need not," said I, smiling, "for I'm as big a Whig as grows."

"Stop a bit, stop a bit," says Mr. Stewart. "What's all this? A Whig?
Then why are you here with Alan's button? and what kind of a black-foot
traffic is this that I find ye out in, Mr. Whig? Here is a forfeited
rebel and an accused murderer, with two hundred pounds on his life, and
ye ask me to meddle in his business, and then tell me ye're a Whig! I
have no mind of any such Whigs before, though I've kent plenty of
them."

"He's a forfeited rebel, the more's the pity," said I, "for the man's
my friend. I can only wish he had been better guided. And an accused
murderer, that he is too, for his misfortune; but wrongfully accused."

"I hear you say so," said Stewart.

"More than you are to hear me say so, before long," said I. "Alan
Breck is innocent, and so is James."

"Oh!" says he, "the two cases hang together. If Alan is out, James can
never be in."

Hereupon I told him briefly of my acquaintance with Alan, of the
accident that brought me present at the Appin murder, and the various
passages of our escape among the heather, and my recovery of my estate.
"So, sir, you have now the whole train of these events," I went on,
"and can see for yourself how I come to be so much mingled up with the
affairs of your family and friends, which (for all of our sakes) I wish
had been plainer and less bloody. You can see for yourself, too, that
I have certain pieces of business depending, which were scarcely fit to
lay before a lawyer chosen at random. No more remains, but to ask if
you will undertake my service?"

"I have no great mind to it; but coming as you do with Alan's button,
the choice is scarcely left me," said he. "What are your
instructions?" he added, and took up his pen.

"The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this country," said I,
"but I need not be repeating that."

"I am little likely to forget it," said Stewart.

"The next thing is the bit money I am owing to Cluny," I went on. "It
would be ill for me to find a conveyance, but that should be no stick
to you. It was two pounds five shillings and three-halfpence farthing
sterling."

He noted it.

"Then," said I, "there's a Mr. Henderland, a licensed preacher and
missionary in Ardgour, that I would like well to get some snuff into
the hands of; and, as I daresay you keep touch with your friends in
Appin (so near by), it's a job you could doubtless overtake with the
other."

"How much snuff are we to say?" he asked.

"I was thinking of two pounds," said I.

"Two," said he.

"Then there's the lass Alison Hastie, in Lime Kilns," said I. "Her
that helped Alan and me across the Forth. I was thinking if I could
get her a good Sunday gown, such as she could wear with decency in her
degree, it would be an ease to my conscience; for the mere truth is, we
owe her our two lives."

"I am glad so see you are thrifty, Mr. Balfour," says he, making his
notes.

"I would think shame to be otherwise the first day of my fortune," said
I. "And now, if you will compute the outlay and your own proper
charges, I would be glad to know if I could get some spending-money
back. It's not that I grudge the whole of it to get Alan safe; it's
not that I lack more; but having drawn so much the one day, I think it
would have a very ill appearance if I was back again seeking, the next.
Only be sure you have enough," I added, "for I am very undesirous to
meet with you again."

"Well, and I'm pleased to see you're cautious, too," said the Writer.
"But I think ye take a risk to lay so considerable a sum at my
discretion."

He said this with a plain sneer.

"I'll have to run the hazard," I replied. "O, and there's another
service I would ask, and that's to direct me to a lodging, for I have
no roof to my head. But it must be a lodging I may seem to have hit
upon by accident, for it would never do if the Lord Advocate were to
get any jealousy of our acquaintance."

"Ye may set your weary spirit at rest," said he. "I will never name
your name, sir; and it's my belief the Advocate is still so much to be
sympathised with that he doesnae ken of your existence."

I saw I had got to the wrong side of the man.

"There's a braw day coming for him, then," said I, "for he'll have to
learn of it on the deaf side of his head no later than to-morrow, when
I call on him."

"When ye CALL on him!" repeated Mr. Stewart. "Am I daft, or are you!
What takes ye near the Advocate!"

"O, just to give myself up," said I.

"Mr. Balfour," he cried, "are ye making a mock of me?"

"No, sir," said I, "though I think you have allowed yourself some such
freedom with myself. But I give you to understand once and for all
that I am in no jesting spirit."

"Nor yet me," says Stewart. "And I give yon to understand (if that's
to be the word) that I like the looks of your behaviour less and less.
You come here to me with all sorts of propositions, which will put me
in a train of very doubtful acts and bring me among very undesirable
persons this many a day to come. And then you tell me you're going
straight out of my office to make your peace with the Advocate! Alan's
button here or Alan's button there, the four quarters of Alan wouldnae
bribe me further in."

"I would take it with a little more temper," said I, "and perhaps we
can avoid what you object to. I can see no way for it but to give
myself up, but perhaps you can see another; and if you could, I could
never deny but what I would be rather relieved. For I think my traffic
with his lordship is little likely to agree with my health. There's
just the one thing clear, that I have to give my evidence; for I hope
it'll save Alan's character (what's left of it), and James's neck,
which is the more immediate."

He was silent for a breathing-space, and then, "My man," said he,
"you'll never be allowed to give such evidence."

"We'll have to see about that," said I; "I'm stiff-necked when I like."

"Ye muckle ass!" cried Stewart, "it's James they want; James has got to
hang - Alan, too, if they could catch him - but James whatever! Go
near the Advocate with any such business, and you'll see! he'll find a
way to muzzle, ye."

"I think better of the Advocate than that," said I.

"The Advocate be dammed!" cries he. "It's the Campbells, man! You'll
have the whole clanjamfry of them on your back; and so will the
Advocate too, poor body! It's extraordinar ye cannot see where ye
stand! If there's no fair way to stop your gab, there's a foul one
gaping. They can put ye in the dock, do ye no see that?" he cried, and
stabbed me with one finger in the leg.

"Ay," said I, "I was told that same no further back than this morning
by another lawyer."

"And who was he?" asked Stewart, "He spoke sense at least."

I told I must be excused from naming him, for he was a decent stout old
Whig, and had little mind to be mixed up in such affairs.

"I think all the world seems to be mixed up in it!" cries Stewart.
"But what said you?"

"I told him what had passed between Rankeillor and myself before the
house of Shaws.

"Well, and so ye will hang!" said he. "Ye'll hang beside James
Stewart. There's your fortune told."

"I hope better of it yet than that," said I; "but I could never deny
there was a risk."

"Risk!" says he, and then sat silent again. "I ought to thank you for
you staunchness to my friends, to whom you show a very good spirit," he
says, "if you have the strength to stand by it. But I warn you that
you're wading deep. I wouldn't put myself in your place (me that's a
Stewart born!) for all the Stewarts that ever there were since Noah.
Risk? ay, I take over-many; but to be tried in court before a Campbell
jury and a Campbell judge, and that in a Campbell country and upon a
Campbell quarrel - think what you like of me, Balfour, it's beyond me."

"It's a different way of thinking, I suppose," said I; "I was brought
up to this one by my father before me."

"Glory to his bones! he has left a decent son to his name," says he.
"Yet I would not have you judge me over-sorely. My case is dooms hard.
See, sir, ye tell me ye're a Whig: I wonder what I am. No Whig to be
sure; I couldnae be just that.  But - laigh in your ear, man - I'm
maybe no very keen on the other side."

"Is that a fact?" cried I. "It's what I would think of a man of your
intelligence."

"Hut! none of your whillywhas!" cries he. "There's intelligence upon
both sides. But for my private part I have no particular desire to
harm King George; and as for King James, God bless him! he does very
well for me across the water. I'm a lawyer, ye see: fond of my books
and my bottle, a good plea, a well-drawn deed, a crack in the
Parliament House with other lawyer bodies, and perhaps a turn at the
golf on a Saturday at e'en. Where do ye come in with your Hieland
plaids and claymores?"

"Well," said I, "it's a fact ye have little of the wild Highlandman."

"Little?" quoth he. "Nothing, man! And yet I'm Hieland born, and when
the clan pipes, who but me has to dance! The clan and the name, that
goes by all. It's just what you said yourself; my father learned it to
me, and a bonny trade I have of it. Treason and traitors, and the
smuggling of them out and in; and the French recruiting, weary fall it!
and the smuggling through of the recruits; and their pleas - a sorrow
of their pleas! Here have I been moving one for young Ardsheil, my
cousin; claimed the estate under the marriage contract - a forfeited
estate! I told them it was nonsense: muckle they cared! And there
was I cocking behind a yadvocate that liked the business as little as
myself, for it was fair ruin to the pair of us - a black mark,
DISAFFECTED, branded on our hurdies, like folk's names upon their kye!
And what can I do? I'm a Stewart, ye see, and must fend for my clan
and family. Then no later by than yesterday there was one of our
Stewart lads carried to the Castle. What for? I ken fine: Act of
1736: recruiting for King Lewie. And you'll see, he'll whistle me in
to be his lawyer, and there'll be another black mark on my chara'ter!
I tell you fair: if I but kent the heid of a Hebrew word from the
hurdies of it, be dammed but I would fling the whole thing up and turn
minister!"

"It's rather a hard position," said I.

"Dooms hard!" cries he. "And that's what makes me think so much of ye
- you that's no Stewart - to stick your head so deep in Stewart
business. And for what, I do not know: unless it was the sense of
duty."

"I hope it will be that," said I.

"Well," says he, "it's a grand quality. But here is my clerk back;
and, by your leave, we'll pick a bit of dinner, all the three of us.
When that's done, I'll give you the direction of a very decent man,
that'll be very fain to have you for a lodger. And I'll fill your
pockets to ye, forbye, out of your ain bag. For this business'll not
be near as dear as ye suppose - not even the ship part of it."

I made him a sign that his clerk was within hearing.

"Hoot, ye neednae mind for Robbie," cries he. "A Stewart, too, puir
deevil! and has smuggled out more French recruits and trafficking
Papists than what he has hairs upon his face. Why, it's Robin that
manages that branch of my affairs. Who will we have now, Rob, for
across the water!"

"There'll be Andie Scougal, in the THRISTLE," replied Rob. "I saw
Hoseason the other day, but it seems he's wanting the ship. Then
there'll be Tam Stobo; but I'm none so sure of Tam. I've seen him
colloguing with some gey queer acquaintances; and if was anybody
important, I would give Tam the go-by."

"The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart.

"Gosh, that'll no be Alan Breck!" cried the clerk.

"Just Alan," said his master.

"Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. "I'll try Andie, then;
Andie'll be the best."

"It seems it's quite a big business," I observed.

"Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart.

"There was a name your clerk mentioned," I went on: "Hoseason. That
must be my man, I think: Hoseason, of the brig COVENANT. Would you
set your trust on him?"

"He didnae behave very well to you and Alan," said Mr. Stewart; "but my
mind of the man in general is rather otherwise. If he had taken Alan
on board his ship on an agreement, it's my notion he would have proved
a just dealer. How say ye, Rob?"

"No more honest skipper in the trade than Eli," said the clerk. "I
would lippen to Eli's word - ay, if it was the Chevalier, or Appin
himsel'," he added.

"And it was him that brought the doctor, wasnae't?" asked the master.

"He was the very man," said the clerk.

"And I think he took the doctor back?" says Stewart.

"Ay, with his sporran full!" cried Robin. "And Eli kent of that!"

"Well, it seems it's hard to ken folk rightly," said I.

"That was just what I forgot when ye came in, Mr. Balfour!" says the
Writer.

CHAPTER III - I GO TO PILRIG

THE next morning, I was no sooner awake in my new lodging than I was up
and into my new clothes; and no sooner the breakfast swallowed, than I
was forth on my adventurers. Alan, I could hope, was fended for; James
was like to be a more difficult affair, and I could not but think that
enterprise might cost me dear, even as everybody said to whom I had
opened my opinion. It seemed I was come to the top of the mountain
only to cast myself down; that I had clambered up, through so many and
hard trials, to be rich, to be recognised, to wear city clothes and a
sword to my side, all to commit mere suicide at the last end of it, and
the worst kind of suicide, besides, which is to get hanged at the
King's charges.

What was I doing it for? I asked, as I went down the high Street and
out north by Leith Wynd. First I said it was to save James Stewart;
and no doubt the memory of his distress, and his wife's cries, and a
word or so I had let drop on that occasion worked upon me strongly. At
the same time I reflected that it was (or ought to be) the most
indifferent matter to my father's son, whether James died in his bed or
from a scaffold. He was Alan's cousin, to be sure; but so far as
regarded Alan, the best thing would be to lie low, and let the King,
and his Grace of Argyll, and the corbie crows, pick the bones of his
kinsman their own way. Nor could I forget that, while we were all in
the pot together, James had shown no such particular anxiety whether
for Alan or me.

Next it came upon me I was acting for the sake of justice: and I
thought that a fine word, and reasoned it out that (since we dwelt in
polities, at some discomfort to each one of us) the main thing of all
must still be justice, and the death of any innocent man a wound upon
the whole community. Next, again, it was the Accuser of the Brethren
that gave me a turn of his argument; bade me think shame for pretending
myself concerned in these high matters, and told me I was but a prating
vain child, who had spoken big words to Rankeillor and to Stewart, and
held myself bound upon my vanity to make good that boastfulness. Nay,
and he hit me with the other end of the stick; for he accused me of a
kind of artful cowardice, going about at the expense of a little risk
to purchase greater safety. No doubt, until I had declared and cleared
myself, I might any day encounter Mungo Campbell or the sheriff's
officer, and be recognised, and dragged into the Appin murder by the
heels; and, no doubt, in case I could manage my declaration with
success, I should breathe more free for ever after. But when I looked
this argument full in the face I could see nothing to be ashamed of.
As for the rest, "Here are the two roads," I thought, "and both go to
the same place. It's unjust that James should hang if I can save him;
and it would be ridiculous in me to have talked so much and then do
nothing. It's lucky for James of the Glens that I have boasted
beforehand; and none so unlucky for myself, because now I'm committed
to do right. I have the name of a gentleman and the means of one; it
would be a poor duty that I was wanting in the essence."  And then I
thought this was a Pagan spirit, and said a prayer in to myself, asking
for what courage I might lack, and that I might go straight to my duty
like a soldier to battle, and come off again scatheless, as so many do.

This train of reasoning brought me to a more resolved complexion;
though it was far from closing up my sense of the dangers that
surrounded me, nor of how very apt I was (if I went on) to stumble on
the ladder of the gallows. It was a plain, fair morning, but the wind
in the east. The little chill of it sang in my blood, and gave me a
feeling of the autumn, and the dead leaves, and dead folks' bodies in
their graves. It seemed the devil was in it, if I was to die in that
tide of my fortunes and for other folks' affairs. On the top of the
Calton Hill, though it was not the customary time of year for that
diversion, some children were crying and running with their kites.
These toys appeared very plain against the sky; I remarked a great one
soar on the wind to a high altitude and then plump among the whins; and
I thought to myself at sight of it, "There goes Davie."

My way lay over Mouter's Hill, and through an end of a clachan on the
braeside among fields. There was a whirr of looms in it went from
house to house; bees bummed in the gardens; the neighbours that I saw
at the doorsteps talked in a strange tongue; and I found out later that
this was Picardy, a village where the French weavers wrought for the
Linen Company. Here I got a fresh direction for Pilrig, my
destination; and a little beyond, on the wayside, came by a gibbet and
two men hanged in chains. They were dipped in tar, as the manner is;
the wind span them, the chains clattered, and the birds hung about the
uncanny jumping-jacks and cried. The sight coming on me suddenly, like
an illustration of my fears, I could scarce be done with examining it
and drinking in discomfort. And, as I thus turned and turned about the
gibbet, what should I strike on, but a weird old wife, that sat behind
a leg of it, and nodded, and talked aloud to herself with becks and
courtesies.

"Who are these two, mother?" I asked, and pointed to the corpses.

"A blessing on your precious face!" she cried. "Twa joes o'mine: just
two o' my old joes, my hinny dear."

"What did they suffer for?" I asked.

"Ou, just for the guid cause," said she. "Aften I spaed to them the
way that it would end. Twa shillin' Scots: no pickle mair; and there
are twa bonny callants hingin' for 't! They took it frae a wean
belanged to Brouchton."

"Ay!" said I to myself, and not to the daft limmer, "and did they come
to such a figure for so poor a business? This is to lose all indeed."

"Gie's your loof, hinny," says she, "and let me spae your weird to ye."

"No, mother," said I, "I see far enough the way I am. It's an unco
thing to see too far in front."

"I read it in your bree," she said. "There's a bonnie lassie that has
bricht een, and there's a wee man in a braw coat, and a big man in a
pouthered wig, and there's the shadow of the wuddy, joe, that lies
braid across your path. Gie's your loof, hinny, and let Auld Merren
spae it to ye bonny."

The two chance shots that seemed to point at Alan and the daughter of
James More struck me hard; and I fled from the eldritch creature,
casting her a baubee, which she continued to sit and play with under
the moving shadows of the hanged.

My way down the causeway of Leith Walk would have been more pleasant to
me but for this encounter. The old rampart ran among fields, the like
of them I had never seen for artfulness of agriculture; I was pleased,
besides, to be so far in the still countryside; but the shackles of the
gibbet clattered in my head; and the mope and mows of the old witch,
and the thought of the dead men, hag-rode my spirits. To hang on a
gallows, that seemed a hard case; and whether a man came to hang there
for two shillings Scots, or (as Mr. Stewart had it) from the sense of
duty, once he was tarred and shackled and hung up, the difference
seemed small. There might David Balfour hang, and other lads pass on
their errands and think light of him; and old daft limmers sit at a
leg-foot and spae their fortunes; and the clean genty maids go by, and
look to the other aide, and hold a nose. I saw them plain, and they
had grey eyes, and their screens upon their heads were of the Drummed
colours.

I was thus in the poorest of spirits, though still pretty resolved,
when I came in view of Pilrig, a pleasant gabled house set by the
walkside among some brave young woods. The laird's horse was standing
saddled at the door as I came up, but himself was in the study, where
he received me in the midst of learned works and musical instruments,
for he was not only a deep philosopher but much of a musician. He
greeted me at first pretty well, and when he had read Rankeillor's
letter, placed himself obligingly at my disposal.

"And what is it, cousin David!" said he - "since it appears that we are
cousins - what is this that I can do for you! A word to Prestongrange!
Doubtless that is easily given. But what should be the word?"

"Mr. Balfour," said I, "if I were to tell you my whole story the way it
fell out, it's my opinion (and it was Rankeillor's before me) that you
would be very little made up with it."

"I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman," says he.

"I must not take that at your hands, Mr. Balfour," said I; "I have
nothing to my charge to make me sorry, or you for me, but just the
common infirmities of mankind. 'The guilt of Adam's first sin, the
want of original righteousness, and the corruption of my whole nature,'
so much I must answer for, and I hope I have been taught where to look
for help," I said; for I judged from the look of the man he would think
the better of me if I knew my questions. "But in the way of worldly
honour I have no great stumble to reproach myself with; and my
difficulties have befallen me very much against my will and (by all
that I can see) without my fault. My trouble is to have become dipped
in a political complication, which it is judged you would be blythe to
avoid a knowledge of."

"Why, very well, Mr. David," he replied, "I am pleased to see you are
all that Rankeillor represented. And for what you say of political
complications, you do me no more than justice. It is my study to be
beyond suspicion, and indeed outside the field of it. The question
is," says he, "how, if I am to know nothing of the matter, I can very
well assist you?"

"Why sir," said I, "I propose you should write to his lordship, that I
am a young man of reasonable good family and of good means: both of
which I believe to be the case."

"I have Rankeillor's word for it," said Mr. Balfour, "and I count that
a warran-dice against all deadly."

"To which you might add (if you will take my word for so much) that I
am a good churchman, loyal to King George, and so brought up," I went
on.

"None of which will do you any harm," said Mr. Balfour.

"Then you might go on to say that I sought his lordship on a matter of
great moment, connected with His Majesty's service and the
administration of justice," I suggested.

"As I am not to hear the matter," says the laird, "I will not take upon
myself to qualify its weight. 'Great moment' therefore falls, and
'moment' along with it. For the rest I might express myself much as
you propose."

"And then, sir," said I, and rubbed my neck a little with my thumb,
"then I would be very desirous if you could slip in a word that might
perhaps tell for my protection."

"Protection?" says he, "for your protection! Here is a phrase that
somewhat dampens me. If the matter be so dangerous, I own I would be a
little loath to move in it blindfold."

"I believe I could indicate in two words where the thing sticks," said
I.

"Perhaps that would be the best," said he.

"Well, it's the Appin murder," said I.

He held up both his hands. "Sirs! sirs!" cried he.

I thought by the expression of his face and voice that I had lost my
helper.

"Let me explain. . ." I began.

"I thank you kindly, I will hear no more of it," says he. "I decline
IN TOTO to hear more of it. For your name's sake and Rankeillor's, and
perhaps a little for your own, I will do what I can to help you; but I
will hear no more upon the facts. And it is my first clear duty to
warn you. These are deep waters, Mr. David, and you are a young man.
Be cautious and think twice."

"It is to be supposed I will have thought oftener than that, Mr.
Balfour," said I, "and I will direct your attention again to
Rankeillor's letter, where (I hope and believe) he has registered his
approval of that which I design."

"Well, well," said he; and then again, "Well, well! I will do what I
can for you."  There with he took a pen and paper, sat a while in
thought, and began to write with much consideration. "I understand
that Rankeillor approved of what you have in mind?" he asked presently.

"After some discussion, sir, he bade me to go forward in God's name,"
said I.

"That is the name to go in," said Mr. Balfour, and resumed his writing.
Presently, he signed, re-read what he had written, and addressed me
again. "Now here, Mr. David," said he, "is a letter of introduction,
which I will seal without closing, and give into your hands open, as
the form requires. But, since I am acting in the dark, I will just
read it to you, so that you may see if it will secure your end -

"PILRIG, AUGUST 26th, 1751.

"MY LORD, - This is to bring to your notice my namesake and cousin,
David Balfour Esquire of Shaws, a young gentleman of unblemished
descent and good estate. He has enjoyed, besides, the more valuable
advantages of a godly training, and his political principles are all
that your lordship can desire. I am not in Mr. Balfour's confidence,
but I understand him to have a matter to declare, touching His
Majesty's service and the administration of justice; purposes for which
your Lordship's zeal is known. I should add that the young gentleman's
intention is known to and approved by some of his friends, who will
watch with hopeful anxiety the event of his success or failure.

"Whereupon," continued Mr. Balfour, "I have subscribed myself with the
usual compliments. You observe I have said 'some of your friends'; I
hope you can justify my plural?"

"Perfectly, sir; my purpose is known and approved by more than one,"
said I. "And your letter, which I take a pleasure to thank you for, is
all I could have hoped."

"It was all I could squeeze out," said he; "and from what I know of the
matter you design to meddle in, I can only pray God that it may prove
sufficient."

CHAPTER IV - LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE

MY kinsman kept me to a meal, "for the honour of the roof," he said;
and I believe I made the better speed on my return. I had no thought
but to be done with the next stage, and have myself fully committed; to
a person circumstanced as I was, the appearance of closing a door on
hesitation and temptation was itself extremely tempting; and I was the
more disappointed, when I came to Prestongrange's house, to be informed
he was abroad. I believe it was true at the moment, and for some hours
after; and then I have no doubt the Advocate came home again, and
enjoyed himself in a neighbouring chamber among friends, while perhaps
the very fact of my arrival was forgotten. I would have gone away a
dozen times, only for this strong drawing to have done with my
declaration out of hand and be able to lay me down to sleep with a free
conscience. At first I read, for the little cabinet where I was left
contained a variety of books. But I fear I read with little profit;
and the weather falling cloudy, the dusk coming up earlier than usual,
and my cabinet being lighted with but a loophole of a window, I was at
last obliged to desist from this diversion (such as it was), and pass
the rest of my time of waiting in a very burthensome vacuity. The
sound of people talking in a near chamber, the pleasant note of a
harpsichord, and once the voice of a lady singing, bore me a kind of
company.

I do not know the hour, but the darkness was long come, when the door
of the cabinet opened, and I was aware, by the light behind him, of a
tall figure of a man upon the threshold. I rose at once.

"Is anybody there?" he asked. "Who in that?"

"I am bearer of a letter from the laird of Pilrig to the Lord
Advocate," said I.

"Have you been here long?" he asked.

"I would not like to hazard an estimate of how many hours," said I.

"It is the first I hear of it," he replied, with a chuckle. "The lads
must have forgotten you. But you are in the bit at last, for I am
Prestongrange."

So saying, he passed before me into the next room, whither (upon his
sign) I followed him, and where he lit a candle and took his place
before a business-table. It was a long room, of a good proportion,
wholly lined with books. That small spark of light in a corner struck
out the man's handsome person and strong face. He was flushed, his eye
watered and sparkled, and before he sat down I observed him to sway
back and forth. No doubt, he had been supping liberally; but his mind
and tongue were under full control.

"Well, sir, sit ye down," said he, "and let us see Pilrig's letter."

He glanced it through in the beginning carelessly, looking up and
bowing when he came to my name; but at the last words I thought I
observed his attention to redouble, and I made sure he read them twice.
All this while you are to suppose my heart was beating, for I had now
crossed my Rubicon and was come fairly on the field of battle.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Balfour," he said, when he
had done. "Let me offer you a glass of claret."

"Under your favour, my lord, I think it would scarce be fair on me,"
said I. "I have come here, as the letter will have mentioned, on a
business of some gravity to myself; and, as I am little used with wine,
I might be the sooner affected."

"You shall be the judge," said he. "But if you will permit, I believe
I will even have the bottle in myself."

He touched a bell, and a footman came, as at a signal, bringing wine
and glasses.

"You are sure you will not join me?" asked the Advocate. "Well, here
is to our better acquaintance! In what way can I serve you?"

"I should, perhaps, begin by telling you, my lord, that I am here at
your own pressing invitation," said I.

"You have the advantage of me somewhere," said he, "for I profess I
think I never heard of you before this evening."

"Right, my lord; the name is, indeed, new to you," said I. "And yet
you have been for some time extremely wishful to make my acquaintance,
and have declared the same in public."

"I wish you would afford me a clue," says he. "I am no Daniel."

"It will perhaps serve for such," said I, "that if I was in a jesting
humour - which is far from the case - I believe I might lay a claim on
your lordship for two hundred pounds."

"In what sense?" he inquired.

"In the sense of rewards offered for my person," said I.

He thrust away his glass once and for all, and sat straight up in the
chair where he had been previously lolling. "What am I to understand?"
said he.

"A TALL STRONG LAD OF ABOUT EIGHTEEN," I quoted, "SPEAKS LIKE a
LOWLANDER AND HAS NO BEARD."

"I recognise those words," said he, "which, if you have come here with
any ill-judged intention of amusing yourself, are like to prove
extremely prejudicial to your safety."

"My purpose in this," I replied, "is just entirely as serious as life
and death, and you have understood me perfectly. I am the boy who was
speaking with Glenure when he was shot."

"I can only suppose (seeing you here) that you claim to be innocent,"
said he.

"The inference is clear," I said. "I am a very loyal subject to King
George, but if I had anything to reproach myself with, I would have had
more discretion than to walk into your den."

"I am glad of that," said he. "This horrid crime, Mr. Balfour, is of a
dye which cannot permit any clemency. Blood has been barbarously shed.
It has been shed in direct opposition to his Majesty and our whole
frame of laws, by those who are their known and public oppugnants. I
take a very high sense of this. I will not deny that I consider the
crime as directly personal to his Majesty."

"And unfortunately, my lord," I added, a little drily, "directly
personal to another great personage who may be nameless."

"If you mean anything by those words, I must tell you I consider them
unfit for a good subject; and were they spoke publicly I should make it
my business to take note of them," said he. "You do not appear to me
to recognise the gravity of your situation, or you would be more
careful not to pejorate the same by words which glance upon the purity
of justice. Justice, in this country, and in my poor hands, is no
respecter of persons."

"You give me too great a share in my own speech, my lord," said I. "I
did but repeat the common talk of the country, which I have heard
everywhere, and from men of all opinions as I came along."

"When you are come to more discretion you will understand such talk in
not to be listened to, how much less repeated," says the Advocate.
"But I acquit you of an ill intention. That nobleman, whom we all
honour, and who has indeed been wounded in a near place by the late
barbarity, sits too high to be reached by these aspersions. The Duke
of Argyle - you see that I deal plainly with you - takes it to heart as
I do, and as we are both bound to do by our judicial functions and the
service of his Majesty; and I could wish that all hands, in this ill
age, were equally clean of family rancour. But from the accident that
this is a Campbell who has fallen martyr to his duty - as who else but
the Campbells have ever put themselves foremost on that path? - I may
say it, who am no Campbell - and that the chief of that great house
happens (for all our advantages) to be the present head of the College
of Justice, small minds and disaffected tongues are set agog in every
changehouse in the country; and I find a young gentleman like Mr.
Balfour so ill-advised as to make himself their echo."  So much he
spoke with a very oratorical delivery, as if in court, and then
declined again upon the manner of a gentleman. "All this apart," said
he. "It now remains that I should learn what I am to do with you."

"I had thought it was rather I that should learn the same from your
lordship," said I.

"Ay, true," says the Advocate. "But, you see, you come to me well
recommended. There is a good honest Whig name to this letter," says
he, picking it up a moment from the table. "And - extra-judicially,
Mr, Balfour - there is always the possibility of some arrangement, I
tell you, and I tell you beforehand that you may be the more upon your
guard, your fate lies with me singly. In such a matter (be it said
with reverence) I am more powerful than the King's Majesty; and should
you please me - and of course satisfy my conscience - in what remains
to be held of our interview, I tell you it may remain between
ourselves."

"Meaning how?" I asked.

"Why, I mean it thus, Mr. Balfour," said he, "that if you give
satisfaction, no soul need know so much as that you visited my house;
and you may observe that I do not even call my clerk."

I saw what way he was driving. "I suppose it is needless anyone should
be informed upon my visit," said I, "though the precise nature of my
gains by that I cannot see. I am not at all ashamed of coming here."

"And have no cause to be," says he, encouragingly. "Nor yet (if you
are careful) to fear the consequences."

"My lord," said I, "speaking under your correction, I am not very easy
to be frightened."

"And I am sure I do not seek to frighten you," says he. "But to the
interrogation; and let me warn you to volunteer nothing beyond the
questions I shall ask you. It may consist very immediately with your
safety. I have a great discretion, it is true, but there are bounds to
it."

"I shall try to follow your lordship's advice," said I.

He spread a sheet of paper on the table and wrote a heading. "It
appears you were present, by the way, in the wood of Lettermore at the
moment of the fatal shot," he began. "Was this by accident?"

"By accident," said I.

"How came you in speech with Colin Campbell?" he asked.

"I was inquiring my way of him to Aucharn," I replied.

I observed he did not write this answer down.

"H'm, true," said he, "I had forgotten that. And do you know, Mr.
Balfour, I would dwell, if I were you, as little as might be on your
relations with these Stewarts. It might be found to complicate our
business. I am not yet inclined to regard these matters as essential."

"I had thought, my lord, that all points of fact were equally material
in such a case," said I.

"You forget we are now trying these Stewarts," he replied, with great
significance. "If we should ever come to be trying you, it will be
very different; and I shall press these very questions that I am now
willing to glide upon. But to resume: I have it here in Mr. Mungo
Campbell's precognition that you ran immediately up the brae. How came
that?"

"Not immediately, my lord, and the cause was my seeing of the
murderer."

"You saw him, then?"

"As plain as I see your lordship, though not so near hand."

"You know him?"

"I should know him again."

"In your pursuit you were not so fortunate, then, as to overtake him?"

"I was not."

"Was he alone?"

"He was alone."

"There was no one else in that neighbourhood?"

"Alan Breck Stewart was not far off, in a piece of a wood."

The Advocate laid his pen down. "I think we are playing at cross
purposes," said he, "which you will find to prove a very ill amusement
for yourself."

"I content myself with following your lordship's advice, and answering
what I am asked," said I.

"Be so wise as to bethink yourself in time," said he, "I use you with
the most anxious tenderness, which you scarce seem to appreciate, and
which (unless you be more careful) may prove to be in vain."

"I do appreciate your tenderness, but conceive it to be mistaken," I
replied, with something of a falter, for I saw we were come to grips at
last. "I am here to lay before you certain information, by which I
shall convince you Alan had no hand whatever in the killing of
Glenure."

The Advocate appeared for a moment at a stick, sitting with pursed
lips, and blinking his eyes upon me like an angry cat. "Mr. Balfour,"
he said at last, "I tell you pointedly you go an ill way for your own
interests."

"My lord," I said, "I am as free of the charge of considering my own
interests in this matter as your lordship. As God judges me, I have
but the one design, and that is to see justice executed and the
innocent go clear. If in pursuit of that I come to fall under your
lordship's displeasure, I must bear it as I may."

At this he rose from his chair, lit a second candle, and for a while
gazed upon me steadily. I was surprised to see a great change of
gravity fallen upon his face, and I could have almost thought he was a
little pale.

"You are either very simple, or extremely the reverse, and I see that I
must deal with you more confidentially," says he. "This is a political
case - ah, yes, Mr. Balfour! whether we like it or no, the case is
political - and I tremble when I think what issues may depend from it.
To a political case, I need scarce tell a young man of your education,
we approach with very different thoughts from one which is criminal
only. SALUS POPULI SUPREMA LEX is a maxim susceptible of great abuse,
but it has that force which we find elsewhere only in the laws of
nature: I mean it has the force of necessity. I will open this out to
you, if you will allow me, at more length. You would have me believe -
"

"Under your pardon, my lord, I would have you to believe nothing but
that which I can prove," said I.

"Tut! tut; young gentleman," says he, "be not so pragmatical, and
suffer a man who might be your father (if it was nothing more) to
employ his own imperfect language, and express his own poor thoughts,
even when they have the misfortune not to coincide with Mr. Balfour's.
You would have me to believe Breck innocent. I would think this of
little account, the more so as we cannot catch our man. But the matter
of Breck's innocence shoots beyond itself. Once admitted, it would
destroy the whole presumptions of our case against another and a very
different criminal; a man grown old in treason, already twice in arms
against his king and already twice forgiven; a fomentor of discontent,
and (whoever may have fired the shot) the unmistakable original of the
deed in question. I need not tell you that I mean James Stewart."

"And I can just say plainly that the innocence of Alan and of James is
what I am here to declare in private to your lordship, and what I am
prepared to establish at the trial by my testimony," said I.

"To which I can only answer by an equal plainness, Mr. Balfour," said
he, "that (in that case) your testimony will not be called by me, and I
desire you to withhold it altogether."

"You are at the head of Justice in this country," I cried, "and you
propose to me a crime!"

"I am a man nursing with both hands the interests of this country," he
replied, "and I press on you a political necessity. Patriotism is not
always moral in the formal sense. You might be glad of it, I think:
it is your own protection; the facts are heavy against you; and if I am
still trying to except you from a very dangerous place, it is in part
of course because I am not insensible to your honesty in coming here;
in part because of Pilrig's letter; but in part, and in chief part,
because I regard in this matter my political duty first and my judicial
duty only second. For the same reason - I repeat it to you in the same
frank words - I do not want your testimony."

"I desire not to be thought to make a repartee, when I express only the
plain sense of our position," said I. "But if your lordship has no
need of my testimony, I believe the other side would be extremely
blythe to get it."

Prestongrange arose and began to pace to and fro in the room. "You are
not so young," he said, "but what you must remember very clearly the
year '45 and the shock that went about the country. I read in Pilrig's
letter that you are sound in Kirk and State. Who saved them in that
fatal year? I do not refer to His Royal Highness and his ramrods,
which were extremely useful in their day; but the country had been
saved and the field won before ever Cumberland came upon Drummossie.
Who saved it? I repeat; who saved the Protestant religion and the
whole frame of our civil institutions? The late Lord President
Culloden, for one; he played a man's part, and small thanks he got for
it - even as I, whom you see before you, straining every nerve in the
same service, look for no reward beyond the conscience of my duties
done. After the President, who else? You know the answer as well as I
do; 'tis partly a scandal, and you glanced at it yourself, and I
reproved you for it, when you first came in. It was the Duke and the
great clan of Campbell. Now here is a Campbell foully murdered, and
that in the King's service. The Duke and I are Highlanders. But we
are Highlanders civilised, and it is not so with the great mass of our
clans and families. They have still savage virtues and defects. They
are still barbarians, like these Stewarts; only the Campbells were
barbarians on the right side, and the Stewarts were barbarians on the
wrong. Now be you the judge. The Campbells expect vengeance. If they
do not get it - if this man James escape - there will be trouble with
the Campbells. That means disturbance in the Highlands, which are
uneasy and very far from being disarmed: the disarming is a farce. .
."

"I can bear you out in that," said I.

"Disturbance in the Highlands makes the hour of our old watchful
enemy," pursued his lordship, holding out a finger as he paced; "and I
give you my word we may have a '45 again with the Campbells on the
other side. To protect the life of this man Stewart - which is forfeit
already on half-a-dozen different counts if not on this - do you
propose to plunge your country in war, to jeopardise the faith of your
fathers, and to expose the lives and fortunes of how many thousand
innocent persons? . . . These are considerations that weigh with me,
and that I hope will weigh no less with yourself, Mr. Balfour, as a
lover of your country, good government, and religious truth."

"You deal with me very frankly, and I thank you for it," said I. "I
will try on my side to be no less honest. I believe your policy to be
sound. I believe these deep duties may lie upon your lordship; I
believe you may have laid them on your conscience when you took the
oath of the high office which you hold. But for me, who am just a
plain man - or scarce a man yet - the plain duties must suffice. I can
think but of two things, of a poor soul in the immediate and unjust
danger of a shameful death, and of the cries and tears of his wife that
still tingle in my head. I cannot see beyond, my lord. It's the way
that I am made. If the country has to fall, it has to fall. And I
pray God, if this be wilful blindness, that He may enlighten me before
too late."

He had heard me motionless, and stood so a while longer.

"This is an unexpected obstacle," says he, aloud, but to himself.

"And how is your lordship to dispose of me?" I asked.

"If I wished," said he, "you know that you might sleep in gaol?"

"My lord," said I, "I have slept in worse places."

"Well, my boy," said he, "there is one thing appears very plainly from
our interview, that I may rely on your pledged word. Give me your
honour that you will be wholly secret, not only on what has passed to-
night, but in the matter of the Appin case, and I let you go free."

"I will give it till to-morrow or any other near day that you may
please to set," said I. "I would not be thought too wily; but if I
gave the promise without qualification your lordship would have
attained his end."

"I had no thought to entrap you," said he.

"I am sure of that," said I.

"Let me see," he continued. "To-morrow is the Sabbath. Come to me on
Monday by eight in the morning, and give me our promise until then."

"Freely given, my lord," said I. "And with regard to what has fallen
from yourself, I will give it for an long as it shall please God to
spare your days."

"You will observe," he said next, "that I have made no employment of
menaces."

"It was like your lordship's nobility," said I. "Yet I am not
altogether so dull but what I can perceive the nature of those you have
not uttered."

"Well,"  said he, "good-night to you. May you sleep well, for I think
it is more than I am like to do."

With that he sighed, took up a candle, and gave me his conveyance as
far as the street door.

CHAPTER V - IN THE ADVOCATE'S HOUSE

THE next day, Sabbath, August 27th, I had the occasion I had long
looked forward to, to hear some of the famous Edinburgh preachers, all
well known to me already by the report of Mr Campbell. Alas! and I
might just as well have been at Essendean, and sitting under Mr.
Campbell's worthy self! the turmoil of my thoughts, which dwelt
continually on the interview with Prestongrange, inhibiting me from all
attention. I was indeed much less impressed by the reasoning of the
divines than by the spectacle of the thronged congregation in the
churches, like what I imagined of a theatre or (in my then disposition)
of an assize of trial; above all at the West Kirk, with its three tiers
of galleries, where I went in the vain hope that I might see Miss
Drummond.

On the Monday I betook me for the first time to a barber's, and was
very well pleased with the result. Thence to the Advocate's, where the
red coats of the soldiers showed again about his door, making a bright
place in the close. I looked about for the young lady and her gillies:
there was never a sign of them. But I was no sooner shown into the
cabinet or antechamber where I had spent so wearyful a time upon the
Saturday, than I was aware of the tall figure of James More in a
corner. He seemed a prey to a painful uneasiness, reaching forth his
feet and hands, and his eyes speeding here and there without rest about
the walls of the small chamber, which recalled to me with a sense of
pity the man's wretched situation. I suppose it was partly this, and
partly my strong continuing interest in his daughter, that moved me to
accost him.

"Give you a good-morning, sir," said I.

"And a good-morning to you, sir," said he.

"You bide tryst with Prestongrange?" I asked.

"I do, sir, and I pray your business with that gentleman be more
agreeable than mine," was his reply.

"I hope at least that yours will be brief, for I suppose you pass
before me," said I.

"All pass before me," he said, with a shrug and a gesture upward of the
open hands. "It was not always so, sir, but times change. It was not
so when the sword was in the scale, young gentleman, and the virtues of
the soldier might sustain themselves."

There came a kind of Highland snuffle out of the man that raised my
dander strangely.

"Well, Mr. Macgregor," said I, "I understand the main thing for a
soldier is to be silent, and the first of his virtues never to
complain."

"You have my name, I perceive" - he bowed to me with his arms crossed -
"though it's one I must not use myself. Well, there is a publicity - I
have shown my face and told my name too often in the beards of my
enemies. I must not wonder if both should be known to many that I know
not."

"That you know not in the least, sir," said I, "nor yet anybody else;
but the name I am called, if you care to hear it, is Balfour."

"It is a good name," he replied, civilly; "there are many decent folk
that use it. And now that I call to mind, there was a young gentleman,
your namesake, that marched surgeon in the year '45 with my battalion."

"I believe that would be a brother to Balfour of Baith," said I, for I
was ready for the surgeon now.

"The same, sir," said James More. "And since I have been fellow-
soldier with your kinsman, you must suffer me to grasp your hand."

He shook hands with me long and tenderly, beaming on me the while as
though he had found a brother.

"Ah!" says he, "these are changed days since your cousin and I heard
the balls whistle in our lugs."

"I think he was a very far-away cousin," said I, drily, "and I ought to
tell you that I never clapped eyes upon the man."

"Well, well," said he, "it makes no change. And you - I do not think
you were out yourself, sir - I have no clear mind of your face, which
is one not probable to be forgotten."

"In the year you refer to, Mr. Macgregor, I was getting skelped in the
parish school," said I.

"So young!" cries he. "Ah, then, you will never be able to think what
this meeting is to me. In the hour of my adversity, and here in the
house of my enemy, to meet in with the blood of an old brother-in-arms
- it heartens me, Mr. Balfour, like the skirting of the highland pipes!
Sir, this is a sad look back that many of us have to make: some with
falling tears. I have lived in my own country like a king; my sword,
my mountains, and the faith of my friends and kinsmen sufficed for me.
Now I lie in a stinking dungeon; and do you know, Mr. Balfour," he went
on, taking my arm and beginning to lead me about, "do you know, sir,
that I lack mere neCESSaries? The malice of my foes has quite
sequestered my resources. I lie, as you know, sir, on a trumped-up
charge, of which I am as innocent as yourself. They dare not bring me
to my trial, and in the meanwhile I am held naked in my prison. I
could have wished it was your cousin I had met, or his brother Baith
himself. Either would, I know, have been rejoiced to help me; while a
comparative stranger like yourself - "

I would be ashamed to set down all he poured out to me in this beggarly
vein, or the very short and grudging answers that I made to him. There
were times when I was tempted to stop his mouth with some small change;
but whether it was from shame or pride - whether it was for my own sake
or Catriona's - whether it was because I thought him no fit father for
his daughter, or because I resented that grossness of immediate falsity
that clung about the man himself - the thing was clean beyond me. And
I was still being wheedled and preached to, and still being marched to
and fro, three steps and a turn, in that small chamber, and had
already, by some very short replies, highly incensed, although not
finally discouraged, my beggar, when Prestongrange appeared in the
doorway and bade me eagerly into his big chamber.

"I have a moment's engagements," said he; "and that you may not sit
empty-handed I am going to present you to my three braw daughters, of
whom perhaps you may have heard, for I think they are more famous than
papa. This way."

He led me into another long room above, where a dry old lady sat at a
frame of embroidery, and the three handsomest young women (I suppose)
in Scotland stood together by a window.

"This is my new friend, Mr Balfour," said he, presenting me by the arm,
"David, here is my sister, Miss Grant, who is so good as keep my house
for me, and will be very pleased if she can help you. And here," says
he, turning to the three younger ladies, "here are my THREE BRAW
DAUCHTERS. A fair question to ye, Mr. Davie: which of the three is
the best favoured? And I wager he will never have the impudence to
propound honest Alan Ramsay's answer!"

Hereupon all three, and the old Miss Grant as well, cried out against
this sally, which (as I was acquainted with the verses he referred to)
brought shame into my own check. It seemed to me a citation
unpardonable in a father, and I was amazed that these ladies could
laugh even while they reproved, or made believe to.

Under cover of this mirth, Prestongrange got forth of the chamber, and
I was left, like a fish upon dry land, in that very unsuitable society.
I could never deny, in looking back upon what followed, that I was
eminently stockish; and I must say the ladies were well drilled to have
so long a patience with me. The aunt indeed sat close at her
embroidery, only looking now and again and smiling; but the misses, and
especially the eldest, who was besides the most handsome, paid me a
score of attentions which I was very ill able to repay. It was all in
vain to tell myself I was a young follow of some worth as well as a
good estate, and had no call to feel abashed before these lasses, the
eldest not so much older than myself, and no one of them by any
probability half as learned. Reasoning would not change the fact; and
there were times when the colour came into my face to think I was
shaved that day for the first time.

The talk going, with all their endeavours, very heavily, the eldest
took pity on my awkwardness, sat down to her instrument, of which she
was a passed mistress, and entertained me for a while with playing and
singing, both in the Scots and in the Italian manners; this put me more
at my ease, and being reminded of Alan's air that he had taught me in
the hole near Carriden, I made so bold as to whistle a bar or two, and
ask if she knew that.

She shook her head. "I never heard a note of it," said she. "Whistle
it all through. And now once again," she added, after I had done so.

Then she picked it out upon the keyboard, and (to my surprise)
instantly enriched the same with well-sounding chords, and sang, as she
played, with a very droll expression and broad accent -

"Haenae I got just the lilt of it?
Isnae this the tune that ye whustled?"

"You see," she says, "I can do the poetry too, only it won't rhyme.
And then again:

"I am Miss Grant, sib to the Advocate:
You, I believe, are Dauvit Balfour."

I told her how much astonished I was by her genius.

"And what do you call the name of it?" she asked.

"I do not know the real name," said I. "I just call it ALAN'S AIR."

She looked at me directly in the face. "I shall call it DAVID'S AIR,"
said she; "though if it's the least like what your namesake of Israel
played to Saul I would never wonder that the king got little good by
it, for it's but melancholy music. Your other name I do not like; so
if you was ever wishing to hear your tune again you are to ask for it
by mine."

This was said with a significance that gave my heart a jog. "Why that,
Miss Grant?" I asked.

"Why," says she, "if ever you should come to get hanged, I will set
your last dying speech and confession to that tune and sing it."

This put it beyond a doubt that she was partly informed of my story and
peril. How, or just how much, it was more difficult to guess. It was
plain she knew there was something of danger in the name of Alan, and
thus warned me to leave it out of reference; and plain she knew that I
stood under some criminal suspicion. I judged besides that the
harshness of her last speech (which besides she had followed up
immediately with a very noisy piece of music) was to put an end to the
present conversation. I stood beside her, affecting to listen and
admire, but truly whirled away by my own thoughts. I have always found
this young lady to be a lover of the mysterious; and certainly this
first interview made a mystery that was beyond my plummet. One thing I
learned long after, the hours of the Sunday had been well employed, the
bank porter had been found and examined, my visit to Charles Stewart
was discovered, and the deduction made that I was pretty deep with
James and Alan, and most likely in a continued correspondence with the
last. Hence this broad hint that was given me across the harpsichord.

In the midst of the piece of music, one of the younger misses, who was
at a window over the close, cried on her sisters to come quick, for
there was "GREY EYES again."  The whole family trooped there at once,
and crowded one another for a look. The window whither they ran was in
an odd corner of that room, gave above the entrance door, and flanked
up the close.

"Come, Mr. Balfour," they cried, "come and see. She is the most
beautiful creature! She hangs round the close-head these last days,
always with some wretched-like gillies, and yet seems quite a lady."

I had no need to look; neither did I look twice, or long. I was afraid
she might have seen me there, looking down upon her from that chamber
of music, and she without, and her father in the same house, perhaps
begging for his life with tears, and myself come but newly from
rejecting his petitions. But even that glance set me in a better
conceit of myself and much less awe of the young ladies. They were
beautiful, that was beyond question, but Catriona was beautiful too,
and had a kind of brightness in her like a coal of fire. As much as
the others cast me down, she lifted me up. I remembered I had talked
easily with her. If I could make no hand of it with these fine maids,
it was perhaps something their own fault. My embarrassment began to be
a little mingled and lightened with a sense of fun; and when the aunt
smiled at me from her embroidery, and the three daughters unbent to me
like a baby, all with "papa's orders" written on their faces, there
were times when I could have found it in my heart to smile myself.