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.

Presently papa returned, the same kind, happy-like, pleasant-spoken
man.

"Now, girls," said he, "I must take Mr. Balfour away again; but I hope
you have been able to persuade him to return where I shall be always
gratified to find him."

So they each made me a little farthing compliment, and I was led away.

If this visit to the family had been meant to soften my resistance, it
was the worst of failures. I was no such ass but what I understood how
poor a figure I had made, and that the girls would be yawning their
jaws off as soon as my stiff back was turned. I felt I had shown how
little I had in me of what was soft and graceful; and I longed for a
chance to prove that I had something of the other stuff, the stern and
dangerous.

Well, I was to be served to my desire, for the scene to which he was
conducting me was of a different character.

CHAPTER VI - UMQUILE THE MASTER OF LOVAT

THERE was a man waiting us in Prestongrange's study, whom I distasted
at the first look, as we distaste a ferret or an earwig. He was bitter
ugly, but seemed very much of a gentleman; had still manners, but
capable of sudden leaps and violences; and a small voice, which could
ring out shrill and dangerous when he so desired.

The Advocate presented us in a familiar, friendly way.

"Here, Fraser," said he, "here is Mr. Balfour whom we talked about.
Mr. David, this is Mr. Simon Fraser, whom we used to call by another
title, but that is an old song. Mr. Fraser has an errand to you."

With that he stepped aside to his book-shelves, and made believe to
consult a quarto volume in the far end.

I was thus left (in a sense) alone with perhaps the last person in the
world I had expected. There was no doubt upon the terms of
introduction; this could be no other than the forfeited Master of Lovat
and chief of the great clan Fraser. I knew he had led his men in the
Rebellion; I knew his father's head - my old lord's, that grey fox of
the mountains - to have fallen on the block for that offence, the lands
of the family to have been seized, and their nobility attainted. I
could not conceive what he should be doing in Grant's house; I could
not conceive that he had been called to the bar, had eaten all his
principles, and was now currying favour with the Government even to the
extent of acting Advocate-Depute in the Appin murder.

"Well, Mr. Balfour," said he, "what is all this I hear of ye?"

"It would not become me to prejudge," said I, "but if the Advocate was
your authority he is fully possessed of my opinions."

"I may tell you I am engaged in the Appin case," he went on; "I am to
appear under Prestongrange; and from my study of the precognitions I
can assure you your opinions are erroneous. The guilt of Breck is
manifest; and your testimony, in which you admit you saw him on the
hill at the very moment, will certify his hanging."

"It will be rather ill to hang him till you catch him," I observed.  
"And for other matters I very willingly leave you to your own
impressions."

"The Duke has been informed," he went on. "I have just come from his
Grace, and he expressed himself before me with an honest freedom like
the great nobleman he is. He spoke of you by name, Mr. Balfour, and
declared his gratitude beforehand in case you would be led by those who
understand your own interests and those of the country so much better
than yourself. Gratitude is no empty expression in that mouth:
EXPERTO-CREDE. I daresay you know something of my name and clan, and
the damnable example and lamented end of my late father, to say nothing
of my own errata. Well, I have made my peace with that good Duke; he
has intervened for me with our friend Prestongrange; and here I am with
my foot in the stirrup again and some of the responsibility shared into
my hand of prosecuting King George's enemies and avenging the late
daring and barefaced insult to his Majesty."

"Doubtless a proud position for your father's son," says I.

He wagged his bald eyebrows at me. "You are pleased to make
experiments in the ironical, I think," said he. "But I am here upon
duty, I am here to discharge my errand in good faith, it is in vain you
think to divert me. And let me tell you, for a young fellow of spirit
and ambition like yourself, a good shove in the beginning will do more
than ten years' drudgery. The shove is now at your command; choose
what you will to be advanced in, the Duke will watch upon you with the
affectionate disposition of a father."

"I am thinking that I lack the docility of the son," says I.

"And do you really suppose, sir, that the whole policy of this country
is to be suffered to trip up and tumble down for an ill-mannered colt
of a boy?" he cried. "This has been made a test case, all who would
prosper in the future must put a shoulder to the wheel. Look at me!
Do you suppose it is for my pleasure that I put myself in the highly
invidious position of persecuting a man that I have drawn the sword
alongside of? The choice is not left me."

"But I think, sir, that you forfeited your choice when you mixed in
with that unnatural rebellion," I remarked. "My case is happily
otherwise; I am a true man, and can look either the Duke or King George
in the face without concern."

"Is it so the wind sits?" says he. "I protest you are fallen in the
worst sort of error. Prestongrange has been hitherto so civil (he
tells me) as not to combat your allegations; but you must not think
they are not looked upon with strong suspicion. You say you are
innocent. My dear sir, the facts declare you guilty."

"I was waiting for you there," said I.

"The evidence of Mungo Campbell; your flight after the completion of
the murder; your long course of secresy - my good young man!" said Mr.
Simon, "here is enough evidence to hang a bullock, let be a David
Balfour! I shall be upon that trial; my voice shall be raised; I shall
then speak much otherwise from what I do to-day, and far less to your
gratification, little as you like it now! Ah, you look white!" cries
he. "I have found the key of your impudent heart. You look pale, your
eyes waver, Mr. David! You see the grave and the gallows nearer by
than you had fancied."

"I own to a natural weakness," said I. "I think no shame for that.
Shame. . ."  I was going on.

"Shame waits for you on the gibbet," he broke in.

"Where I shall but be even'd with my lord your father," said I.

"Aha, but not so!" he cried, "and you do not yet see to the bottom of
this business. My father suffered in a great cause, and for dealing in
the affairs of kings. You are to hang for a dirty murder about boddle-
pieces. Your personal part in it, the treacherous one of holding the
poor wretch in talk, your accomplices a pack of ragged Highland
gillies. And it can be shown, my great Mr. Balfour - it can be shown,
and it WILL be shown, trust ME that has a finger in the pie - it can be
shown, and shall be shown, that you were paid to do it. I think I can
see the looks go round the court when I adduce my evidence, and it
shall appear that you, a young man of education, let yourself be
corrupted to this shocking act for a suit of cast clothes, a bottle of
Highland spirits, and three-and-fivepence-halfpenny in copper money."

There was a touch of the truth in these words that knocked me like a
blow: clothes, a bottle of USQUEBAUGH, and three-and-fivepence-
halfpenny in change made up, indeed, the most of what Alan and I had
carried from Auchurn; and I saw that some of James's people had been
blabbing in their dungeons.

"You see I know more than you fancied," he resumed in triumph. "And as
for giving it this turn, great Mr. David, you must not suppose the
Government of Great Britain and Ireland will ever be stuck for want of
evidence. We have men here in prison who will swear out their lives as
we direct them; as I direct, if you prefer the phrase. So now you are
to guess your part of glory if you choose to die. On the one hand,
life, wine, women, and a duke to be your handgun: on the other, a rope
to your craig, and a gibbet to clatter your bones on, and the lousiest,
lowest story to hand down to your namesakes in the future that was ever
told about a hired assassin. And see here!" he cried, with a
formidable shrill voice, "see this paper that I pull out of my pocket.
Look at the name there: it is the name of the great David, I believe,
the ink scarce dry yet. Can you guess its nature? It is the warrant
for your arrest, which I have but to touch this bell beside me to have
executed on the spot. Once in the Tolbooth upon this paper, may God
help you, for the die is cast!"

I must never deny that I was greatly horrified by so much baseness, and
much unmanned by the immediacy and ugliness of my danger. Mr. Simon
had already gloried in the changes of my hue; I make no doubt I was now
no ruddier than my shirt; my speech besides trembled.

"There is a gentleman in this room," cried I. "I appeal to him. I put
my life and credit in his hands."

Prestongrange shut his book with a snap. "I told you so, Simon," said
he; "you have played your hand for all it was worth, and you have lost.
Mr. David," he went on, "I wish you to believe it was by no choice of
mine you were subjected to this proof. I wish you could understand how
glad I am you should come forth from it with so much credit. You may
not quite see how, but it is a little of a service to myself. For had
our friend here been more successful than I was last night, it might
have appeared that he was a better judge of men than I; it might have
appeared we were altogether in the wrong situations, Mr. Simon and
myself. And I know our friend Simon to be ambitious," says he,
striking lightly on Fraser's shoulder. "As for this stage play, it is
over; my sentiments are very much engaged in your behalf; and whatever
issue we can find to this unfortunate affair, I shall make it my
business to see it is adopted with tenderness to you."

These were very good words, and I could see besides that there was
little love, and perhaps a spice of genuine ill-will, between these two
who were opposed to me. For all that, it was unmistakable this
interview had been designed, perhaps rehearsed, with the consent of
both; it was plain my adversaries were in earnest to try me by all
methods; and now (persuasion, flattery, and menaces having been tried
in vain) I could not but wonder what would be their next expedient. My
eyes besides were still troubled, and my knees loose under me, with the
distress of the late ordeal; and I could do no more than stammer the
same form of words: "I put my life and credit in your hands."

"Well, well," said he, "we must try to save them. And in the meanwhile
let us return to gentler methods. You must not bear any grudge upon my
friend, Mr. Simon, who did but speak by his brief. And even if you did
conceive some malice against myself, who stood by and seemed rather to
hold a candle, I must not let that extend to innocent members of my
family. These are greatly engaged to see more of you, and I cannot
consent to have my young womenfolk disappointed. To-morrow they will
be going to Hope Park, where I think it very proper you should make
your bow. Call for me first, when I may possibly have something for
your private hearing; then you shall be turned abroad again under the
conduct of my misses; and until that time repeat to me your promise of
secrecy."

I had done better to have instantly refused, but in truth I was beside
the power of reasoning; did as I was bid; took my leave I know not how;
and when I was forth again in the close, and the door had shut behind
me, was glad to lean on a house wall and wipe my face. That horrid
apparition (as I may call it) of Mr. Simon rang in my memory, as a
sudden noise rings after it is over in the ear. Tales of the man's
father, of his falseness, of his manifold perpetual treacheries, rose
before me from all that I had heard and read, and joined on with what I
had just experienced of himself. Each time it occurred to me, the
ingenious foulness of that calumny he had proposed to nail upon my
character startled me afresh. The case of the man upon the gibbet by
Leith Walk appeared scarce distinguishable from that I was now to
consider as my own. To rob a child of so little more than nothing was
certainly a paltry enterprise for two grown men; but my own tale, as it
was to be represented in a court by Simon Fraser, appeared a fair
second in every possible point of view of sordidness and cowardice.

The voices of two of Prestongrange's liveried men upon his doorstep
recalled me to myself.

"Ha'e," said the one, "this billet as fast as ye can link to the
captain."

"Is that for the cateran back again?" asked the other.

"It would seem sae," returned the first. "Him and Simon are seeking
him."

"I think Prestongrange is gane gyte," says the second. "He'll have
James More in bed with him next."

"Weel, it's neither your affair nor mine's," said the first.

And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the other back into the
house.

This looked as ill as possible. I was scarce gone and they were
sending already for James More, to whom I thought Mr. Simon must have
pointed when he spoke of men in prison and ready to redeem their lives
by all extremities. My scalp curdled among my hair, and the next
moment the blood leaped in me to remember Catriona. Poor lass! her
father stood to be hanged for pretty indefensible misconduct. What was
yet more unpalatable, it now seemed he was prepared to save his four
quarters by the worst of shame and the most foul of cowardly murders -
murder by the false oath; and to complete our misfortunes, it seemed
myself was picked out to be the victim.

I began to walk swiftly and at random, conscious only of a desire for
movement, air, and the open country.

CHAPTER VII - I MAKE A FAULT IN HONOUR

I CAME forth, I vow I know not how, on the LANG DYKES. This is a rural
road which runs on the north side over against the city. Thence I
could see the whole black length of it tail down, from where the castle
stands upon its crags above the loch in a long line of spires and gable
ends, and smoking chimneys, and at the sight my heart swelled in my
bosom. My youth, as I have told, was already inured to dangers; but
such danger as I had seen the face of but that morning, in the midst of
what they call the safety of a town, shook me beyond experience. Peril
of slavery, peril of shipwreck, peril of sword and shot, I had stood
all of these without discredit; but the peril there was in the sharp
voice and the fat face of Simon, property Lord Lovat, daunted me
wholly.

I sat by the lake side in a place where the rushes went down into the
water, and there steeped my wrists and laved my temples. If I could
have done so with any remains of self-esteem, I would now have fled
from my foolhardy enterprise. But (call it courage or cowardice, and I
believe it was both the one and the other) I decided I was ventured out
beyond the possibility of a retreat. I had out-faced these men, I
would continue to out-face them; come what might, I would stand by the
word spoken.

The sense of my own constancy somewhat uplifted my spirits, but not
much. At the best of it there was an icy place about my heart, and
life seemed a black business to be at all engaged in. For two souls in
particular my pity flowed. The one was myself, to be so friendless and
lost among dangers. The other was the girl, the daughter of James
More. I had seen but little of her; yet my view was taken and my
judgment made. I thought her a lass of a clean honour, like a man's; I
thought her one to die of a disgrace; and now I believed her father to
be at that moment bargaining his vile life for mine. It made a bond in
my thoughts betwixt the girl and me. I had seen her before only as a
wayside appearance, though one that pleased me strangely; I saw her now
in a sudden nearness of relation, as the daughter of my blood foe, and
I might say, my murderer. I reflected it was hard I should be so
plagued and persecuted all my days for other folks' affairs, and have
no manner of pleasure myself. I got meals and a bed to sleep in when
my concerns would suffer it; beyond that my wealth was of no help to
me. If I was to hang, my days were like to be short; if I was not to
hang but to escape out of this trouble, they might yet seem long to me
ere I was done with them. Of a sudden her face appeared in my memory,
the way I had first seen it, with the parted lips; at that, weakness
came in my bosom and strength into my legs; and I set resolutely
forward on the way to Dean. If I was to hang to-morrow, and it was
sure enough I might very likely sleep that night in a dungeon, I
determined I should hear and speak once more with Catriona.

The exercise of walking and the thought of my destination braced me yet
more, so that I began to pluck up a kind of spirit. In the village of
Dean, where it sits in the bottom of a glen beside the river, I
inquired my way of a miller's man, who sent me up the hill upon the
farther side by a plain path, and so to a decent-like small house in a
garden of lawns and apple-trees. My heart beat high as I stepped
inside the garden hedge, but it fell low indeed when I came face to
face with a grim and fierce old lady, walking there in a white mutch
with a man's hat strapped upon the top of it.

"What do ye come seeking here?" she asked.

I told her I was after Miss Drummond.

"And what may be your business with Miss Drummond?" says she.

I told her I had met her on Saturday last, had been so fortunate as to
render her a trifling service, and was come now on the young lady's
invitation.

"O, so you're Saxpence!" she cried, with a very sneering manner. "A
braw gift, a bonny gentleman. And hae ye ony ither name and
designation, or were ye bapteesed Saxpence?" she asked.

I told my name.

"Preserve me!" she cried. "Has Ebenezer gotten a son?"

"No, ma'am," said I. "I am a son of Alexander's. It's I that am the
Laird of Shaws."

"Ye'll find your work cut out for ye to establish that," quoth she.

"I perceive you know my uncle," said I; "and I daresay you may be the
better pleased to hear that business is arranged."

"And what brings ye here after Miss Drummond?" she pursued.

"I'm come after my saxpence, mem," said I. "It's to be thought, being
my uncle's nephew, I would be found a careful lad."

"So ye have a spark of sleeness in ye?" observed the old lady, with
some approval. "I thought ye had just been a cuif - you and your
saxpence, and your LUCKY DAY and your SAKE OF BALWHIDDER" - from which
I was gratified to learn that Catriona had not forgotten some of our
talk. "But all this is by the purpose," she resumed. "Am I to
understand that ye come here keeping company?"

"This is surely rather an early question," said I. "The maid is young,
so am I, worse fortune. I have but seen her the once. I'll not deny,"
I added, making up my mind to try her with some frankness, "I'll not
deny but she has run in my head a good deal since I met in with her.
That is one thing; but it would be quite another, and I think I would
look very like a fool, to commit myself."

"You can speak out of your mouth, I see," said the old lady. "Praise
God, and so can I! I was fool enough to take charge of this rogue's
daughter: a fine charge I have gotten; but it's mine, and I'll carry
it the way I want to. Do ye mean to tell me, Mr. Balfour of Shaws,
that you would marry James More's daughter, and him hanged! Well,
then, where there's no possible marriage there shall be no manner of
carryings on, and take that for said. Lasses are bruckle things," she
added, with a nod; "and though ye would never think it by my wrunkled
chafts, I was a lassie mysel', and a bonny one."

"Lady Allardyce," said I, "for that I suppose to be your name, you seem
to do the two sides of the talking, which is a very poor manner to come
to an agreement. You give me rather a home thrust when you ask if I
would marry, at the gallow's foot, a young lady whom I have seen but
once. I have told you already I would never be so untenty as to commit
myself. And yet I'll go some way with you. If I continue to like the
lass as well as I have reason to expect, it will be something more than
her father, or the gallows either, that keeps the two of us apart. As
for my family, I found it by the wayside like a lost bawbee! I owe
less than nothing to my uncle and if ever I marry, it will be to please
one person: that's myself."

"I have heard this kind of talk before ye were born," said Mrs. Ogilvy,
"which is perhaps the reason that I think of it so little. There's
much to be considered. This James More is a kinsman of mine, to my
shame be it spoken. But the better the family, the mair men hanged or
headed, that's always been poor Scotland's story. And if it was just
the hanging! For my part I think I would be best pleased with James
upon the gallows, which would be at least an end to him. Catrine's a
good lass enough, and a good-hearted, and lets herself be deaved all
day with a runt of an auld wife like me. But, ye see, there's the weak
bit. She's daft about that long, false, fleeching beggar of a father
of hers, and red-mad about the Gregara, and proscribed names, and King
James, and a wheen blethers. And you might think ye could guide her,
ye would find yourself sore mista'en. Ye say ye've seen her but the
once. . ."

"Spoke with her but the once, I should have said," I interrupted. "I
saw her again this morning from a window at Prestongrange's."

This I daresay I put in because it sounded well; but I was properly
paid for my ostentation on the return.

"What's this of it?" cries the old lady, with a sudden pucker of her
face. "I think it was at the Advocate's door-cheek that ye met her
first."

I told her that was so.

"H'm," she said; and then suddenly, upon rather a scolding tone, "I
have your bare word for it," she cries, "as to who and what you are.
By your way of it, you're Balfour of the Shaws; but for what I ken you
may be Balfour of the Deevil's oxter. It's possible ye may come here
for what ye say, and it's equally possible ye may come here for deil
care what! I'm good enough Whig to sit quiet, and to have keepit all
my men-folk's heads upon their shoulders. But I'm not just a good
enough Whig to be made a fool of neither. And I tell you fairly,
there's too much Advocate's door and Advocate's window here for a man
that comes taigling after a Macgregor's daughter. Ye can tell that to
the Advocate that sent ye, with my fond love. And I kiss my loof to
ye, Mr. Balfour," says she, suiting the action to the word; "and a braw
journey to ye back to where ye cam frae."

"If you think me a spy," I broke out, and speech stuck in my throat. I
stood and looked murder at the old lady for a space, then bowed and
turned away.

"Here! Hoots! The callant's in a creel!" she cried. "Think ye a spy?
what else would I think ye - me that kens naething by ye? But I see
that I was wrong; and as I cannot fight, I'll have to apologise. A
bonny figure I would be with a broadsword. Ay! ay!" she went on,
"you're none such a bad lad in your way; I think ye'll have some
redeeming vices. But, O! Davit Balfour, ye're damned countryfeed.
Ye'll have to win over that, lad; ye'll have to soople your back-bone,
and think a wee pickle less of your dainty self; and ye'll have to try
to find out that women-folk are nae grenadiers. But that can never be.
To your last day you'll ken no more of women-folk than what I do of
sow-gelding."

I had never been used with such expressions from a lady's tongue, the
only two ladies I had known, Mrs. Campbell and my mother, being most
devout and most particular women; and I suppose my amazement must have
been depicted in my countenance, for Mrs. Ogilvy burst forth suddenly
in a fit of laughter.

"Keep me!" she cried, struggling with her mirth, "you have the finest
timber face - and you to marry the daughter of a Hieland cateran!
Davie, my dear, I think we'll have to make a match of it - if it was
just to see the weans. And now," she went on, "there's no manner of
service in your daidling here, for the young woman is from home, and
it's my fear that the old woman is no suitable companion for your
father's son. Forbye that I have nobody but myself to look after my
reputation, and have been long enough alone with a sedooctive youth.
And come back another day for your saxpence!" she cried after me as I
left.

My skirmish with this disconcerting lady gave my thoughts a boldness
they had otherwise wanted. For two days the image of Catriona had
mixed in all my meditations; she made their background, so that I
scarce enjoyed my own company without a glint of her in a corner of my
mind. But now she came immediately near; I seemed to touch her, whom I
had never touched but the once; I let myself flow out to her in a happy
weakness, and looking all about, and before and behind, saw the world
like an undesirable desert, where men go as soldiers on a march,
following their duty with what constancy they have, and Catriona alone
there to offer me some pleasure of my days. I wondered at myself that
I could dwell on such considerations in that time of my peril and
disgrace; and when I remembered my youth I was ashamed. I had my
studies to complete: I had to be called into some useful business; I
had yet to take my part of service in a place where all must serve; I
had yet to learn, and know, and prove myself a man; and I had so much
sense as blush that I should be already tempted with these further-on
and holier delights and duties. My education spoke home to me sharply;
I was never brought up on sugar biscuits but on the hard food of the
truth. I knew that he was quite unfit to be a husband who was not
prepared to be a father also; and for a boy like me to play the father
was a mere derision.

When I was in the midst of these thoughts and about half-way back to
town I saw a figure coming to meet me, and the trouble of my heart was
heightened. It seemed I had everything in the world to say to her, but
nothing to say first; and remembering how tongue-tied I had been that
morning at the Advocate's I made sure that I would find myself struck
dumb. But when she came up my fears fled away; not even the
consciousness of what I had been privately thinking disconcerted me the
least; and I found I could talk with her as easily and rationally as I
might with Alan.

"O!" she cried, "you have been seeking your sixpence; did you get it?"

I told her no; but now I had met with her my walk was not in vain.
"Though I have seen you to-day already," said I, and told her where and
when.

"I did not see you," she said. "My eyes are big, but there are better
than mine at seeing far. Only I heard singing in the house."

"That was Miss Grant," said I, "the eldest and the bonniest."

"They say they are all beautiful," said she.

"They think the same of you, Miss Drummond," I replied, "and were all
crowding to the window to observe you."

"It is a pity about my being so blind," said she, "or I might have seen
them too. And you were in the house? You must have been having the
fine time with the fine music and the pretty ladies."

"There is just where you are wrong," said I; "for I was as uncouth as a
sea-fish upon the brae of a mountain. The truth is that I am better
fitted to go about with rudas men than pretty ladies."

"Well, I would think so too, at all events!" said she, at which we both
of us laughed.

"It is a strange thing, now," said I. "I am not the least afraid with
you, yet I could have run from the Miss Grants. And I was afraid of
your cousin too."

"O, I think any man will be afraid of her," she cried. "My father is
afraid of her himself."

The name of her father brought me to a stop. I looked at her as she
walked by my side; I recalled the man, and the little I knew and the
much I guessed of him; and comparing the one with the other, felt like
a traitor to be silent.

"Speaking of which," said I, "I met your father no later than this
morning."

"Did you?" she cried, with a voice of joy that seemed to mock at me.
"You saw James More? You will have spoken with him then?"

"I did even that," said I.

Then I think things went the worst way for me that was humanly
possible. She gave me a look of mere gratitude. "Ah, thank you for
that!" says she.

"You thank me for very little," said I, and then stopped. But it
seemed when I was holding back so much, something at least had to come
out. "I spoke rather ill to him," said I; "I did no like him very
much; I spoke him rather ill, and he was angry."

"I think you had little to do then, and less to tell it to his
daughter!" she cried out. "But those that do not love and cherish him
I will not know."

"I will take the freedom of a word yet," said I, beginning to tremble.
"Perhaps neither your father nor I are in the best of spirits at
Prestongrange's. I daresay we both have anxious business there, for
it's a dangerous house. I was sorry for him too, and spoke to him the
first, if I could but have spoken the wiser. And for one thing, in my
opinion, you will soon find that his affairs are mending."

"It will not be through your friendship, I am thinking," said she; "and
he is much made up to you for your sorrow."

"Miss Drummond," cried I, "I am alone in this world."

"And I am not wondering at that," said she.

"O, let me speak!" said I. "I will speak but the once, and then leave
you, if you will, for ever. I came this day in the hopes of a kind
word that I am sore in want of. I know that what I said must hurt you,
and I knew it then. It would have been easy to have spoken smooth,
easy to lie to you; can you not think how I was tempted to the same?
Cannot you see the truth of my heart shine out?"

"I think here is a great deal of work, Mr. Balfour," said she. "I
think we will have met but the once, and will can part like gentle
folk."

"O, let me have one to believe in me!" I pleaded, "I cannae bear it
else. The whole world is clanned against me. How am I to go through
with my dreadful fate? If there's to be none to believe in me I cannot
do it. The man must just die, for I cannot do it."

She had still looked straight in front of her, head in air; but at my
words or the tone of my voice she came to a stop. "What is this you
say?" she asked. "What are you talking of?"

"It is my testimony which may save an innocent life," said I, "and they
will not suffer me to bear it. What would you do yourself? You know
what this is, whose father lies in danger. Would you desert the poor
soul? They have tried all ways with me. They have sought to bribe me;
they offered me hills and valleys. And to-day that sleuth-hound told
me how I stood, and to what a length he would go to butcher and
disgrace me. I am to be brought in a party to the murder; I am to have
held Glenure in talk for money and old clothes; I am to be killed and
shamed. If this is the way I am to fall, and me scarce a man - if this
is the story to be told of me in all Scotland - if you are to believe
it too, and my name is to be nothing but a by-word - Catriona, how can
I go through with it? The thing's not possible; it's more than a man
has in his heart."

I poured my words out in a whirl, one upon the other; and when I
stopped I found her gazing on me with a startled face.

"Glenure! It is the Appin murder," she said softly, but with a very
deep surprise.

I had turned back to bear her company, and we were now come near the
head of the brae above Dean village. At this word I stepped in front
of her like one suddenly distracted.

"For God's sake!" I cried, "for God's sake, what is this that I have
done?" and carried my fists to my temples. "What made me do it? Sure,
I am bewitched to say these things!"

"In the name of heaven, what ails you now!" she cried.

"I gave my honour," I groaned, "I gave my honour and now I have broke
it. O, Catriona!"

"I am asking you what it is," she said; "was it these things you should
not have spoken? And do you think I have no honour, then? or that I am
one that would betray a friend? I hold up my right hand to you and
swear."

"O, I knew you would be true!" said I. "It's me - it's here. I that
stood but this morning and out-faced them, that risked rather to die
disgraced upon the gallows than do wrong - and a few hours after I
throw my honour away by the roadside in common talk! 'There is one
thing clear upon our interview,' says he, 'that I can rely on your
pledged word.'  Where is my word now? Who could believe me now? You
could not believe me. I am clean fallen down; I had best die!"  All
this I said with a weeping voice, but I had no tears in my body.

"My heart is sore for you," said she, "but be sure you are too nice. I
would not believe you, do you say? I would trust you with anything.
And these men? I would not be thinking of them! Men who go about to
entrap and to destroy you! Fy! this is no time to crouch. Look up!
Do you not think I will be admiring you like a great hero of the good -
and you a boy not much older than myself? And because you said a word
too much in a friend's ear, that would die ere she betrayed you - to
make such a matter! It is one thing that we must both forget."

"Catriona," said I, looking at her, hang-dog, "is this true of it?
Would ye trust me yet?"

"Will you not believe the tears upon my face?" she cried. "It is the
world I am thinking of you, Mr. David Balfour. Let them hang you; I
will never forget, I will grow old and still remember you. I think it
is great to die so: I will envy you that gallows."

"And maybe all this while I am but a child frighted with bogles," said
I. "Maybe they but make a mock of me."

"It is what I must know," she said. "I must hear the whole. The harm
is done at all events, and I must hear the whole."

I had sat down on the wayside, where she took a place beside me, and I
told her all that matter much as I have written it, my thoughts about
her father's dealings being alone omitted.

"Well," she said, when I had finished, "you are a hero, surely, and I
never would have thought that same! And I think you are in peril, too.
O, Simon Fraser! to think upon that man! For his life and the dirty
money, to be dealing in such traffic!"  And just then she called out
aloud with a queer word that was common with her, and belongs, I
believe, to her own language. "My torture!" says she, "look at the
sun!"

Indeed, it was already dipping towards the mountains.

She bid me come again soon, gave me her hand, and left me in a turmoil
of glad spirits. I delayed to go home to my lodging, for I had a
terror of immediate arrest; but got some supper at a change house, and
the better part of that night walked by myself in the barley-fields,
and had such a sense of Catriona's presence that I seemed to bear her
in my arms.

CHAPTER VIII - THE BRAVO

THE next day, August 29th, I kept my appointment at the Advocate's in a
coat that I had made to my own measure, and was but newly ready,

"Aha," says Prestongrange, "you are very fine to-day; my misses are to
have a fine cavalier. Come, I take that kind of you. I take that kind
of you, Mr. David. O, we shall do very well yet, and I believe your
troubles are nearly at an end."

"You have news for me?" cried I.

"Beyond anticipation," he replied. "Your testimony is after all to be
received; and you may go, if you will, in my company to the trial,
which in to be held at Inverary, Thursday, 21st PROXIMO."

I was too much amazed to find words.

"In the meanwhile," he continued, "though I will not ask you to renew
your pledge, I must caution you strictly to be reticent. To-morrow
your precognition must be taken; and outside of that, do you know, I
think least said will be soonest mended."

"I shall try to go discreetly,' said I. "I believe it is yourself that
I must thank for this crowning mercy, and I do thank you gratefully.
After yesterday, my lord, this is like the doors of Heaven. I cannot
find it in my heart to get the thing believed."

"Ah, but you must try and manage, you must try and manage to believe
it," says he, soothing-like, "and I am very glad to hear your
acknowledgment of obligation, for I think you may be able to repay me
very shortly" - he coughed - "or even now. The matter is much changed.
Your testimony, which I shall not trouble you for to-day, will
doubtless alter the complexion of the case for all concerned, and this
makes it less delicate for me to enter with you on a side issue."

"My Lord," I interrupted, "excuse me for interrupting you, but how has
this been brought about? The obstacles you told me of on Saturday
appeared even to me to be quite insurmountable; how has it been
contrived?"

"My dear Mr. David," said he, "it would never do for me to divulge
(even to you, as you say) the councils of the Government; and you must
content yourself, if you please, with the gross fact."

He smiled upon me like a father as he spoke, playing the while with a
new pen; methought it was impossible there could be any shadow of
deception in the man: yet when he drew to him a sheet of paper, dipped
his pen among the ink, and began again to address me, I was somehow not
so certain, and fell instinctively into an attitude of guard.

"There is a point I wish to touch upon," he began. "I purposely left
it before upon one side, which need be now no longer necessary. This
is not, of course, a part of your examination, which is to follow by
another hand; this is a private interest of my own. You say you
encountered Alan Breck upon the hill?"

"I did, my lord," said I

"This was immediately after the murder?"

"It was."

"Did you speak to him?"

"I did."

"You had known him before, I think?" says my lord, carelessly.

"I cannot guess your reason for so thinking, my lord," I replied, "but
such in the fact."

"And when did you part with him again?" said he.

"I reserve my answer," said I. "The question will be put to me at the
assize."

"Mr. Balfour," said he, "will you not understand that all this is
without prejudice to yourself? I have promised you life and honour;
and, believe me, I can keep my word. You are therefore clear of all
anxiety. Alan, it appears, you suppose you can protect; and you talk
to me of your gratitude, which I think (if you push me) is not ill-
deserved. There are a great many different considerations all pointing
the same way; and I will never be persuaded that you could not help us
(if you chose) to put salt on Alan's tail."

"My lord," said I, "I give you my word I do not so much as guess where
Alan is."

He paused a breath. "Nor how he might be found?" he asked.

I sat before him like a log of wood.

"And so much for your gratitude, Mr. David!" he observed. Again there
was a piece of silence. "Well," said he, rising, "I am not fortunate,
and we are a couple at cross purposes. Let us speak of it no more; you
will receive notice when, where, and by whom, we are to take your
precognition. And in the meantime, my misses must be waiting you.
They will never forgive me if I detain their cavalier."

Into the hands of these Graces I was accordingly offered up, and found
them dressed beyond what I had thought possible, and looking fair as a
posy.

As we went forth from the doors a small circumstance occurred which
came afterwards to look extremely big. I heard a whistle sound loud
and brief like a signal, and looking all about, spied for one moment
the red head of Neil of the Tom, the son of Duncan. The next moment he
was gone again, nor could I see so much as the skirt-tail of Catriona,
upon whom I naturally supposed him to be then attending.

My three keepers led me out by Bristo and the Bruntsfield Links; whence
a path carried us to Hope Park, a beautiful pleasance, laid with
gravel-walks, furnished with seats and summer-sheds, and warded by a
keeper. The way there was a little longsome; the two younger misses
affected an air of genteel weariness that damped me cruelly, the eldest
considered me with something that at times appeared like mirth; and
though I thought I did myself more justice than the day before, it was
not without some effort. Upon our reaching the park I was launched on
a bevy of eight or ten young gentlemen (some of them cockaded officers,
the rest chiefly advocates) who crowded to attend upon these beauties;
and though I was presented to all of them in very good words, it seemed
I was by all immediately forgotten. Young folk in a company are like
to savage animals: they fall upon or scorn a stranger without
civility, or I may say, humanity; and I am sure, if I had been among
baboons, they would have shown me quite as much of both. Some of the
advocates set up to be wits, and some of the soldiers to be rattles;
and I could not tell which of these extremes annoyed me most. All had
a manner of handling their swords and coat-skirts, for the which (in
mere black envy) I could have kicked them from the park. I daresay,
upon their side, they grudged me extremely the fine company in which I
had arrived; and altogether I had soon fallen behind, and stepped
stiffly in the rear of all that merriment with my own thoughts.

From these I was recalled by one of the officers, Lieutenant Hector
Duncansby, a gawky, leering Highland boy, asking if my name was not
"Palfour."

I told him it was, not very kindly, for his manner was scant civil.

"Ha, Palfour," says he, and then, repeating it, "Palfour, Palfour!"

"I am afraid you do not like my name, sir," says I, annoyed with myself
to be annoyed with such a rustical fellow.

"No," says he, "but I wass thinking."

"I would not advise you to make a practice of that, sir," says I. "I
feel sure you would not find it to agree with you."

"Tit you effer hear where Alan Grigor fand the tangs?" said he.

I asked him what he could possibly mean, and he answered, with a
heckling laugh, that he thought I must have found the poker in the same
place and swallowed it.

There could be no mistake about this, and my cheek burned.

"Before I went about to put affronts on gentlemen," said I, "I think I
would learn the English language first."

He took me by the sleeve with a nod and a wink and led me quietly
outside Hope Park. But no sooner were we beyond the view of the
promenaders, than the fashion of his countenance changed. "You tam
lowland scoon'rel!" cries he, and hit me a buffet on the jaw with his
closed fist.

I paid him as good or better on the return; whereupon he stepped a
little back and took off his hat to me decorously.

"Enough plows I think," says he. "I will be the offended shentleman,
for who effer heard of such suffeeciency as tell a shentlemans that is
the king's officer he cannae speak Cot's English? We have swords at
our hurdles, and here is the King's Park at hand. Will ye walk first,
or let me show ye the way?"

I returned his bow, told him to go first, and followed him. As he went
I heard him grumble to himself about COT'S ENGLISH and the KING'S COAT,
so that I might have supposed him to be seriously offended. But his
manner at the beginning of our interview was there to belie him. It
was manifest he had come prepared to fasten a quarrel on me, right or
wrong; manifest that I was taken in a fresh contrivance of my enemies;
and to me (conscious as I was of my deficiencies) manifest enough that
I should be the one to fall in our encounter.

As we came into that rough rocky desert of the King's Park I was
tempted half-a-dozen times to take to my heels and run for it, so loath
was I to show my ignorance in fencing, and so much averse to die or
even to be wounded. But I considered if their malice went as far as
this, it would likely stick at nothing; and that to fall by the sword,
however ungracefully, was still an improvement on the gallows. I
considered besides that by the unguarded pertness of my words and the
quickness of my blow I had put myself quite out of court; and that even
if I ran, my adversary would probably pursue and catch me, which would
add disgrace to my misfortune. So that, taking all in all, I continued
marching behind him, much as a man follows the hangman, and certainly
with no more hope.

We went about the end of the long craigs, and came into the Hunter's
Bog. Here, on a piece of fair turf, my adversary drew. There was
nobody there to see us but some birds; and no resource for me but to
follow his example, and stand on guard with the best face I could
display. It seems it was not good enough for Mr. Dancansby, who spied
some flaw in my manoeuvres, paused, looked upon me sharply, and came
off and on, and menaced me with his blade in the air. As I had seen no
such proceedings from Alan, and was besides a good deal affected with
the proximity of death, I grew quite bewildered, stood helpless, and
could have longed to run away.

"Fat deil ails her?" cries the lieutenant.

And suddenly engaging, he twitched the sword out of my grasp and sent
it flying far among the rushes.

Twice was this manoeuvre repeated; and the third time when I brought
back my humiliated weapon, I found he had returned his own to the
scabbard, and stood awaiting me with a face of some anger, and his
hands clasped under his skirt.

"Pe tamned if I touch you!" he cried, and asked me bitterly what right
I had to stand up before "shentlemans" when I did not know the back of
a sword from the front of it.

I answered that was the fault of my upbringing; and would he do me the
justice to say I had given him all the satisfaction it was
unfortunately in my power to offer, and had stood up like a man?

"And that is the truth," said he. "I am fery prave myself, and pold as
a lions. But to stand up there - and you ken naething of fence! - the
way that you did, I declare it was peyond me. And I am sorry for the
plow; though I declare I pelief your own was the elder brother, and my
heid still sings with it. And I declare if I had kent what way it
wass, I would not put a hand to such a piece of pusiness."

"That is handsomely said," I replied, "and I am sure you will not stand
up a second time to be the actor for my private enemies."

"Indeed, no, Palfour," said he; "and I think I was used extremely
suffeeciently myself to be set up to fecht with an auld wife, or all
the same as a bairn whateffer! And I will tell the Master so, and
fecht him, by Cot, himself!"

"And if you knew the nature of Mr. Simon's quarrel with me," said I,
"you would be yet the more affronted to be mingled up with such
affairs."

He swore he could well believe it; that all the Lovats were made of the
same meal and the devil was the miller that ground that; then suddenly
shaking me by the hand, he vowed I was a pretty enough fellow after
all, that it was a thousand pities I had been neglected, and that if he
could find the time, he would give an eye himself to have me educated.

"You can do me a better service than even what you propose," said I;
and when he had asked its nature - "Come with me to the house of one of
my enemies, and testify how I have carried myself this day," I told
him. "That will be the true service. For though he has sent me a
gallant adversary for the first, the thought in Mr. Simon's mind is
merely murder. There will be a second and then a third; and by what
you have seen of my cleverness with the cold steel, you can judge for
yourself what is like to be the upshot."

"And I would not like it myself, if I was no more of a man than what
you wass!" he cried. "But I will do you right, Palfour. Lead on!"

If I had walked slowly on the way into that accursed park my heels were
light enough on the way out. They kept time to a very good old air,
that is as ancient as the Bible, and the words of it are: "SURELY THE
BITTERNESS OF DEATH IS PASSED."  I mind that I was extremely thirsty,
and had a drink at Saint Margaret's well on the road down, and the
sweetness of that water passed belief. We went through the sanctuary,
up the Canongate, in by the Netherbow, and straight to Prestongrange's
door, talking as we came and arranging the details of our affair. The
footman owned his master was at home, but declared him engaged with
other gentlemen on very private business, and his door forbidden.

"My business is but for three minutes, and it cannot wait," said I.
"You may say it is by no means private, and I shall be even glad to
have some witnesses."

As the man departed unwillingly enough upon this errand, we made so
bold as to follow him to the ante-chamber, whence I could hear for a
while the murmuring of several voices in the room within. The truth
is, they were three at the one table - Prestongrange, Simon Fraser, and
Mr. Erskine, Sheriff of Perth; and as they were met in consultation on
the very business of the Appin murder, they were a little disturbed at
my appearance, but decided to receive me.

"Well, well, Mr. Balfour, and what brings you here again? and who is
this you bring with you?" says Prestongrange.

As for Fraser, he looked before him on the table.

"He is here to bear a little testimony in my favour, my lord, which I
think it very needful you should hear," said I, and turned to
Duncansby.

"I have only to say this," said the lieutenant, "that I stood up this
day with Palfour in the Hunter's Pog, which I am now fery sorry for,
and he behaved himself as pretty as a shentlemans could ask it. And I
have creat respects for Palfour," he added.

"I thank you for your honest expressions," said I.

Whereupon Duncansby made his bow to the company, and left the chamber,
as we had agreed upon before.

"What have I to do with this?" says Prestongrange.

"I will tell your lordship in two words," said I. "I have brought this
gentleman, a King's officer, to do me so much justice. Now I think my
character in covered, and until a certain date, which your lordship can
very well supply, it will be quite in vain to despatch against me any
more officers. I will not consent to fight my way through the garrison
of the castle."

The veins swelled on Prestongrange's brow, and he regarded me with
fury.

"I think the devil uncoupled this dog of a lad between my legs!" he
cried; and then, turning fiercely on his neighbour, "This is some of
your work, Simon," he said. "I spy your hand in the business, and, let
me tell you, I resent it. It is disloyal, when we are agreed upon one
expedient, to follow another in the dark. You are disloyal to me.
What! you let me send this lad to the place with my very daughters!
And because I let drop a word to you..... Fy, sir, keep your dishonours
to yourself!"

Simon was deadly pale. "I will be a kick-ball between you and the Duke
no longer," he exclaimed. "Either come to an agreement, or come to a
differ, and have it out among yourselves. But I will no longer fetch
and carry, and get your contrary instructions, and be blamed by both.
For if I were to tell you what I think of all your Hanover business it
would make your head sing."

But Sheriff Erskine had preserved his temper, and now intervened
smoothly. "And in the meantime," says he, "I think we should tell Mr.
Balfour that his character for valour is quite established. He may
sleep in peace. Until the date he was so good as to refer to it shall
be put to the proof no more."

His coolness brought the others to their prudence; and they made haste,
with a somewhat distracted civility, to pack me from the house.

CHAPTER IX - THE HEATHER ON FIRE

WHEN I left Prestongrange that afternoon I was for the first time
angry. The Advocate had made a mock of me. He had pretended my
testimony was to be received and myself respected; and in that very
hour, not only was Simon practising against my life by the hands of the
Highland soldier, but (as appeared from his own language) Prestongrange
himself had some design in operation. I counted my enemies;
Prestongrange with all the King's authority behind him; and the Duke
with the power of the West Highlands; and the Lovat interest by their
side to help them with so great a force in the north, and the whole
clan of old Jacobite spies and traffickers. And when I remembered
James More, and the red head of Neil the son of Duncan, I thought there
was perhaps a fourth in the confederacy, and what remained of Rob Roy's
old desperate sept of caterans would be banded against me with the
others. One thing was requisite - some strong friend or wise adviser.
The country must be full of such, both able and eager to support me, or
Lovat and the Duke and Prestongrange had not been nosing for
expedients; and it made me rage to think that I might brush against my
champions in the street and be no wiser.

And just then (like an answer) a gentleman brushed against me going by,
gave me a meaning look, and turned into a close. I knew him with the
tail of my eye - it was Stewart the Writer; and, blessing my good
fortune, turned in to follow him. As soon as I had entered the close I
saw him standing in the mouth of a stair, where he made me a signal and
immediately vanished. Seven storeys up, there he was again in a house
door, the which he looked behind us after we had entered. The house
was quite dismantled, with not a stick of furniture; indeed, it was one
of which Stewart had the letting in his hands.

"We'll have to sit upon the floor," said he; "but we're safe here for
the time being, and I've been wearying to see ye, Mr. Balfour."

"How's it with Alan?" I asked.

"Brawly," said he. "Andie picks him up at Gillane sands to-morrow,
Wednesday. He was keen to say good-bye to ye, but the way that things
were going, I was feared the pair of ye was maybe best apart. And that
brings me to the essential: how does your business speed?"

"Why," said I, "I was told only this morning that my testimony was
accepted, and I was to travel to Inverary with the Advocate, no less."

"Hout awa!" cried Stewart. "I'll never believe that."

"I have maybe a suspicion of my own," says I, "but I would like fine to
hear your reasons."

"Well, I tell ye fairly, I'm horn-mad," cries Stewart. "If my one hand
could pull their Government down I would pluck it like a rotten apple.
I'm doer for Appin and for James of the Glens; and, of course, it's my
duty to defend my kinsman for his life. Hear how it goes with me, and
I'll leave the judgment of it to yourself. The first thing they have
to do is to get rid of Alan. They cannae bring in James as art and
part until they've brought in Alan first as principal; that's sound
law: they could never put the cart before the horse."

"And how are they to bring in Alan till they can catch him?" says I.

"Ah, but there is a way to evite that arrestment," said he. "Sound
law, too. It would be a bonny thing if, by the escape of one ill-doer
another was to go scatheless, and the remeid is to summon the principal
and put him to outlawry for the non-compearance. Now there's four
places where a person can be summoned: at his dwelling-house; at a
place where he has resided forty days; at the head burgh of the shire
where he ordinarily resorts; or lastly (if there be ground to think him
forth of Scotland) AT THE CROSS OF EDINBURGH, AND THE PIER AND SHORE OF
LEITH, FOR SIXTY DAYS. The purpose of which last provision is evident
upon its face: being that outgoing ships may have time to carry news
of the transaction, and the summonsing be something other than a form.
Now take the case of Alan. He has no dwelling-house that ever I could
hear of; I would be obliged if anyone would show me where he has lived
forty days together since the '45; there is no shire where he resorts
whether ordinarily or extraordinarily; if he has a domicile at all,
which I misdoubt, it must be with his regiment in France; and if he is
not yet forth of Scotland (as we happen to know and they happen to
guess) it must be evident to the most dull it's what he's aiming for.
Where, then, and what way should he be summoned? I ask it at yourself,
a layman."

"You have given the very words," said I. "Here at the cross, and at
the pier and shore of Leith, for sixty days."

"Ye're a sounder Scots lawyer than Prestongrange, then!" cries the
Writer. "He has had Alan summoned once; that was on the twenty-fifth,
the day that we first met. Once, and done with it. And where? Where,
but at the cross of Inverary, the head burgh of the Campbells? A word
in your ear, Mr. Balfour - they're not seeking Alan."

"What do you mean?" I cried. "Not seeking him?"

"By the best that I can make of it," said he. "Not wanting to find
him, in my poor thought. They think perhaps he might set up a fair
defence, upon the back of which James, the man they're really after,
might climb out. This is not a case, ye see, it's a conspiracy."

"Yet I can tell you Prestongrange asked after Alan keenly," said I;
"though, when I come to think of it, he was something of the easiest
put by."

"See that!" says he. "But there! I may be right or wrong, that's
guesswork at the best, and let me get to my facts again. It comes to
my ears that James and the witnesses - the witnesses, Mr. Balfour! -
lay in close dungeons, and shackled forbye, in the military prison at
Fort William; none allowed in to them, nor they to write. The
witnesses, Mr. Balfour; heard ye ever the match of that? I assure ye,
no old, crooked Stewart of the gang ever out-faced the law more
impudently. It's clean in the two eyes of the Act of Parliament of
1700, anent wrongous imprisonment. No sooner did I get the news than I
petitioned the Lord Justice Clerk. I have his word to-day. There's
law for ye! here's justice!"

He put a paper in my hand, that same mealy-mouthed, false-faced paper
that was printed since in the pamphlet "by a bystander," for behoof (as
the title says) of James's "poor widow and five children."

"See," said Stewart, "he couldn't dare to refuse me access to my
client, so he RECOMMENDS THE COMMANDING OFFICER TO LET ME IN.
Recommends! - the Lord Justice Clerk of Scotland recommends. Is not
the purpose of such language plain? They hope the officer may be so
dull, or so very much the reverse, as to refuse the recommendation. I
would have to make the journey back again betwixt here and Fort
William. Then would follow a fresh delay till I got fresh authority,
and they had disavowed the officer - military man, notoriously ignorant
of the law, and that - I ken the cant of it. Then the journey a third
time; and there we should be on the immediate heels of the trial before
I had received my first instruction. Am I not right to call this a
conspiracy?"

"It will bear that colour," said I.

"And I'll go on to prove it you outright," said he. "They have the
right to hold James in prison, yet they cannot deny me to visit him.
They have no right to hold the witnesses; but am I to get a sight of
them, that should be as free as the Lord Justice Clerk himself! See -
read: FOR THE REST, REFUSES TO GIVE ANY ORDERS TO KEEPERS OF PRISONS
WHO ARE NOT ACCUSED AS HAVING DONE ANYTHING CONTRARY TO THE DUTIES OF
THEIR OFFICE. Anything contrary! Sirs! And the Act of seventeen
hunner? Mr. Balfour, this makes my heart to burst; the heather is on
fire inside my wame."

"And the plain English of that phrase," said I, "is that the witnesses
are still to lie in prison and you are not to see them?"

"And I am not to see them until Inverary, when the court is set!" cries
he, "and then to hear Prestongrange upon THE ANXIOUS RESPONSIBILITIES
OF HIS OFFICE AND THE GREAT FACILITIES AFFORDED THE DEFENCE! But I'll
begowk them there, Mr. David. I have a plan to waylay the witnesses
upon the road, and see if I cannae get I a little harle of justice out
of the MILITARY MAN NOTORIOUSLY IGNORANT OF THE LAW that shall command
the party."

It was actually so - it was actually on the wayside near Tynedrum, and
by the connivance of a soldier officer, that Mr. Stewart first saw the
witnesses upon the case.

"There is nothing that would surprise me in this business," I remarked.

"I'll surprise you ere I'm done!" cries he. "Do ye see this?" -
producing a print still wet from the press. "This is the libel: see,
there's Prestongrange's name to the list of witnesses, and I find no
word of any Balfour. But here is not the question. Who do ye think
paid for the printing of this paper?"

"I suppose it would likely be King George," said I.

"But it happens it was me!" he cried. "Not but it was printed by and
for themselves, for the Grants and the Erskines, and yon thief of the
black midnight, Simon Fraser. But could I win to get a copy! No! I
was to go blindfold to my defence; I was to hear the charges for the
first time in court alongst the jury."

"Is not this against the law?" I asked

"I cannot say so much," he replied. "It was a favour so natural and so
constantly rendered (till this nonesuch business) that the law has
never looked to it. And now admire the hand of Providence! A stranger
is in Fleming's printing house, spies a proof on the floor, picks it
up, and carries it to me. Of all things, it was just this libel.
Whereupon I had it set again - printed at the expense of the defence:
SUMPTIBUS MOESTI REI; heard ever man the like of it? - and here it is
for anybody, the muckle secret out - all may see it now. But how do
you think I would enjoy this, that has the life of my kinsman on my
conscience?"

"Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill," said I.

"And now you see how it is," he concluded, "and why, when you tell me
your evidence is to be let in, I laugh aloud in your face."

It was now my turn. I laid before him in brief Mr. Simon's threats and
offers, and the whole incident of the bravo, with the subsequent scene
at Prestongrange's. Of my first talk, according to promise, I said
nothing, nor indeed was it necessary. All the time I was talking
Stewart nodded his head like a mechanical figure; and no sooner had my
voice ceased, than he opened his mouth and gave me his opinion in two
words, dwelling strong on both of them.

"Disappear yourself," said he.

"I do not take you," said I.

"Then I'll carry you there," said he. "By my view of it you're to
disappear whatever. O, that's outside debate. The Advocate, who is
not without some spunks of a remainder decency, has wrung your life-
safe out of Simon and the Duke. He has refused to put you on your
trial, and refused to have you killed; and there is the clue to their
ill words together, for Simon and the Duke can keep faith with neither
friend nor enemy. Ye're not to be tried then, and ye're not to be
murdered; but I'm in bitter error if ye're not to be kidnapped and
carried away like the Lady Grange. Bet me what ye please - there was
their EXPEDIENT!"

"You make me think," said I, and told him of the whistle and the red-
headed retainer, Neil.

"Wherever James More is there's one big rogue, never be deceived on
that," said he. "His father was none so ill a man, though a kenning on
the wrong side of the law, and no friend to my family, that I should
waste my breath to be defending him! But as for James he's a brock and
a blagyard. I like the appearance of this red-headed Neil as little as
yourself. It looks uncanny: fiegh! it smells bad. It was old Lovat
that managed the Lady Grange affair; if young Lovat is to handle yours,
it'll be all in the family. What's James More in prison for? The same
offence: abduction. His men have had practice in the business. He'll
be to lend them to be Simon's instruments; and the next thing we'll be
hearing, James will have made his peace, or else he'll have escaped;
and you'll be in Benbecula or Applecross."

"Ye make a strong case," I admitted.

"And what I want," he resumed, "is that you should disappear yourself
ere they can get their hands upon ye. Lie quiet until just before the
trial, and spring upon them at the last of it when they'll be looking
for you least. This is always supposing Mr. Balfour, that your
evidence is worth so very great a measure of both risk and fash."

"I will tell you one thing," said I. "I saw the murderer and it was
not Alan."

"Then, by God, my cousin's saved!" cried Stewart. "You have his life
upon your tongue; and there's neither time, risk, nor money to be
spared to bring you to the trial."  He emptied his pockets on the
floor. "Here is all that I have by me," he went on, "Take it, ye'll
want it ere ye're through. Go straight down this close, there's a way
out by there to the Lang Dykes, and by my will of it! see no more of
Edinburgh till the clash is over."

"Where am I to go, then?" I inquired.

"And I wish that I could tell ye!" says he, "but all the places that I
could send ye to, would be just the places they would seek. No, ye
must fend for yourself, and God be your guiding! Five days before the
trial, September the sixteen, get word to me at the KING ARMS in
Stirling; and if ye've managed for yourself as long as that, I'll see
that ye reach Inverary."

"One thing more," said I. "Can I no see Alan?"

He seemed boggled. "Hech, I would rather you wouldnae," said he. "But
I can never deny that Alan is extremely keen of it, and is to lie this
night by Silvermills on purpose. If you're sure that you're not
followed, Mr. Balfour - but make sure of that - lie in a good place and
watch your road for a clear hour before ye risk it. It would be a
dreadful business if both you and him was to miscarry!"

CHAPTER X - THE RED-HEADED MAN

IT was about half-past three when I came forth on the Lang Dykes. Dean
was where I wanted to go. Since Catriona dwelled there, and her
kinsfolk the Glengyle Macgregors appeared almost certainly to be
employed against me, it was just one of the few places I should have
kept away from; and being a very young man, and beginning to be very
much in love, I turned my face in that direction without pause. As a
slave to my conscience and common sense, however, I took a measure of
precaution. Coming over the crown of a bit of a rise in the road, I
clapped down suddenly among the barley and lay waiting. After a while,
a man went by that looked to be a Highlandman, but I had never seen him
till that hour. Presently after came Neil of the red head. The next
to go past was a miller's cart, and after that nothing but manifest
country people. Here was enough to have turned the most foolhardy from
his purpose, but my inclination ran too strong the other way. I argued
it out that if Neil was on that road, it was the right road to find him
in, leading direct to his chief's daughter; as for the other
Highlandman, if I was to be startled off by every Highlandman I saw, I
would scarce reach anywhere. And having quite satisfied myself with
this disingenuous debate, I made the better speed of it, and came a
little after four to Mrs. Drumond-Ogilvy's.

Both ladies were within the house; and upon my perceiving them together
by the open door, I plucked off my hat and said, "Here was a lad come
seeking saxpence," which I thought might please the dowager.

Catriona ran out to greet me heartily, and, to my surprise, the old
lady seemed scarce less forward than herself. I learned long
afterwards that she had despatched a horseman by daylight to Rankeillor
at the Queensferry, whom she knew to be the doer for Shaws, and had
then in her pocket a letter from that good friend of mine, presenting,
in the most favourable view, my character and prospects. But had I
read it I could scarce have seen more clear in her designs. Maybe I
was COUNTRYFEED; at least, I was not so much so as she thought; and it
was even to my homespun wits, that she was bent to hammer up a match
between her cousin and a beardless boy that was something of a laird in
Lothian.

"Saxpence had better take his broth with us, Catrine," says she. "Run
and tell the lasses."

And for the little while we were alone was at a good deal of pains to
flatter me; always cleverly, always with the appearance of a banter,
still calling me Saxpence, but with such a turn that should rather
uplift me in my own opinion. When Catriona returned, the design became
if possible more obvious; and she showed off the girl's advantages like
a horse-couper with a horse. My face flamed that she should think me
so obtuse. Now I would fancy the girl was being innocently made a show
of, and then I could have beaten the old carline wife with a cudgel;
and now, that perhaps these two had set their heads together to entrap
me, and at that I sat and gloomed betwixt them like the very image of
ill-will. At last the matchmaker had a better device, which was to
leave the pair of us alone. When my suspicions are anyway roused it is
sometimes a little the wrong side of easy to allay them. But though I
knew what breed she was of, and that was a breed of thieves, I could
never look in Catriona's face and disbelieve her.

"I must not ask?" says she, eagerly, the same moment we were left
alone.

"Ah, but to-day I can talk with a free conscience," I replied. "I am
lightened of my pledge, and indeed (after what has come and gone since
morning) I would not have renewed it were it asked."

"Tell me," she said. "My cousin will not be so long."

So I told her the tale of the lieutenant from the first step to the
last of it, making it as mirthful as I could, and, indeed, there was
matter of mirth in that absurdity.

"And I think you will be as little fitted for the rudas men as for the
pretty ladies, after all!" says she, when I had done. "But what was
your father that he could not learn you to draw the sword! It is most
ungentle; I have not heard the match of that in anyone."

"It is most misconvenient at least," said I; "and I think my father
(honest man!) must have been wool-gathering to learn me Latin in the
place of it. But you see I do the best I can, and just stand up like
Lot's wife and let them hammer at me."

"Do you know what makes me smile?" said she. "Well, it is this. I am
made this way, that I should have been a man child. In my own thoughts
it is so I am always; and I go on telling myself about this thing that
is to befall and that. Then it comes to the place of the fighting, and
it comes over me that I am only a girl at all events, and cannot hold a
sword or give one good blow; and then I have to twist my story round
about, so that the fighting is to stop, and yet me have the best of it,
just like you and the lieutenant; and I am the boy that makes the fine
speeches all through, like Mr. David Balfour."

"You are a bloodthirsty maid," said I.

"Well, I know it is good to sew and spin, and to make samplers," she
said, "but if you were to do nothing else in the great world, I think
you will say yourself it is a driech business; and it is not that I
want to kill, I think. Did ever you kill anyone?"

"That I have, as it chances. Two, no less, and me still a lad that
should be at the college," said I. "But yet, in the look-back, I take
no shame for it."

"But how did you feel, then - after it?" she asked.

'"Deed, I sat down and grat like a bairn," said I.

"I know that, too," she cried. "I feel where these tears should come
from. And at any rate, I would not wish to kill, only to be Catherine
Douglas that put her arm through the staples of the bolt, where it was
broken. That is my chief hero. Would you not love to die so - for
your king?" she asked.

"Troth," said I, "my affection for my king, God bless the puggy face of
him, is under more control; and I thought I saw death so near to me
this day already, that I am rather taken up with the notion of living."

"Right," she said, "the right mind of a man! Only you must learn arms;
I would not like to have a friend that cannot strike. But it will not
have been with the sword that you killed these two?"

"Indeed, no," said I, "but with a pair of pistols. And a fortunate
thing it was the men were so near-hand to me, for I am about as clever
with the pistols as I am with the sword."

So then she drew from me the story of our battle in the brig, which I
had omitted in my first account of my affairs.

"Yes," said she, "you are brave. And your friend, I admire and love
him."

"Well, and I think anyone would!" said I. "He has his faults like
other folk; but he is brave and staunch and kind, God bless him! That
will be a strange day when I forget Alan."  And the thought of him, and
that it was within my choice to speak with him that night, had almost
overcome me.

"And where will my head be gone that I have not told my news!" she
cried, and spoke of a letter from her father, bearing that she might
visit him to-morrow in the castle whither he was now transferred, and
that his affairs were mending. "You do not like to hear it," said she.
"Will you judge my father and not know him?"

"I am a thousand miles from judging," I replied. "And I give you my
word I do rejoice to know your heart is lightened. If my face fell at
all, as I suppose it must, you will allow this is rather an ill day for
compositions, and the people in power extremely ill persons to be
compounding with. I have Simon Fraser extremely heavy on my stomach
still."

"Ah!" she cried, "you will not be evening these two; and you should
bear in mind that Prestongrange and James More, my father, are of the
one blood."

"I never heard tell of that," said I.

"It is rather singular how little you are acquainted with," said she.
"One part may call themselves Grant, and one Macgregor, but they are
still of the same clan. They are all the sons of Alpin, from whom, I
think, our country has its name."

"What country is that?" I asked.

"My country and yours," said she

"This is my day for discovering I think," said I, "for I always thought
the name of it was Scotland."

"Scotland is the name of what you call Ireland," she replied. "But the
old ancient true name of this place that we have our foot-soles on, and
that our bones are made of, will be Alban. It was Alban they called it
when our forefathers will be fighting for it against Rome and
Alexander; and it is called so still in your own tongue that you
forget."

"Troth," said I, "and that I never learned!"  For I lacked heart to
take her up about the Macedonian.

"But your fathers and mothers talked it, one generation with another,"
said she. "And it was sung about the cradles before you or me were
ever dreamed of; and your name remembers it still. Ah, if you could
talk that language you would find me another girl. The heart speaks in
that tongue."

I had a meal with the two ladies, all very good, served in fine old
plate, and the wine excellent, for it seems that Mrs. Ogilvy was rich.
Our talk, too, was pleasant enough; but as soon as I saw the sun
decline sharply and the shadows to run out long, I rose to take my
leave. For my mind was now made up to say farewell to Alan; and it was
needful I should see the trysting wood, and reconnoitre it, by
daylight. Catriona came with me as far as to the garden gate.

"It is long till I see you now?" she asked.

"It is beyond my judging," I replied. "It will be long, it may be
never."

"It may be so," said she. "And you are sorry?"

I bowed my head, looking upon her.

"So am I, at all events," said she. "I have seen you but a small time,
but I put you very high. You are true, you are brave; in time I think
you will be more of a man yet. I will be proud to hear of that. If
you should speed worse, if it will come to fall as we are afraid - O
well! think you have the one friend. Long after you are dead and me an
old wife, I will be telling the bairns about David Balfour, and my
tears running. I will be telling how we parted, and what I said to
you, and did to you. GOD GO WITH YOU AND GUIDE YOU, PRAYS YOUR LITTLE
FRIEND: so I said - I will be telling them - and here is what I did."

She took up my hand and kissed it. This so surprised my spirits that I
cried out like one hurt. The colour came strong in her face, and she
looked at me and nodded.

"O yes, Mr. David," said she, "that is what I think of you. The head
goes with the lips."

I could read in her face high spirit, and a chivalry like a brave
child's; not anything besides. She kissed my hand, as she had kissed
Prince Charlie's, with a higher passion than the common kind of clay
has any sense of. Nothing before had taught me how deep I was her
lover, nor how far I had yet to climb to make her think of me in such a
character. Yet I could tell myself I had advanced some way, and that
her heart had beat and her blood flowed at thoughts of me.

After that honour she had done me I could offer no more trivial
civility. It was even hard for me to speak; a certain lifting in her
voice had knocked directly at the door of my own tears.

"I praise God for your kindness, dear," said I. "Farewell, my little
friend!" giving her that name which she had given to herself; with
which I bowed and left her.

My way was down the glen of the Leith River, towards Stockbridge and
Silvermills. A path led in the foot of it, the water bickered and sang
in the midst; the sunbeams overhead struck out of the west among long
shadows and (as the valley turned) made like a new scene and a new
world of it at every corner. With Catriona behind and Alan before me,
I was like one lifted up. The place besides, and the hour, and the
talking of the water, infinitely pleased me; and I lingered in my steps
and looked before and behind me as I went. This was the cause, under
Providence, that I spied a little in my rear a red head among some
bushes.

Anger sprang in my heart, and I turned straight about and walked at a
stiff pace to where I came from. The path lay close by the bushes
where I had remarked the head. The cover came to the wayside, and as I
passed I was all strung up to meet and to resist an onfall. No such
thing befell, I went by unmeddled with; and at that fear increased upon
me. It was still day indeed, but the place exceeding solitary. If my
haunters had let slip that fair occasion I could but judge they aimed
at something more than David Balfour. The lives of Alan and James
weighed upon my spirit with the weight of two grown bullocks.

Catriona was yet in the garden walking by herself.

"Catriona," said I, "you see me back again."

"With a changed face," said she.

"I carry two men's lives besides my own," said I. "It would be a sin
and shame not to walk carefully. I was doubtful whether I did right to
come here. I would like it ill, if it was by that means we were
brought to harm."

"I could tell you one that would be liking it less, and will like
little enough to hear you talking at this very same time," she cried.
"What have I done, at all events?"

"O, you I you are not alone," I replied. "But since I went off I have
been dogged again, and I can give you the name of him that follows me.
It is Neil, son of Duncan, your man or your father's."

"To be sure you are mistaken there," she said, with a white face.
"Neil is in Edinburgh on errands from my father."

"It is what I fear," said I, "the last of it. But for his being in
Edinburgh I think I can show you another of that. For sure you have
some signal, a signal of need, such as would bring him to your help, if
he was anywhere within the reach of ears and legs?"

"Why, how will you know that?" says she.

"By means of a magical talisman God gave to me when I was born, and the
name they call it by is Common-sense," said I. "Oblige me so far as
make your signal, and I will show you the red head of Neil."

No doubt but I spoke bitter and sharp. My heart was bitter. I blamed
myself and the girl and hated both of us: her for the vile crew that
she was come of, myself for my wanton folly to have stuck my head in
such a byke of wasps.

Catriona set her fingers to her lips and whistled once, with an
exceeding clear, strong, mounting note, as full as a ploughman's. A
while we stood silent; and I was about to ask her to repeat the same,
when I heard the sound of some one bursting through the bushes below on
the braeside. I pointed in that direction with a smile, and presently
Neil leaped into the garden. His eyes burned, and he had a black knife
(as they call it on the Highland side) naked in his hand; but, seeing
me beside his mistress, stood like a man struck.

"He has come to your call," said I; "judge how near he was to
Edinburgh, or what was the nature of your father's errands. Ask
himself. If I am to lose my life, or the lives of those that hang by
me, through the means of your clan, let me go where I have to go with
my eyes open."

She addressed him tremulously in the Gaelic. Remembering Alan's
anxious civility in that particular, I could have laughed out loud for
bitterness; here, sure, in the midst of these suspicions, was the hour
she should have stuck by English.

Twice or thrice they spoke together, and I could make out that Neil
(for all his obsequiousness) was an angry man.

Then she turned to me. "He swears it is not," she said.

"Catriona," said I, "do you believe the man yourself?"

She made a gesture like wringing the hands.

"How will I can know?" she cried.

But I must find some means to know," said I. "I cannot continue to go
dovering round in the black night with two men's lives at my girdle!
Catriona, try to put yourself in my place, as I vow to God I try hard
to put myself in yours. This is no kind of talk that should ever have
fallen between me and you; no kind of talk; my heart is sick with it.
See, keep him here till two of the morning, and I care not. Try him
with that."

They spoke together once more in the Gaelic.

"He says he has James More my father's errand," said she. She was
whiter than ever, and her voice faltered as she said it.

"It is pretty plain now," said I, "and may God forgive the wicked!"

She said never anything to that, but continued gazing at me with the
same white face.

"This is a fine business," said I again. "Am I to fall, then, and
those two along with me?"

"O, what am I to do?" she cried. "Could I go against my father's
orders, him in prison, in the danger of his life!"

"But perhaps we go too fast," said I. "This may be a lie too. He may
have no right orders; all may be contrived by Simon, and your father
knowing nothing."

She burst out weeping between the pair of us; and my heart smote me
hard, for I thought this girl was in a dreadful situation.

"Here," said I, "keep him but the one hour; and I'll chance it, and may
God bless you."

She put out her hand to me, "I will he needing one good word," she
sobbed.

"The full hour, then?" said I, keeping her hand in mine. "Three lives
of it, my lass!"

"The full hour!" she said, and cried aloud on her Redeemer to forgive
her.

I thought it no fit place for me, and fled.

CHAPTER XI - THE WOOD BY SILVERMILLS

I LOST no time, but down through the valley and by Stockbridge and
Silvermills as hard as I could stave. It was Alan's tryst to be every
night between twelve and two "in a bit scrog of wood by east of
Silvermills and by south the south mill-lade."  This I found easy
enough, where it grew on a steep brae, with the mill-lade flowing swift
and deep along the foot of it; and here I began to walk slower and to
reflect more reasonably on my employment. I saw I had made but a
fool's bargain with Catriona. It was not to be supposed that Neil was
sent alone upon his errand, but perhaps he was the only man belonging
to James More; in which case I should have done all I could to hang
Catriona's father, and nothing the least material to help myself. To
tell the truth, I fancied neither one of these ideas. Suppose by
holding back Neil, the girl should have helped to hang her father, I
thought she would never forgive herself this side of time. And suppose
there were others pursuing me that moment, what kind of a gift was I
come bringing to Alan? and how would I like that?

I was up with the west end of that wood when these two considerations
struck me like a cudgel. My feet stopped of themselves and my heart
along with them. "What wild game is this that I have been playing?"
thought I; and turned instantly upon my heels to go elsewhere.

This brought my face to Silvermills; the path came past the village
with a crook, but all plainly visible; and, Highland or Lowland, there
was nobody stirring. Here was my advantage, here was just such a
conjuncture as Stewart had counselled me to profit by, and I ran by the
side of the mill-lade, fetched about beyond the east corner of the
wood, threaded through the midst of it, and returned to the west
selvage, whence I could again command the path, and yet be myself
unseen. Again it was all empty, and my heart began to rise.

For more than an hour I sat close in the border of the trees, and no
hare or eagle could have kept a more particular watch. When that hour
began the sun was already set, but the sky still all golden and the
daylight clear; before the hour was done it had fallen to be half mirk,
the images and distances of things were mingled, and observation began
to be difficult. All that time not a foot of man had come east from
Silvermills, and the few that had gone west were honest countryfolk and
their wives upon the road to bed. If I were tracked by the most
cunning spies in Europe, I judged it was beyond the course of nature
they could have any jealousy of where I was: and going a little
further home into the wood I lay down to wait for Alan.

The strain of my attention had been great, for I had watched not the
path only, but every bush and field within my vision. That was now at
an end. The moon, which was in her first quarter, glinted a little in
the wood; all round there was a stillness of the country; and as I lay
there on my back, the next three or four hours, I had a fine occasion
to review my conduct.

Two things became plain to me first: that I had no right to go that
day to Dean, and (having gone there) had now no right to be lying where
I was. This (where Alan was to come) was just the one wood in all
broad Scotland that was, by every proper feeling, closed against me; I
admitted that, and yet stayed on, wondering at myself. I thought of
the measure with which I had meted to Catriona that same night; how I
had prated of the two lives I carried, and had thus forced her to
enjeopardy her father's; and how I was here exposing them again, it
seemed in wantonness. A good conscience is eight parts of courage. No
sooner had I lost conceit of my behaviour, than I seemed to stand
disarmed amidst a throng of terrors. Of a sudden I sat up. How if I
went now to Prestongrange, caught him (as I still easily might) before
he slept, and made a full submission? Who could blame me? Not Stewart
the Writer; I had but to say that I was followed, despaired of getting
clear, and so gave in. Not Catriona: here, too, I had my answer
ready; that I could not bear she should expose her father. So, in a
moment, I could lay all these troubles by, which were after all and
truly none of mine; swim clear of the Appin Murder; get forth out of
hand-stroke of all the Stewarts and Campbells, all the Whigs and
Tories, in the land; and live henceforth to my own mind, and be able to
enjoy and to improve my fortunes, and devote some hours of my youth to
courting Catriona, which would be surely a more suitable occupation
than to hide and run and be followed like a hunted thief, and begin
over again the dreadful miseries of my escape with Alan.

At first I thought no shame of this capitulation; I was only amazed I
had not thought upon the thing and done it earlier; and began to
inquire into the causes of the change. These I traced to my lowness of
spirits, that back to my late recklessness, and that again to the
common, old, public, disconsidered sin of self-indulgence. Instantly
the text came in my head, "HOW CAN SATAN CAST OUT SATAN?"  What? (I
thought) I had, by self-indulgence; and the following of pleasant
paths, and the lure of a young maid, cast myself wholly out of conceit
with my own character, and jeopardised the lives of James and Alan?
And I was to seek the way out by the same road as I had entered in?
No; the hurt that had been caused by self-indulgence must be cured by
self-denial; the flesh I had pampered must be crucified. I looked
about me for that course which I least liked to follow: this was to
leave the wood without waiting to see Alan, and go forth again alone,
in the dark and in the midst of my perplexed and dangerous fortunes.

I have been the more careful to narrate this passage of my reflections,
because I think it is of some utility, and may serve as an example to
young men. But there is reason (they say) in planting kale, and even
in ethic and religion, room for common sense. It was already close on
Alan's hour, and the moon was down. If I left (as I could not very
decently whistle to my spies to follow me) they might miss me in the
dark and tack themselves to Alan by mistake. If I stayed, I could at
the least of it set my friend upon his guard which might prove his mere
salvation. I had adventured other peoples' safety in a course of self-
indulgence; to have endangered them again, and now on a mere design of
penance, would have been scarce rational. Accordingly, I had scarce
risen from my place ere I sat down again, but already in a different
frame of spirits, and equally marvelling at my past weakness and
rejoicing in my present composure.

Presently after came a crackling in the thicket. Putting my mouth near
down to the ground, I whistled a note or two, of Alan's air; an answer
came in the like guarded tone, and soon we had knocked together in the
dark.

"Is this you at last, Davie?" he whispered.

"Just myself," said I.

"God, man, but I've been wearying to see ye!" says he. "I've had the
longest kind of a time. A' day, I've had my dwelling into the inside
of a stack of hay, where I couldnae see the nebs of my ten fingers; and
then two hours of it waiting here for you, and you never coming! Dod,
and ye're none too soon the way it is, with me to sail the morn! The
morn? what am I saying? - the day, I mean."

"Ay, Alan, man, the day, sure enough," said I. "It's past twelve now,
surely, and ye sail the day. This'll be a long road you have before
you."

"We'll have a long crack of it first," said he.

"Well, indeed, and I have a good deal it will be telling you to hear,"
said I.

And I told him what behooved, making rather a jumble of it, but clear
enough when done. He heard me out with very few questions, laughing
here and there like a man delighted: and the sound of his laughing
(above all there, in the dark, where neither one of us could see the
other) was extraordinary friendly to my heart.

"Ay, Davie, ye're a queer character," says he, when I had done: "a
queer bitch after a', and I have no mind of meeting with the like of
ye. As for your story, Prestongrange is a Whig like yoursel', so I'll
say the less of him; and, dod! I believe he was the best friend ye had,
if ye could only trust him. But Simon Fraser and James More are my ain
kind of cattle, and I'll give them the name that they deserve. The
muckle black deil was father to the Frasers, a'body kens that; and as
for the Gregara, I never could abye the reek of them since I could
stotter on two feet. I bloodied the nose of one, I mind, when I was
still so wambly on my legs that I cowped upon the top of him. A proud
man was my father that day, God rest him! and I think he had the cause.
I'll never can deny but what Robin was something of a piper," he added;
"but as for James More, the deil guide him for me!"

"One thing we have to consider," said I. "Was Charles Stewart right or
wrong? Is it only me they're after, or the pair of us?"

"And what's your ain opinion, you that's a man of so much experience?"
said he.

"It passes me," said I.

"And me too," says Alan. "Do ye think this lass would keep her word to
ye?" he asked.

"I do that," said I.

"Well, there's nae telling," said he. "And anyway, that's over and
done: he'll be joined to the rest of them lang syne."

"How many would ye think there would be of them?" I asked.

"That depends," said Alan. "If it was only you, they would likely send
two-three lively, brisk young birkies, and if they thought that I was
to appear in the employ, I daresay ten or twelve," said he.

It was no use, I gave a little crack of laughter.

"And I think your own two eyes will have seen me drive that number, or
the double of it, nearer hand!" cries he.

"It matters the less," said I, "because I am well rid of them for this
time."

"Nae doubt that's your opinion," said he; "but I wouldnae be the least
surprised if they were hunkering this wood. Ye see, David man; they'll
be Hieland folk. There'll be some Frasers, I'm thinking, and some of
the Gregara; and I would never deny but what the both of them, and the
Gregara in especial, were clever experienced persons. A man kens
little till he's driven a spreagh of neat cattle (say) ten miles
through a throng lowland country and the black soldiers maybe at his
tail. It's there that I learned a great part of my penetration. And
ye need nae tell me: it's better than war; which is the next best,
however, though generally rather a bauchle of a business. Now the
Gregara have had grand practice."

"No doubt that's a branch of education that was left out with me," said
I.

"And I can see the marks of it upon ye constantly," said Alan. "But
that's the strange thing about you folk of the college learning: ye're
ignorat, and ye cannae see 't. Wae's me for my Greek and Hebrew; but,
man, I ken that I dinnae ken them - there's the differ of it. Now,
here's you. Ye lie on your wame a bittie in the bield of this wood,
and ye tell me that ye've cuist off these Frasers and Macgregors. Why?
BECAUSE I COULDNAE SEE THEM, says you. Ye blockhead, that's their
livelihood."

"Take the worst of it," said I, "and what are we to do?"

"I am thinking of that same," said he. "We might twine. It wouldnae
be greatly to my taste; and forbye that, I see reasons against it.
First, it's now unco dark, and it's just humanly possible we might give
them the clean slip. If we keep together, we make but the ae line of
it; if we gang separate, we make twae of them: the more likelihood to
stave in upon some of these gentry of yours. And then, second, if they
keep the track of us, it may come to a fecht for it yet, Davie; and
then, I'll confess I would be blythe to have you at my oxter, and I
think you would be none the worse of having me at yours. So, by my way
of it, we should creep out of this wood no further gone than just the
inside of next minute, and hold away east for Gillane, where I'm to
find my ship. It'll be like old days while it lasts, Davie; and (come
the time) we'll have to think what you should be doing. I'm wae to
leave ye here, wanting me."

"Have with ye, then!" says I. "Do ye gang back where you were
stopping?"

"Deil a fear!" said Alan. "They were good folks to me, but I think
they would be a good deal disappointed if they saw my bonny face again.
For (the way times go) I amnae just what ye could call a Walcome Guest.
Which makes me the keener for your company, Mr. David Balfour of the
Shaws, and set ye up! For, leave aside twa cracks here in the wood
with Charlie Stewart, I have scarce said black or white since the day
we parted at Corstorphine."

With which he rose from his place, and we began to move quietly
eastward through the wood.

CHAPTER XII - ON THE MARCH AGAIN WITH ALAN

IT was likely between one and two; the moon (as I have said) was down;
a strongish wind, carrying a heavy wrack of cloud, had set in suddenly
from the west; and we began our movement in as black a night as ever a
fugitive or a murderer wanted. The whiteness of the path guided us
into the sleeping town of Broughton, thence through Picardy, and beside
my old acquaintance the gibbet of the two thieves. A little beyond we
made a useful beacon, which was a light in an upper window of Lochend.
Steering by this, but a good deal at random, and with some trampling of
the harvest, and stumbling and falling down upon the banks, we made our
way across country, and won forth at last upon the linky, boggy
muirland that they call the Figgate Whins. Here, under a bush of whin,
we lay down the remainder of that night and slumbered.

The day called us about five. A beautiful morning it was, the high
westerly wind still blowing strong, but the clouds all blown away to
Europe. Alan was already sitting up and smiling to himself. It was my
first sight of my friend since we were parted, and I looked upon him
with enjoyment. He had still the same big great-coat on his back; but
(what was new) he had now a pair of knitted boot-hose drawn above the
knee. Doubtless these were intended for disguise; but, as the day
promised to be warm, he made a most unseasonable figure.

"Well, Davie," said he, "is this no a bonny morning? Here is a day
that looks the way that a day ought to. This is a great change of it
from the belly of my haystack; and while you were there sottering and
sleeping I have done a thing that maybe I do very seldom."

"And what was that?" said I.

"O, just said my prayers," said he.

"And where are my gentry, as ye call them?" I asked.

"Gude kens," says he; "and the short and the long of it is that we must
take our chance of them. Up with your foot-soles, Davie! Forth,
Fortune, once again of it! And a bonny walk we are like to have."

So we went east by the beach of the sea, towards where the salt-pans
were smoking in by the Esk mouth. No doubt there was a by-ordinary
bonny blink of morning sun on Arthur's Seat and the green Pentlands;
and the pleasantness of the day appeared to set Alan among nettles.

"I feel like a gomeral," says he, "to be leaving Scotland on a day like
this. It sticks in my head; I would maybe like it better to stay here
and hing."

"Ay, but ye wouldnae, Alan," said I.

"No, but what France is a good place too," he explained; "but it's some
way no the same. It's brawer I believe, but it's no Scotland. I like
it fine when I'm there, man; yet I kind of weary for Scots divots and
the Scots peat-reek."

"If that's all you have to complain of, Alan, it's no such great
affair," said I.

"And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever," said he, "and me but
new out of yon deil's haystack."

"And so you were unco weary of your haystack?" I asked.

"Weary's nae word for it," said he. "I'm not just precisely a man
that's easily cast down; but I do better with caller air and the lift
above my head. I'm like the auld Black Douglas (wasnae't?) that likit
better to hear the laverock sing than the mouse cheep. And yon place,
ye see, Davie - whilk was a very suitable place to hide in, as I'm free
to own - was pit mirk from dawn to gloaming. There were days (or
nights, for how would I tell one from other?) that seemed to me as long
as a long winter."

"How did you know the hour to bide your tryst?" I asked.

"The goodman brought me my meat and a drop brandy, and a candle-dowp to
eat it by, about eleeven," said he. "So, when I had swallowed a bit,
it would he time to be getting to the wood. There I lay and wearied
for ye sore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder "and
guessed when the two hours would be about by - unless Charlie Stewart
would come and tell me on his watch - and then back to the dooms
haystack. Na, it was a driech employ, and praise the Lord that I have
warstled through with it!"

"What did you do with yourself?" I asked.

"Faith," said he, "the best I could! Whiles I played at the
knucklebones. I'm an extraordinar good hand at the knucklebones, but
it's a poor piece of business playing with naebody to admire ye. And
whiles I would make songs."

"What were they about?" says I.

"O, about the deer and the heather," says he, "and about the ancient
old chiefs that are all by with it lang syne, and just about what songs
are about in general. And then whiles I would make believe I had a set
of pipes and I was playing. I played some grand springs, and I thought
I played them awful bonny; I vow whiles that I could hear the squeal of
them! But the great affair is that it's done with."

With that he carried me again to my adventures, which he heard all over
again with more particularity, and extraordinary approval, swearing at
intervals that I was "a queer character of a callant."

"So ye were frich'ened of Sim Fraser?" he asked once.

"In troth was I!" cried I.

"So would I have been, Davie," said he. "And that is indeed a driedful
man. But it is only proper to give the deil his due: and I can tell
you he is a most respectable person on the field of war."

"Is he so brave?" I asked.

"Brave!" said he. "He is as brave as my steel sword."

The story of my duel set him beside himself.

"To think of that!" he cried. "I showed ye the trick in Corrynakiegh
too. And three times - three times disarmed! It's a disgrace upon my
character that learned ye! Here, stand up, out with your airn; ye
shall walk no step beyond this place upon the road till ye can do
yoursel' and me mair credit."

"Alan," said I, "this is midsummer madness. Here is no time for
fencing lessons."

"I cannae well say no to that," he admitted. "But three times, man!
And you standing there like a straw bogle and rinning to fetch your ain
sword like a doggie with a pocket-napkin! David, this man Duncansby
must be something altogether by-ordinar! He maun be extraordinar
skilly. If I had the time, I would gang straight back and try a turn
at him mysel'. The man must be a provost."

"You silly fellow," said I, "you forget it was just me."

"Na," said he, "but three times!"

"When ye ken yourself that I am fair incompetent," I cried.

"Well, I never heard tell the equal of it," said he.

"I promise you the one thing, Alan," said I. "The next time that we
forgather, I'll be better learned. You shall not continue to bear the
disgrace of a friend that cannot strike."

"Ay, the next time!" says he. "And when will that be, I would like to
ken?"

"Well, Alan, I have had some thoughts of that, too," said I; "and my
plan is this. It's my opinion to be called an advocate."

"That's but a weary trade, Davie," says Alan, "and rather a blagyard
one forby. Ye would be better in a king's coat than that."

"And no doubt that would be the way to have us meet," cried I. "But as
you'll be in King Lewie's coat, and I'll be in King Geordie's, we'll
have a dainty meeting of it."

"There's some sense in that," he admitted

"An advocate, then, it'll have to be," I continued, "and I think it a
more suitable trade for a gentleman that was THREE TIMES disarmed. But
the beauty of the thing is this: that one of the best colleges for
that kind of learning - and the one where my kinsman, Pilrig, made his
studies - is the college of Leyden in Holland. Now, what say you,
Alan? Could not a cadet of ROYAL ECOSSAIS get a furlough, slip over
the marches, and call in upon a Leyden student?"

"Well, and I would think he could!" cried he. "Ye see, I stand well in
with my colonel, Count Drummond-Melfort; and, what's mair to the
purpose I have a cousin of mine lieutenant-colonel in a regiment of the
Scots-Dutch. Naething could be mair proper than what I would get a
leave to see Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart of Halkett's. And Lord
Melfort, who is a very scienteefic kind of a man, and writes books like
Caesar, would be doubtless very pleased to have the advantage of my
observes."

"Is Lord Meloort an author, then?" I asked, for much as Alan thought of
soldiers, I thought more of the gentry that write books.

"The very same, Davie," said he. "One would think a colonel would have
something better to attend to. But what can I say that make songs?"

"Well, then," said I, "it only remains you should give me an address to
write you at in France; and as soon as I am got to Leyden I will send
you mine."

"The best will be to write me in the care of my chieftain," said he,
"Charles Stewart, of Ardsheil, Esquire, at the town of Melons, in the
Isle of France. It might take long, or it might take short, but it
would aye get to my hands at the last of it."

We had a haddock to our breakfast in Musselburgh, where it amused me
vastly to hear Alan. His great-coat and boot-hose were extremely
remarkable this warm morning, and perhaps some hint of an explanation
had been wise; but Alan went into that matter like a business, or I
should rather say, like a diversion. He engaged the goodwife of the
house with some compliments upon the rizzoring of our haddocks; and the
whole of the rest of our stay held her in talk about a cold he had
taken on his stomach, gravely relating all manner of symptoms and
sufferings, and hearing with a vast show of interest all the old wives'
remedies she could supply him with in return.

We left Musselburgh before the first ninepenny coach was due from
Edinburgh for (as Alan said) that was a rencounter we might very well
avoid. The wind although still high, was very mild, the sun shone
strong, and Alan began to suffer in proportion. From Prestonpans he
had me aside to the field of Gladsmuir, where he exerted himself a
great deal more than needful to describe the stages of the battle.
Thence, at his old round pace, we travelled to Cockenzie. Though they
were building herring-busses there at Mrs. Cadell's, it seemed a
desert-like, back-going town, about half full of ruined houses; but the
ale-house was clean, and Alan, who was now in a glowing heat, must
indulge himself with a bottle of ale, and carry on to the new luckie
with the old story of the cold upon his stomach, only now the symptoms
were all different.

I sat listening; and it came in my mind that I had scarce ever heard
him address three serious words to any woman, but he was always
drolling and fleering and making a private mock of them, and yet
brought to that business a remarkable degree of energy and interest.
Something to this effect I remarked to him, when the good-wife (as
chanced) was called away.

"What do ye want?" says he. "A man should aye put his best foot forrit
with the womankind; he should aye give them a bit of a story to divert
them, the poor lambs! It's what ye should learn to attend to, David;
ye should get the principles, it's like a trade. Now, if this had been
a young lassie, or onyways bonnie, she would never have heard tell of
my stomach, Davie. But aince they're too old to be seeking joes, they
a' set up to be apotecaries. Why? What do I ken? They'll be just the
way God made them, I suppose. But I think a man would be a gomeral
that didnae give his attention to the same."

And here, the luckie coming back, he turned from me as if with
impatience to renew their former conversation. The lady had branched
some while before from Alan's stomach to the case of a goodbrother of
her own in Aberlady, whose last sickness and demise she was describing
at extraordinary length. Sometimes it was merely dull, sometimes both
dull and awful, for she talked with unction. The upshot was that I
fell in a deep muse, looking forth of the window on the road, and
scarce marking what I saw. Presently had any been looking they might
have seen me to start.

"We pit a fomentation to his feet," the good-wife was saying, "and a
het stane to his wame, and we gied him hyssop and water of pennyroyal,
and fine, clean balsam of sulphur for the hoast. . . "

"Sir," says I, cutting very quietly in, "there's a friend of mine gone
by the house."

"Is that e'en sae?" replies Alan, as though it were a thing of small
account. And then, "Ye were saying, mem?" says he; and the wearyful
wife went on.

Presently, however, he paid her with a half-crown piece, and she must
go forth after the change.

"Was it him with the red head?" asked Alan.

"Ye have it," said I.

"What did I tell you in the wood?" he cried. "And yet it's strange he
should be here too! Was he his lane?"

"His lee-lane for what I could see," said I.

"Did he gang by?" he asked.

"Straight by," said I, "and looked neither to the right nor left."

"And that's queerer yet," said Alan. "It sticks in my mind, Davie,
that we should be stirring. But where to? - deil hae't! This is like
old days fairly," cries he.

"There is one big differ, though," said I, "that now we have money in
our pockets."

"And another big differ, Mr. Balfour," says he, "that now we have dogs
at our tail. They're on the scent; they're in full cry, David. It's a
bad business and be damned to it."  And he sat thinking hard with a
look of his that I knew well.

"I'm saying, Luckie," says he, when the goodwife returned, "have ye a
back road out of this change house?"

She told him there was and where it led to.

"Then, sir," says he to me, "I think that will be the shortest road for
us. And here's good-bye to ye, my braw woman; and I'll no forget thon
of the cinnamon water."

We went out by way of the woman's kale yard, and up a lane among
fields. Alan looked sharply to all sides, and seeing we were in a
little hollow place of the country, out of view of men, sat down.

"Now for a council of war, Davie," said he. "But first of all, a bit
lesson to ye. Suppose that I had been like you, what would yon old
wife have minded of the pair of us! Just that we had gone out by the
back gate. And what does she mind now? A fine, canty, friendly,
cracky man, that suffered with the stomach, poor body! and was real
ta'en up about the goodbrother. O man, David, try and learn to have
some kind of intelligence!"

"I'll try, Alan," said I.

"And now for him of the red head," says he; "was he gaun fast or slow?"

"Betwixt and between," said I.

"No kind of a hurry about the man?" he asked.

"Never a sign of it," said I.

"Nhm!" said Alan, "it looks queer. We saw nothing of them this morning
on the Whins; he's passed us by, he doesnae seem to be looking, and yet
here he is on our road! Dod, Davie, I begin to take a notion. I think
it's no you they're seeking, I think it's me; and I think they ken fine
where they're gaun."

"They ken?" I asked.

"I think Andie Scougal's sold me - him or his mate wha kent some part
of the affair - or else Charlie's clerk callant, which would be a pity
too," says Alan; "and if you askit me for just my inward private
conviction, I think there'll be heads cracked on Gillane sands."

"Alan," I cried, "if you're at all right there'll be folk there and to
spare. It'll be small service to crack heads."

"It would aye be a satisfaction though," says Alan. But bide a bit;
bide a bit; I'm thinking - and thanks to this bonny westland wind, I
believe I've still a chance of it. It's this way, Davie. I'm no
trysted with this man Scougal till the gloaming comes. BUT," says he,
"IF I CAN GET A BIT OF A WIND OUT OF THE WEST I'LL BE THERE LONG OR
THAT," he says, "AND LIE-TO FOR YE BEHIND THE ISLE OF FIDRA. Now if
your gentry kens the place, they ken the time forbye. Do ye see me
coming, Davie? Thanks to Johnnie Cope and other red-coat gomerals, I
should ken this country like the back of my hand; and if ye're ready
for another bit run with Alan Breck, we'll can cast back inshore, and
come to the seaside again by Dirleton. If the ship's there, we'll try
and get on board of her. If she's no there, I'll just have to get back
to my weary haystack. But either way of it, I think we will leave your
gentry whistling on their thumbs."

"I believe there's some chance in it," said I. "Have on with ye,
Alan!"

CHAPTER XIII - GILLANE SANDS

I DID not profit by Alan's pilotage as he had done by his marchings
under General Cope; for I can scarce tell what way we went. It is my
excuse that we travelled exceeding fast. Some part we ran, some
trotted, and the rest walked at a vengeance of a pace. Twice, while we
were at top speed, we ran against country-folk; but though we plumped
into the first from round a corner, Alan was as ready as a loaded
musket.

"Has ye seen my horse?" he gasped.

"Na, man, I haenae seen nae horse the day," replied the countryman.

And Alan spared the time to explain to him that we were travelling
"ride and tie"; that our charger had escaped, and it was feared he had
gone home to Linton. Not only that, but he expended some breath (of
which he had not very much left) to curse his own misfortune and my
stupidity which was said to be its cause.

"Them that cannae tell the truth," he observed to myself as we went on
again, "should be aye mindful to leave an honest, handy lee behind
them. If folk dinnae ken what ye're doing, Davie, they're terrible
taken up with it; but if they think they ken, they care nae mair for it
than what I do for pease porridge."

As we had first made inland, so our road came in the end to lie very
near due north; the old Kirk of Aberlady for a landmark on the left; on
the right, the top of the Berwick Law; and it was thus we struck the
shore again, not far from Dirleton. From north Berwick west to Gillane
Ness there runs a string of four small islets, Craiglieth, the Lamb,
Fidra, and Eyebrough, notable by their diversity of size and shape.
Fidra is the most particular, being a strange grey islet of two humps,
made the more conspicuous by a piece of ruin; and I mind that (as we
drew closer to it) by some door or window of these ruins the sea peeped
through like a man's eye. Under the lee of Fidra there is a good
anchorage in westerly winds, and there, from a far way off, we could
see the THISTLE riding.

The shore in face of these islets is altogether waste. Here is no
dwelling of man, and scarce any passage, or at most of vagabond
children running at their play. Gillane is a small place on the far
side of the Ness, the folk of Dirleton go to their business in the
inland fields, and those of North Berwick straight to the sea-fishing
from their haven; so that few parts of the coast are lonelier. But I
mind, as we crawled upon our bellies into that multiplicity of heights
and hollows, keeping a bright eye upon all sides, and our hearts
hammering at our ribs, there was such a shining of the sun and the sea,
such a stir of the wind in the bent grass, and such a bustle of down-
popping rabbits and up-flying gulls, that the desert seemed to me, like
a place alive. No doubt it was in all ways well chosen for a secret
embarcation, if the secret had been kept; and even now that it was out,
and the place watched, we were able to creep unperceived to the front
of the sandhills, where they look down immediately on the beach and
sea.

But here Alan came to a full stop.

"Davie," said he, "this is a kittle passage! As long as we lie here
we're safe; but I'm nane sae muckle nearer to my ship or the coast of
France. And as soon as we stand up and signal the brig, it's another
matter. For where will your gentry be, think ye?"

"Maybe they're no come yet," said I. "And even if they are, there's
one clear matter in our favour. They'll be all arranged to take us,
that's true. But they'll have arranged for our coming from the east
and here we are upon their west."

"Ay," says Alan, "I wish we were in some force, and this was a battle,
we would have bonnily out-manoeuvred them! But it isnae, Davit; and
the way it is, is a wee thing less inspiring to Alan Breck. I swither,
Davie."

"Time flies, Alan," said I.

"I ken that," said Alan. "I ken naething else, as the French folk say.
But this is a dreidful case of heids or tails. O! if I could but ken
where your gentry were!"

"Alan," said I, "this is no like you. It's got to be now or never."

"This is no me, quo' he,"

sang Alan, with a queer face betwixt shame and drollery.

"Neither you nor me, quo' he, neither you nor me.
Wow, na, Johnnie man! neither you nor me."

And then of a sudden he stood straight up where he was, and with a
handkerchief flying in his right hand, marched down upon the beach. I
stood up myself, but lingered behind him, scanning the sand-hills to
the east. His appearance was at first unremarked: Scougal not
expecting him so early, and MY GENTRY watching on the other side. Then
they awoke on board the THISTLE, and it seemed they had all in
readiness, for there was scarce a second's bustle on the deck before we
saw a skiff put round her stern and begin to pull lively for the coast.
Almost at the same moment of time, and perhaps half a mile away towards
Gillane Ness, the figure of a man appeared for a blink upon a sandhill,
waving with his arms; and though he was gone again in the same flash,
the gulls in that part continued a little longer to fly wild.

Alan had not seen this, looking straight to seaward at the ship and
skiff.

"It maun be as it will!" said he, when I had told him, "Weel may yon
boatie row, or my craig'll have to thole a raxing."

That part of the beach was long and flat, and excellent walking when
the tide was down; a little cressy burn flowed over it in one place to
the sea; and the sandhills ran along the head of it like the rampart of
a town. No eye of ours could spy what was passing behind there in the
bents, no hurry of ours could mend the speed of the boat's coming:
time stood still with us through that uncanny period of waiting.

"There is one thing I would like to ken," say Alan. "I would like to
ken these gentry's orders. We're worth four hunner pound the pair of
us: how if they took the guns to us, Davie! They would get a bonny
shot from the top of that lang sandy bank."

"Morally impossible," said I. "The point is that they can have no
guns. This thing has been gone about too secret; pistols they may
have, but never guns."

"I believe ye'll be in the right," says Alan. "For all which I am
wearing a good deal for yon boat."

And he snapped his fingers and whistled to it like a dog.

It was now perhaps a third of the way in, and we ourselves already hard
on the margin of the sea, so that the soft sand rose over my shoes.
There was no more to do whatever but to wait, to look as much as we
were able at the creeping nearer of the boat, and as little as we could
manage at the long impenetrable front of the sandhills, over which the
gulls twinkled and behind which our enemies were doubtless marshalling.

"This is a fine, bright, caller place to get shot in," says Alan
suddenly; "and, man, I wish that I had your courage!"

"Alan!" I cried, "what kind of talk is this of it! You're just made of
courage; it's the character of the man, as I could prove myself if
there was nobody else."

"And you would be the more mistaken," said he. "What makes the differ
with me is just my great penetration and knowledge of affairs. But for
auld, cauld, dour, deadly courage, I am not fit to hold a candle to
yourself. Look at us two here upon the sands. Here am I, fair
hotching to be off; here's you (for all that I ken) in two minds of it
whether you'll no stop. Do you think that I could do that, or would?
No me! Firstly, because I havenae got the courage and wouldnae daur;
and secondly, because I am a man of so much penetration and would see
ye damned first."

"It's there ye're coming, is it?" I cried. "Ah, man Alan, you can wile
your old wives, but you never can wile me."

Remembrance of my temptation in the wood made me strong as iron.

"I have a tryst to keep," I continued. "I am trysted with your cousin
Charlie; I have passed my word."

"Braw trysts that you'll can keep," said Alan. "Ye'll just mistryst
aince and for a' with the gentry in the bents. And what for?" he went
on with an extreme threatening gravity. "Just tell me that, my mannie!
Are ye to be speerited away like Lady Grange? Are they to drive a dirk
in your inside and bury ye in the bents? Or is it to be the other way,
and are they to bring ye in with James? Are they folk to be trustit?
Would ye stick your head in the mouth of Sim Fraser and the ither
Whigs?" he added with extraordinary bitterness.

"Alan," cried I, "they're all rogues and liars, and I'm with ye there.
The more reason there should be one decent man in such a land of
thieves! My word in passed, and I'll stick to it. I said long syne to
your kinswoman that I would stumble at no risk. Do ye mind of that? -
the night Red Colin fell, it was. No more I will, then. Here I stop.
Prestongrange promised me my life: if he's to be mansworn, here I'll
have to die."

"Aweel aweel," said Alan.

All this time we had seen or heard no more of our pursuers. In truth
we had caught them unawares; their whole party (as I was to learn
afterwards) had not yet reached the scene; what there was of them was
spread among the bents towards Gillane. It was quite an affair to call
them in and bring them over, and the boat was making speed. They were
besides but cowardly fellows: a mere leash of Highland cattle-thieves,
of several clans, no gentleman there to be the captain and the more
they looked at Alan and me upon the beach, the less (I must suppose)
they liked the look of us.

Whoever had betrayed Alan it was not the captain: he was in the skiff
himself, steering and stirring up his oarsmen, like a man with his
heart in his employ. Already he was near in, and the boat securing -
already Alan's face had flamed crimson with the excitement of his
deliverance, when our friends in the bents, either in their despair to
see their prey escape them or with some hope of scaring Andie, raised
suddenly a shrill cry of several voices.

This sound, arising from what appeared to be a quite deserted coast,
was really very daunting, and the men in the boat held water instantly.

"What's this of it?" sings out the captain, for he was come within an
easy hail.

"Freens o'mine," says Alan, and began immediately to wade forth in the
shallow water towards the boat. "Davie," he said, pausing, "Davie, are
ye no coming? I am swier to leave ye."

"Not a hair of me," said I.

"He stood part of a second where he was to his knees in the salt water,
hesitating.

"He that will to Cupar, maun to Cupar," said he, and swashing in deeper
than his waist, was hauled into the skiff, which was immediately
directed for the ship.

I stood where he had left me, with my hands behind my back; Alan sat
with his head turned watching me; and the boat drew smoothly away. Of
a sudden I came the nearest hand to shedding tears, and seemed to
myself the most deserted solitary lad in Scotland. With that I turned
my back upon the sea and faced the sandhills. There was no sight or
sound of man; the sun shone on the wet sand and the dry, the wind blew
in the bents, the gulls made a dreary piping. As I passed higher up
the beach, the sand-lice were hopping nimbly about the stranded
tangles. The devil any other sight or sound in that unchancy place.
And yet I knew there were folk there, observing me, upon some secret
purpose. They were no soldiers, or they would have fallen on and taken
us ere now; doubtless they were some common rogues hired for my
undoing, perhaps to kidnap, perhaps to murder me outright. From the
position of those engaged, the first was the more likely; from what I
knew of their character and ardency in this business, I thought the
second very possible; and the blood ran cold about my heart.

I had a mad idea to loosen my sword in the scabbard; for though I was
very unfit to stand up like a gentleman blade to blade, I thought I
could do some scathe in a random combat. But I perceived in time the
folly of resistance. This was no doubt the joint "expedient" on which
Prestongrange and Fraser were agreed. The first, I was very sure, had
done something to secure my life; the second was pretty likely to have
slipped in some contrary hints into the ears of Neil and his
companions; and it I were to show bare steel I might play straight into
the hands of my worst enemy and seal my own doom.

These thoughts brought me to the head of the beach. I cast a look
behind, the boat was nearing the brig, and Alan flew his handkerchief
for a farewell, which I replied to with the waving of my hand. But
Alan himself was shrunk to a small thing in my view, alongside of this
pass that lay in front of me. I set my hat hard on my head, clenched
my teeth, and went right before me up the face of the sand-wreath. It
made a hard climb, being steep, and the sand like water underfoot. But
I caught hold at last by the long bent-grass on the brae-top, and
pulled myself to a good footing. The same moment men stirred and stood
up here and there, six or seven of them, ragged-like knaves, each with
a dagger in his hand. The fair truth is, I shut my eyes and prayed.
When I opened them again, the rogues were crept the least thing nearer
without speech or hurry. Every eye was upon mine, which struck me with
a strange sensation of their brightness, and of the fear with which
they continued to approach me. I held out my hands empty; whereupon
one asked, with a strong Highland brogue, if I surrendered.

"Under protest," said I, "if ye ken what that means, which I misdoubt."

At that word, they came all in upon me like a flight of birds upon a
carrion, seized me, took my sword, and all the money from my pockets,
bound me hand and foot with some strong line, and cast me on a tussock
of bent. There they sat about their captive in a part of a circle and
gazed upon him silently like something dangerous, perhaps a lion or a
tiger on the spring. Presently this attention was relaxed. They drew
nearer together, fell to speech in the Gaelic, and very cynically
divided my property before my eyes. It was my diversion in this time
that I could watch from my place the progress of my friend's escape. I
saw the boat come to the brig and be hoisted in, the sails fill, and
the ship pass out seaward behind the isles and by North Berwick.

In the course of two hours or so, more and more ragged Highlandmen kept
collecting. Neil among the first, until the party must have numbered
near a score. With each new arrival there was a fresh bout of talk,
that sounded like complaints and explanations; but I observed one
thing, none of those who came late had any share in the division of my
spoils. The last discussion was very violent and eager, so that once I
thought they would have quarrelled; on the heels of which their company
parted, the bulk of them returning westward in a troop, and only three,
Neil and two others, remaining sentries on the prisoner.

"I could name one who would be very ill pleased with your day's work,
Neil Duncanson," said I, when the rest had moved away.

He assured me in answer I should be tenderly used, for he knew he was
"acquent wi' the leddy."

This was all our talk, nor did any other son of man appear upon that
portion of the coast until the sun had gone down among the Highland
mountains, and the gloaming was beginning to grow dark. At which hour
I was aware of a long, lean, bony-like Lothian man of a very swarthy
countenance, that came towards us among the bents on a farm horse.

"Lads," cried he, "has ye a paper like this?" and held up one in his
hand. Neil produced a second, which the newcomer studied through a
pair of horn spectacles, and saying all was right and we were the folk
he was seeking, immediately dismounted. I was then set in his place,
my feet tied under the horse's belly, and we set forth under the
guidance of the Lowlander. His path must have been very well chosen,
for we met but one pair - a pair of lovers - the whole way, and these,
perhaps taking us to be free-traders, fled on our approach. We were at
one time close at the foot of Berwick Law on the south side; at
another, as we passed over some open hills, I spied the lights of a
clachan and the old tower of a church among some trees not far off, but
too far to cry for help, if I had dreamed of it. At last we came again
within sound of the sea. There was moonlight, though not much; and by
this I could see the three huge towers and broken battlements of
Tantallon, that old chief place of the Red Douglases. The horse was
picketed in the bottom of the ditch to graze, and I was led within, and
forth into the court, and thence into the tumble-down stone hall. Here
my conductors built a brisk fire in the midst of the pavement, for
there was a chill in the night. My hands were loosed, I was set by the
wall in the inner end, and (the Lowlander having produced provisions) I
was given oatmeal bread and a pitcher of French brandy. This done, I
was left once more alone with my three Highlandmen. They sat close by
the fire drinking and talking; the wind blew in by the breaches, cast
about the smoke and flames, and sang in the tops of the towers; I could
hear the sea under the cliffs, and, my mind being reassured as to my
life, and my body and spirits wearied with the day's employment, I
turned upon one side and slumbered.

I had no means of guessing at what hour I was wakened, only the moon
was down and the fire was low. My feet were now loosed, and I was
carried through the ruins and down the cliff-side by a precipitous path
to where I found a fisher's boat in a haven of the rocks. This I was
had on board of, and we began to put forth from the shore in a fine
starlight

CHAPTER XIV - THE BASS

I HAD no thought where they were taking me; only looked here and there
for the appearance of a ship; and there ran the while in my head a word
of Ransome's - the TWENTY-POUNDERS. If I were to be exposed a second
time to that same former danger of the plantations, I judged it must
turn ill with me; there was no second Alan; and no second shipwreck and
spare yard to be expected now; and I saw myself hoe tobacco under the
whip's lash. The thought chilled me; the air was sharp upon the water,
the stretchers of the boat drenched with a cold dew: and I shivered in
my place beside the steersman. This was the dark man whom I have
called hitherto the Lowlander; his name was Dale, ordinarily called
Black Andie. Feeling the thrill of my shiver, he very kindly handed me
a rough jacket full of fish-scales, with which I was glad to cover
myself.

"I thank you for this kindness," said I, "and will make so free as to
repay it with a warning. You take a high responsibility in this
affair. You are not like these ignorant, barbarous Highlanders, but
know what the law is and the risks of those that break it."

"I am no just exactly what ye would ca' an extremist for the law," says
he, "at the best of times; but in this business I act with a good
warranty."

"What are you going to do with me?" I asked.

"Nae harm," said he, "nae harm ava'. Ye'll have strong freens, I'm
thinking. Ye'll be richt eneuch yet."

There began to fall a greyness on the face of the sea; little dabs of
pink and red, like coals of slow fire, came in the east; and at the
same time the geese awakened, and began crying about the top of the
Bass. It is just the one crag of rock, as everybody knows, but great
enough to carve a city from. The sea was extremely little, but there
went a hollow plowter round the base of it. With the growing of the
dawn I could see it clearer and clearer; the straight crags painted
with sea-birds' droppings like a morning frost, the sloping top of it
green with grass, the clan of white geese that cried about the sides,
and the black, broken buildings of the prison sitting close on the
sea's edge.

At the sight the truth came in upon me in a clap.

"It's there you're taking me!" I cried.

"Just to the Bass, mannie," said he: "Whaur the auld saints were afore
ye, and I misdoubt if ye have come so fairly by your preeson."

"But none dwells there now," I cried; "the place is long a ruin."

"It'll be the mair pleisand a change for the solan geese, then," quoth
Andie dryly.

The day coming slowly brighter I observed on the bilge, among the big
stones with which fisherfolk ballast their boats, several kegs and
baskets, and a provision of fuel. All these were discharged upon the
crag. Andie, myself, and my three Highlanders (I call them mine,
although it was the other way about), landed along with them. The sun
was not yet up when the boat moved away again, the noise of the oars on
the thole-pins echoing from the cliffs, and left us in our singular
reclusion:

Andie Dale was the Prefect (as I would jocularly call him) of the Bass,
being at once the shepherd and the gamekeeper of that small and rich
estate. He had to mind the dozen or so of sheep that fed and fattened
on the grass of the sloping part of it, like beasts grazing the roof of
a cathedral. He had charge besides of the solan geese that roosted in
the crags; and from these an extraordinary income is derived. The
young are dainty eating, as much as two shillings a-piece being a
common price, and paid willingly by epicures; even the grown birds are
valuable for their oil and feathers; and a part of the minister's
stipend of North Berwick is paid to this day in solan geese, which
makes it (in some folks' eyes) a parish to be coveted. To perform
these several businesses, as well as to protect the geese from
poachers, Andie had frequent occasion to sleep and pass days together
on the crag; and we found the man at home there like a farmer in his
steading. Bidding us all shoulder some of the packages, a matter in
which I made haste to bear a hand, he led us in by a looked gate, which
was the only admission to the island, and through the ruins of the
fortress, to the governor's house. There we saw by the ashes in the
chimney and a standing bed-place in one corner, that he made his usual
occupation.

This bed he now offered me to use, saying he supposed I would set up to
be gentry.

"My gentrice has nothing to do with where I lie," said I. "I bless God
I have lain hard ere now, and can do the same again with thankfulness.
While I am here, Mr. Andie, if that be your name, I will do my part and
take my place beside the rest of you; and I ask you on the other hand
to spare me your mockery, which I own I like ill."

He grumbled a little at this speech, but seemed upon reflection to
approve it. Indeed, he was a long-headed, sensible man, and a good
Whig and Presbyterian; read daily in a pocket Bible, and was both able
and eager to converse seriously on religion, leaning more than a little
towards the Cameronian extremes. His morals were of a more doubtful
colour. I found he was deep in the free trade, and used the rains of
Tantallon for a magazine of smuggled merchandise. As for a gauger, I
do not believe he valued the life of one at half-a-farthing. But that
part of the coast of Lothian is to this day as wild a place, and the
commons there as rough a crew, as any in Scotland.

One incident of my imprisonment is made memorable by a consequence it
had long after. There was a warship at this time stationed in the
Firth, the SEAHORSE, Captain Palliser. It chanced she was cruising in
the month of September, plying between Fife and Lothian, and sounding
for sunk dangers. Early one fine morning she was seen about two miles
to east of us, where she lowered a boat, and seemed to examine the
Wildfire Rocks and Satan's Bush, famous dangers of that coast. And
presently after having got her boat again, she came before the wind and
was headed directly for the Base. This was very troublesome to Andie
and the Highlanders; the whole business of my sequestration was
designed for privacy, and here, with a navy captain perhaps blundering
ashore, it looked to become public enough, if it were nothing worse. I
was in a minority of one, I am no Alan to fall upon so many, and I was
far from sure that a warship was the least likely to improve my
condition. All which considered, I gave Andie my parole of good
behaviour and obedience, and was had briskly to the summit of the rock,
where we all lay down, at the cliff's edge, in different places of
observation and concealment. The SEAHORSE came straight on till I
thought she would have struck, and we (looking giddily down) could see
the ship's company at their quarters and hear the leadsman singing at
the lead. Then she suddenly wore and let fly a volley of I know not
how many great guns. The rock was shaken with the thunder of the
sound, the smoke flowed over our heads, and the geese rose in number
beyond computation or belief. To hear their screaming and to see the
twinkling of their wings, made a most inimitable curiosity; and I
suppose it was after this somewhat childish pleasure that Captain
Palliser had come so near the Bass. He was to pay dear for it in time.
During his approach I had the opportunity to make a remark upon the
rigging of that ship by which I ever after knew it miles away; and this
was a means (under Providence) of my averting from a friend a great
calamity, and inflicting on Captain Palliser himself a sensible
disappointment.

All the time of my stay on the rock we lived well. We had small ale
and brandy, and oatmeal, of which we made our porridge night and
morning. At times a boat came from the Castleton and brought us a
quarter of mutton, for the sheep upon the rock we must not touch, these
being specially fed to market. The geese were unfortunately out of
season, and we let them be. We fished ourselves, and yet more often
made the geese to fish for us: observing one when he had made a
capture and searing him from his prey ere he had swallowed it.

The strange nature of this place, and the curiosities with which it
abounded, held me busy and amused. Escape being impossible, I was
allowed my entire liberty, and continually explored the surface of the
isle wherever it might support the foot of man. The old garden of the
prison was still to be observed, with flowers and pot-herbs running
wild, and some ripe cherries on a bush. A little lower stood a chapel
or a hermit's cell; who built or dwelt in it, none may know, and the
thought of its age made a ground of many meditations. The prison, too,
where I now bivouacked with Highland cattle-thieves, was a place full
of history, both human and divine. I thought it strange so many saints
and martyrs should have gone by there so recently, and left not so much
as a leaf out of their Bibles, or a name carved upon the wall, while
the rough soldier lads that mounted guard upon the battlements had
filled the neighbourhood with their mementoes - broken tobacco-pipes
for the most part, and that in a surprising plenty, but also metal
buttons from their coats. There were times when I thought I could have
heard the pious sound of psalms out of the martyr's dungeons, and seen
the soldiers tramp the ramparts with their glinting pipes, and the dawn
rising behind them out of the North Sea.

No doubt it was a good deal Andie and his tales that put these fancies
in my head. He was extraordinarily well acquainted with the story of
the rock in all particulars, down to the names of private soldiers, his
father having served there in that same capacity. He was gifted
besides with a natural genius for narration, so that the people seemed
to speak and the things to be done before your face. This gift of his
and my assiduity to listen brought us the more close together. I could
not honestly deny but what I liked him; I soon saw that he liked me;
and indeed, from the first I had set myself out to capture his good-
will. An odd circumstance (to be told presently) effected this beyond
my expectation; but even in early days we made a friendly pair to be a
prisoner and his gaoler.

I should trifle with my conscience if I pretended my stay upon the Bass
was wholly disagreeable. It seemed to me a safe place, as though I was
escaped there out of my troubles. No harm was to be offered me; a
material impossibility, rock and the deep sea, prevented me from fresh
attempts; I felt I had my life safe and my honour safe, and there were
times when I allowed myself to gloat on them like stolen waters. At
other times my thoughts were very different, I recalled how strong I
had expressed myself both to Rankeillor and to Stewart; I reflected
that my captivity upon the Bass, in view of a great part of the coasts
of Fife and Lothian, was a thing I should be thought more likely to
have invented than endured; and in the eyes of these two gentlemen, at
least, I must pass for a boaster and a coward. Now I would take this
lightly enough; tell myself that so long as I stood well with Catriona
Drummond, the opinion of the rest of man was but moonshine and spilled
water; and thence pass off into those meditations of a lover which are
so delightful to himself and must always appear so surprisingly idle to
a reader. But anon the fear would take me otherwise; I would be shaken
with a perfect panic of self-esteem, and these supposed hard judgments
appear an injustice impossible to be supported. With that another
train of thought would he presented, and I had scarce begun to be
concerned about men's judgments of myself, than I was haunted with the
remembrance of James Stewart in his dungeon and the lamentations of his
wife. Then, indeed, passion began to work in me; I could not forgive
myself to sit there idle: it seemed (if I were a man at all) that I
could fly or swim out of my place of safety; and it was in such humours
and to amuse my self-reproaches that I would set the more particularly
to win the good side of Andie Dale.

At last, when we two were alone on the summit of the rock on a bright
morning, I put in some hint about a bribe. He looked at me, cast back
his head, and laughed out loud.

"Ay, you're funny, Mr. Dale," said I, "but perhaps if you'll glance an
eye upon that paper you may change your note."

The stupid Highlanders had taken from me at the time of my seizure
nothing but hard money, and the paper I now showed Andie was an
acknowledgment from the British Linen Company for a considerable sum.

He read it. "Troth, and ye're nane sae ill aff," said he.

"I thought that would maybe vary your opinions," said I.

"Hout!" said he. "It shows me ye can bribe; but I'm no to be bribit."

"We'll see about that yet a while," says I. "And first, I'll show you
that I know what I am talking. You have orders to detain me here till
after Thursday, 21st September."

"Ye're no a'thegether wrong either," says Andie. "I'm to let you gang,
bar orders contrair, on Saturday, the 23rd."

I could not but feel there was something extremely insidious in this
arrangement. That I was to re-appear precisely in time to be too late
would cast the more discredit on my tale, if I were minded to tell one;
and this screwed me to fighting point.

"Now then, Andie, you that kens the world, listen to me, and think
while ye listen," said I. "I know there are great folks in the
business, and I make no doubt you have their names to go upon. I have
seen some of them myself since this affair began, and said my say into
their faces too. But what kind of a crime would this be that I had
committed? or what kind of a process is this that I am fallen under?
To be apprehended by some ragged John-Hielandman on August 30th,
carried to a rickle of old stones that is now neither fort nor gaol
(whatever it once was) but just the gamekeeper's lodge of the Bass
Rock, and set free again, September 23rd, as secretly as I was first
arrested - does that sound like law to you? or does it sound like
justice? or does it not sound honestly like a piece of some low dirty
intrigue, of which the very folk that meddle with it are ashamed?"

"I canna gainsay ye, Shaws. It looks unco underhand," says Andie.
"And werenae the folk guid sound Whigs and true-blue Presbyterians I
would has seen them ayont Jordan and Jeroozlem or I would have set hand
to it."

"The Master of Lovat'll be a braw Whig," says I, "and a grand
Presbyterian."

"I ken naething by him," said he. "I hae nae trokings wi' Lovats."

"No, it'll be Prestongrange that you'll be dealing with," said I.

"Ah, but I'll no tell ye that," said Andie.

"Little need when I ken," was my retort.

"There's just the ae thing ye can be fairly sure of, Shaws," says
Andie. "And that is that (try as ye please) I'm no dealing wi'
yoursel'; nor yet I amnae goin' to," he added.

"Well, Andie, I see I'll have to be speak out plain with you," I
replied. And told him so much as I thought needful of the facts.

He heard me out with some serious interest, and when I had done, seemed
to consider a little with himself.

"Shaws," said he at last, "I'll deal with the naked hand. It's a queer
tale, and no very creditable, the way you tell it; and I'm far frae
minting that is other than the way that ye believe it. As for
yoursel', ye seem to me rather a dacent-like young man. But me, that's
aulder and mair judeecious, see perhaps a wee bit further forrit in the
job than what ye can dae. And here the maitter clear and plain to ye.
There'll be nae skaith to yoursel' if I keep ye here; far free that, I
think ye'll be a hantle better by it. There'll be nae skaith to the
kintry - just ae mair Hielantman hangit - Gude kens, a guid riddance!
On the ither hand, it would be considerable skaith to me if I would let
you free. Sae, speakin' as a guid Whig, an honest freen' to you, and
an anxious freen' to my ainsel', the plain fact is that I think ye'll
just have to bide here wi' Andie an' the solans."

"Andie," said I, laying my hand upon his knee, "this Hielantman's
innocent."

"Ay, it's a peety about that," said he. "But ye see, in this warld,
the way God made it, we cannae just get a'thing that we want."

CHAPTER XV - BLACK ANDIE'S TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK

I HAVE yet said little of the Highlanders. They were all three of the
followers of James More, which bound the accusation very tight about
their master's neck. All understood a word or two of English, but Neil
was the only one who judged he had enough of it for general converse,
in which (when once he got embarked) his company was often tempted to
the contrary opinion. They were tractable, simple creatures; showed
much more courtesy than might have been expected from their raggedness
and their uncouth appearance, and fell spontaneously to be like three
servants for Andie and myself.

Dwelling in that isolated place, in the old falling ruins of a prison,
and among endless strange sounds of the sea and the sea-birds, I
thought I perceived in them early the effects of superstitious fear.
When there was nothing doing they would either lie and sleep, for which
their appetite appeared insatiable, or Neil would entertain the others
with stories which seemed always of a terrifying strain. If neither of
these delights were within reach - if perhaps two were sleeping and the
third could find no means to follow their example - I would see him sit
and listen and look about him in a progression of uneasiness, starting,
his face blenching, his hands clutched, a man strung like a bow. The
nature of these fears I had never an occasion to find out, but the
sight of them was catching, and the nature of the place that we were in
favourable to alarms. I can find no word for it in the English, but
Andie had an expression for it in the Scots from which he never varied.

"Ay," he would say, "ITS AN UNCO PLACE, THE BASS."

It is so I always think of it. It was an unco place by night, unco by
day; and these were unco sounds, of the calling of the solans, and the
plash of the sea and the rock echoes, that hung continually in our
ears. It was chiefly so in moderate weather. When the waves were
anyway great they roared about the rock like thunder and the drums of
armies, dreadful but merry to hear; and it was in the calm days that a
man could daunt himself with listening - not a Highlandman only, as I
several times experimented on myself, so many still, hollow noises
haunted and reverberated in the porches of the rock.

This brings me to a story I heard, and a scene I took part in, which
quite changed our terms of living, and had a great effect on my
departure. It chanced one night I fell in a muse beside the fire and
(that little air of Alan's coming back to my memory) began to whistle.
A hand was laid upon my arm, and the voice of Neil bade me to stop, for
it was not "canny musics."

"Not canny?" I asked. "How can that be?"

"Na," said he; "it will be made by a bogle and her wanting ta heid upon
his body."

"Well," said I, "there can be no bogles here, Neil; for it's not likely
they would fash themselves to frighten geese."

"Ay?" says Andie, "is that what ye think of it! But I'll can tell ye
there's been waur nor bogles here."

"What's waur than bogles, Andie?" said I.

"Warlocks," said he. "Or a warlock at the least of it. And that's a
queer tale, too," he added. "And if ye would like, I'll tell it ye."

To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the Highlander that
had the least English of the three set himself to listen with all his
might.

THE TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK

MY faither, Tam Dale, peace to his banes, was a wild, sploring lad in
his young days, wi' little wisdom and little grace. He was fond of a
lass and fond of a glass, and fond of a ran-dan; but I could never hear
tell that he was muckle use for honest employment. Frae ae thing to
anither, he listed at last for a sodger and was in the garrison of this
fort, which was the first way that ony of the Dales cam to set foot
upon the Bass. Sorrow upon that service! The governor brewed his ain
ale; it seems it was the warst conceivable. The rock was proveesioned
free the shore with vivers, the thing was ill-guided, and there were
whiles when they but to fish and shoot solans for their diet. To crown
a', thir was the Days of the Persecution. The perishin' cauld chalmers
were all occupeed wi' sants and martyrs, the saut of the yearth, of
which it wasnae worthy. And though Tam Dale carried a firelock there,
a single sodger, and liked a lass and a glass, as I was sayin,' the
mind of the man was mair just than set with his position. He had
glints of the glory of the kirk; there were whiles when his dander rase
to see the Lord's sants misguided, and shame covered him that he should
be haulding a can'le (or carrying a firelock) in so black a business.
There were nights of it when he was here on sentry, the place a'
wheesht, the frosts o' winter maybe riving in the wa's, and he would
hear ane o' the prisoners strike up a psalm, and the rest join in, and
the blessed sounds rising from the different chalmers - or dungeons, I
would raither say - so that this auld craig in the sea was like a pairt
of Heev'n. Black shame was on his saul; his sins hove up before him
muckle as the Bass, and above a', that chief sin, that he should have a
hand in hagging and hashing at Christ's Kirk. But the truth is that he
resisted the spirit. Day cam, there were the rousing compainions, and
his guid resolves depairtit.

In thir days, dwalled upon the Bass a man of God, Peden the Prophet was
his name. Ye'll have heard tell of Prophet Peden. There was never the
wale of him sinsyne, and it's a question wi' mony if there ever was his
like afore. He was wild's a peat-hag, fearsome to look at, fearsome to
hear, his face like the day of judgment. The voice of him was like a
solan's and dinnle'd in folks' lugs, and the words of him like coals of
fire.

Now there was a lass on the rock, and I think she had little to do, for
it was nae place far decent weemen; but it seems she was bonny, and her
and Tam Dale were very well agreed. It befell that Peden was in the
gairden his lane at the praying when Tam and the lass cam by; and what
should the lassie do but mock with laughter at the sant's devotions?  
He rose and lookit at the twa o' them, and Tam's knees knoitered
thegether at the look of him. But whan he spak, it was mair in sorrow
than in anger. 'Poor thing, poor thing!" says he, and it was the lass
he lookit at, "I hear you skirl and laugh," he says, "but the Lord has
a deid shot prepared for you, and at that surprising judgment ye shall
skirl but the ae time!"  Shortly thereafter she was daundering on the
craigs wi' twa-three sodgers, and it was a blawy day. There cam a
gowst of wind, claught her by the coats, and awa' wi' her bag and
baggage. And it was remarked by the sodgers that she gied but the ae
skirl.

Nae doubt this judgment had some weicht upon Tam Dale; but it passed
again and him none the better. Ae day he was flyting wi' anither
sodger-lad. "Deil hae me!" quo' Tam, for he was a profane swearer.
And there was Peden glowering at him, gash an' waefu'; Peden wi' his
lang chafts an' luntin' een, the maud happed about his kist, and the
hand of him held out wi' the black nails upon the finger-nebs - for he
had nae care of the body. "Fy, fy, poor man!" cries he, "the poor fool
man! DEIL HAE ME, quo' he; an' I see the deil at his oxter."  The
conviction of guilt and grace cam in on Tam like the deep sea; he flang
doun the pike that was in his hands - "I will nae mair lift arms
against the cause o' Christ!" says he, and was as gude's word. There
was a sair fyke in the beginning, but the governor, seeing him
resolved, gied him his discharge, and he went and dwallt and merried in
North Berwick, and had aye a gude name with honest folk free that day
on.

It was in the year seeventeen hunner and sax that the Bass cam in the
hands o' the Da'rymples, and there was twa men soucht the chairge of
it. Baith were weel qualified, for they had baith been sodgers in the
garrison, and kent the gate to handle solans, and the seasons and
values of them. Forby that they were baith - or they baith seemed -
earnest professors and men of comely conversation. The first of them
was just Tam Dale, my faither. The second was ane Lapraik, whom the
folk ca'd Tod Lapraik maistly, but whether for his name or his nature I
could never hear tell. Weel, Tam gaed to see Lapraik upon this
business, and took me, that was a toddlin' laddie, by the hand. Tod
had his dwallin' in the lang loan benorth the kirkyaird. It's a dark
uncanny loan, forby that the kirk has aye had an ill name since the
days o' James the Saxt and the deevil's cantrips played therein when
the Queen was on the seas; and as for Tod's house, it was in the
mirkest end, and was little liked by some that kenned the best. The
door was on the sneck that day, and me and my faither gaed straucht in.
Tod was a wabster to his trade; his loom stood in the but. There he
sat, a muckle fat, white hash of a man like creish, wi' a kind of a
holy smile that gart me scunner. The hand of him aye cawed the
shuttle, but his een was steeked. We cried to him by his name, we
skirted in the deid lug of him, we shook him by the shou'ther. Nae
mainner o' service! There he sat on his dowp, an' cawed the shuttle
and smiled like creish.

"God be guid to us," says Tam Dale, "this is no canny?"

He had jimp said the word, when Tod Lapraik cam to himsel'.

"Is this you, Tam?" says he. "Haith, man! I'm blythe to see ye. I
whiles fa' into a bit dwam like this," he says; "its frae the stamach."

Weel, they began to crack about the Bass and which of them twa was to
get the warding o't, and little by little cam to very ill words, and
twined in anger. I mind weel that as my faither and me gaed hame
again, he cam ower and ower the same expression, how little he likit
Tod Lapraik and his dwams.

"Dwam!" says he. "I think folk hae brunt for dwams like yon."

Aweel, my faither got the Bass and Tod had to go wantin'. It was
remembered sinsyne what way he had ta'en the thing. "Tam," says he,
"ye hae gotten the better o' me aince mair, and I hope," says he,
"ye'll find at least a' that ye expeckit at the Bass."  Which have
since been thought remarkable expressions. At last the time came for
Tam Dale to take young solans. This was a business he was weel used
wi', he had been a craigsman frae a laddie, and trustit nane but
himsel'. So there was he hingin' by a line an' speldering on the craig
face, whaur its hieest and steighest. Fower tenty lads were on the
tap, hauldin' the line and mindin' for his signals. But whaur Tam hung
there was naething but the craig, and the sea belaw, and the solans
skirlin and flying. It was a braw spring morn, and Tam whustled as he
claught in the young geese. Mony's the time I've heard him tell of
this experience, and aye the swat ran upon the man.

It chanced, ye see, that Tam keeked up, and he was awaur of a muckle
solan, and the solan pyking at the line. He thocht this by-ordinar and
outside the creature's habits. He minded that ropes was unco saft
things, and the solan's neb and the Bass Rock unco hard, and that twa
hunner feet were raither mair than he would care to fa'.

"Shoo!" says Tam. "Awa', bird! Shoo, awa' wi' ye!" says he.

The solan keekit doon into Tam's face, and there was something unco in
the creature's ee. Just the ae keek it gied, and back to the rope.
But now it wroucht and warstl't like a thing dementit. There never was
the solan made that wroucht as that solan wroucht; and it seemed to
understand its employ brawly, birzing the saft rope between the neb of
it and a crunkled jag o' stane.

There gaed a cauld stend o' fear into Tam's heart. "This thing is nae
bird," thinks he. His een turnt backward in his heid and the day gaed
black aboot him. "If I get a dwam here," he toucht, "it's by wi' Tam
Dale."  And he signalled for the lads to pu' him up.

And it seemed the solan understood about signals. For nae sooner was
the signal made than he let be the rope, spried his wings, squawked out
loud, took a turn flying, and dashed straucht at Tam Dale's een. Tam
had a knife, he gart the cauld steel glitter. And it seemed the solan
understood about knives, for nae suner did the steel glint in the sun
than he gied the ae squawk, but laighter, like a body disappointit, and
flegged aff about the roundness of the craig, and Tam saw him nae mair.
And as sune as that thing was gane, Tam's heid drapt upon his shouther,
and they pu'd him up like a deid corp, dadding on the craig.

A dram of brandy (which he went never without) broucht him to his mind,
or what was left of it. Up he sat.

"Rin, Geordie, rin to the boat, mak' sure of the boat, man - rin!" he
cries, "or yon solan'll have it awa'," says he.

The fower lads stared at ither, an' tried to whilly-wha him to be
quiet. But naething would satisfy Tam Dale, till ane o' them had
startit on aheid to stand sentry on the boat. The ithers askit if he
was for down again.

"Na," says he, "and niether you nor me," says he, "and as sune as I can
win to stand on my twa feet we'll be aff frae this craig o' Sawtan."

Sure eneuch, nae time was lost, and that was ower muckle; for before
they won to North Berwick Tam was in a crying fever. He lay a' the
simmer; and wha was sae kind as come speiring for him, but Tod Lapraik!
Folk thocht afterwards that ilka time Tod cam near the house the fever
had worsened. I kenna for that; but what I ken the best, that was the
end of it.

It was about this time o' the year; my grandfaither was out at the
white fishing; and like a bairn, I but to gang wi' him. We had a grand
take, I mind, and the way that the fish lay broucht us near in by the
Bass, whaur we foregaithered wi' anither boat that belanged to a man
Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He's no lang deid neither, or ye could
speir at himsel'. Weel, Sandie hailed.

"What's yon on the Bass?" says he.

"On the Bass?" says grandfaither.

"Ay," says Sandie, "on the green side o't."

"Whatten kind of a thing?" says grandfaither. "There cannae be
naething on the Bass but just the sheep."

"It looks unco like a body," quo' Sandie, who was nearer in.

"A body!" says we, and we none of us likit that. For there was nae
boat that could have brought a man, and the key o' the prison yett hung
ower my faither's at hame in the press bed.

We keept the twa boats close for company, and crap in nearer hand.
Grandfaither had a gless, for he had been a sailor, and the captain of
a smack, and had lost her on the sands of Tay. And when we took the
glass to it, sure eneuch there was a man. He was in a crunkle o' green
brae, a wee below the chaipel, a' by his lee lane, and lowped and flang
and danced like a daft quean at a waddin'.

"It's Tod," says grandfather, and passed the gless to Sandie.

"Ay, it's him," says Sandie.

"Or ane in the likeness o' him," says grandfaither.

"Sma' is the differ," quo' Sandie. "De'il or warlock, I'll try the gun
at him," quo' he, and broucht up a fowling-piece that he aye carried,
for Sandie was a notable famous shot in all that country.

"Haud your hand, Sandie," says grandfaither; "we maun see clearer
first," says he, "or this may be a dear day's wark to the baith of us."

"Hout!" says Sandie, "this is the Lord's judgment surely, and be damned
to it," says he.

"Maybe ay, and maybe no," says my grandfaither, worthy man! "But have
you a mind of the Procurator Fiscal, that I think ye'll have
foregaithered wi' before," says he.

This was ower true, and Sandie was a wee thing set ajee. "Aweel,
Edie," says he, "and what would be your way of it?"

"Ou, just this," says grandfaither. "Let me that has the fastest boat
gang back to North Berwick, and let you bide here and keep an eye on
Thon. If I cannae find Lapraik, I'll join ye and the twa of us'll have
a crack wi' him. But if Lapraik's at hame, I'll rin up the flag at the
harbour, and ye can try Thon Thing wi' the gun."

Aweel, so it was agreed between them twa. I was just a bairn, an' clum
in Sandie's boat, whaur I thoucht I would see the best of the employ.
My grandsire gied Sandie a siller tester to pit in his gun wi' the leid
draps, bein mair deidly again bogles. And then the as boat set aff for
North Berwick, an' the tither lay whaur it was and watched the
wanchancy thing on the brae-side.

A' the time we lay there it lowped and flang and capered and span like
a teetotum, and whiles we could hear it skelloch as it span. I hae
seen lassies, the daft queans, that would lowp and dance a winter's
nicht, and still be lowping and dancing when the winter's day cam in.
But there would be fowk there to hauld them company, and the lads to
egg them on; and this thing was its lee-lane. And there would be a
fiddler diddling his elbock in the chimney-side; and this thing had nae
music but the skirling of the solans. And the lassies were bits o'
young things wi' the reid life dinnling and stending in their members;
and this was a muckle, fat, creishy man, and him fa'n in the vale o'
years. Say what ye like, I maun say what I believe. It was joy was in
the creature's heart, the joy o' hell, I daursay: joy whatever. Mony
a time I have askit mysel' why witches and warlocks should sell their
sauls (whilk are their maist dear possessions) and be auld, duddy,
wrunkl't wives or auld, feckless, doddered men; and then I mind upon
Tod Lapraik dancing a' the hours by his lane in the black glory of his
heart. Nae doubt they burn for it muckle in hell, but they have a
grand time here of it, whatever! - and the Lord forgie us!

Weel, at the hinder end, we saw the wee flag yirk up to the mast-heid
upon the harbour rocks. That was a' Sandie waited for. He up wi' the
gun, took a deleeberate aim, an' pu'd the trigger. There cam' a bang
and then ae waefu' skirl frae the Bass. And there were we rubbin' our
een and lookin' at ither like daft folk. For wi' the bang and the
skirl the thing had clean disappeared. The sun glintit, the wund blew,
and there was the bare yaird whaur the Wonder had been lowping and
flinging but ae second syne.

The hale way hame I roared and grat wi' the terror o' that
dispensation. The grawn folk were nane sae muckle better; there was
little said in Sandie's boat but just the name of God; and when we won
in by the pier, the harbour rocks were fair black wi' the folk waitin'
us. It seems they had fund Lapraik in ane of his dwams, cawing the
shuttle and smiling. Ae lad they sent to hoist the flag, and the rest
abode there in the wabster's house. You may be sure they liked it
little; but it was a means of grace to severals that stood there
praying in to themsel's (for nane cared to pray out loud) and looking
on thon awesome thing as it cawed the shuttle. Syne, upon a suddenty,
and wi' the ae dreidfu' skelloch, Tod sprang up frae his hinderlands
and fell forrit on the wab, a bluidy corp.

When the corp was examined the leid draps hadnae played buff upon the
warlock's body; sorrow a leid drap was to be fund! but there was
grandfaither's siller tester in the puddock's heart of him.

Andie had scarce done when there befell a mighty silly affair that had
its consequence. Neil, as I have said, was himself a great narrator.
I have heard since that he knew all the stories in the Highlands; and
thought much of himself, and was thought much of by others on the
strength of it. Now Andie's tale reminded him of one he had already
heard.

"She would ken that story afore," he said. "She was the story of
Uistean More M'Gillie Phadrig and the Gavar Vore."

"It is no sic a thing," cried Andie. "It is the story of my faither
(now wi' God) and Tod Lapraik. And the same in your beard," says he;
"and keep the tongue of ye inside your Hielant chafts!"

In dealing with Highlanders it will be found, and has been shown in
history, how well it goes with Lowland gentlefolk; but the thing
appears scarce feasible for Lowland commons. I had already remarked
that Andie was continually on the point of quarrelling with our three
MacGregors, and now, sure enough, it was to come.

"Thir will be no words to use to shentlemans," says Neil.

"Shentlemans!" cries Andie. "Shentlemans, ye hielant stot! If God
would give ye the grace to see yoursel' the way that ithers see ye, ye
would throw your denner up."

There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and the black knife
was in his hand that moment.

There was no time to think; and I caught the Highlander by the leg, and
had him down, and his armed hand pinned out, before I knew what I was
doing. His comrades sprang to rescue him, Andie and I were without
weapons, the Gregara three to two. It seemed we were beyond salvation,
when Neil screamed in his own tongue, ordering the others back, and
made his submission to myself in a manner the most abject, even giving
me up his knife which (upon a repetition of his promises) I returned to
him on the morrow.

Two things I saw plain: the first, that I must not build too high on
Andie, who had shrunk against the wall and stood there, as pale as
death, till the affair was over; the second, the strength of my own
position with the Highlanders, who must have received extraordinary
charges to be tender of my safety. But if I thought Andie came not
very well out in courage, I had no fault to find with him upon the
account of gratitude. It was not so much that he troubled me with
thanks, as that his whole mind and manner appeared changed; and as he
preserved ever after a great timidity of our companions, he and I were
yet more constantly together.

CHAPTER XVI - THE MISSING WITNESS

ON the seventeenth, the day I was trysted with the Writer, I had much
rebellion against fate. The thought of him waiting in the KING'S ARMS,
and of what he would think, and what he would say when next we met,
tormented and oppressed me. The truth was unbelievable, so much I had
to grant, and it seemed cruel hard I should be posted as a liar and a
coward, and have never consciously omitted what it was possible that I
should do. I repeated this form of words with a kind of bitter relish,
and re-examined in that light the steps of my behaviour. It seemed I
had behaved to James Stewart as a brother might; all the past was a
picture that I could be proud of, and there was only the present to
consider. I could not swim the sea, nor yet fly in the air, but there
was always Andie. I had done him a service, he liked me; I had a lever
there to work on; if it were just for decency, I must try once more
with Andie.

It was late afternoon; there was no sound in all the Bass but the lap
and bubble of a very quiet sea; and my four companions were all crept
apart, the three Macgregors higher on the rock, and Andie with his
Bible to a sunny place among the ruins; there I found him in deep
sleep, and, as soon as he was awake, appealed to him with some fervour
of manner and a good show of argument.

"If I thoucht it was to do guid to ye, Shaws!" said he, staring at me
over his spectacles.

"It's to save another," said I, "and to redeem my word. What would be
more good than that? Do ye no mind the scripture, Andie? And you with
the Book upon your lap! WHAT SHALL IT PROFIT A MAN IF HE GAIN THE
WHOLE WORLD?"

"Ay," said he, "that's grand for you. But where do I come in! I have
my word to redeem the same's yoursel'. And what are ye asking me to
do, but just to sell it ye for siller?"

"Andie! have I named the name of siller?" cried I.

"Ou, the name's naething", said he; "the thing is there, whatever. It
just comes to this; if I am to service ye the way that you propose,
I'll lose my lifelihood. Then it's clear ye'll have to make it up to
me, and a pickle mair, for your ain credit like. And what's that but
just a bribe? And if even I was certain of the bribe! But by a' that
I can learn, it's far frae that; and if YOU were to hang, where would I
be? Na: the thing's no possible. And just awa' wi' ye like a bonny
lad! and let Andie read his chapter."

I remember I was at bottom a good deal gratified with this result; and
the next humour I fell into was one (I had near said) of gratitude to
Prestongrange, who had saved me, in this violent, illegal manner, out
of the midst of my dangers, temptations, and perplexities. But this
was both too flimsy and too cowardly to last me long, and the
remembrance of James began to succeed to the possession of my spirits.
The 21st, the day set for the trial, I passed in such misery of mind as
I can scarce recall to have endured, save perhaps upon Isle Earraid
only. Much of the time I lay on a brae-side betwixt sleep and waking,
my body motionless, my mind full of violent thoughts. Sometimes I
slept indeed; but the court-house of Inverary and the prisoner glancing
on all sides to find his missing witness, followed me in slumber; and I
would wake again with a start to darkness of spirit and distress of
body. I thought Andie seemed to observe me, but I paid him little
heed. Verily, my bread was bitter to me, and my days a burthen.

Early the next morning (Friday, 22nd) a boat came with provisions, and
Andie placed a packet in my hand. The cover was without address but
sealed with a Government seal. It enclosed two notes. "Mr. Balfour
can now see for himself it is too late to meddle. His conduct will be
observed and his discretion rewarded."  So ran the first, which seemed
to be laboriously writ with the left hand. There was certainly nothing
in these expressions to compromise the writer, even if that person
could be found; the seal, which formidably served instead of signature,
was affixed to a separate sheet on which there was no scratch of
writing; and I had to confess that (so far) my adversaries knew what
they were doing, and to digest as well as I was able the threat that
peeped under the promise.

But the second enclosure was by far the more surprising. It was in a
lady's hand of writ. "MAISTER DAUVIT BALFOUR IS INFORMED A FRIEND WAS
SPEIRING FOR HIM AND HER EYES WERE OF THE GREY," it ran - and seemed so
extraordinary a piece to come to my hands at such a moment and under
cover of a Government seal, that I stood stupid. Catriona's grey eyes
shone in my remembrance. I thought, with a bound of pleasure, she must
be the friend. But who should the writer be, to have her billet thus
enclosed with Prestongrange's? And of all wonders, why was it thought
needful to give me this pleasing but most inconsequent intelligence
upon the Bass? For the writer, I could hit upon none possible except
Miss Grant. Her family, I remembered, had remarked on Catriona's eyes
and even named her for their colour; and she herself had been much in
the habit to address me with a broad pronunciation, by way of a sniff,
I supposed, at my rusticity. No doubt, besides, but she lived in the
same house as this letter came from. So there remained but one step to
be accounted for; and that was how Prestongrange should have permitted
her at all in an affair so secret, or let her daft-like billet go in
the same cover with his own. But even here I had a glimmering. For,
first of all, there was something rather alarming about the young lady,
and papa might be more under her domination than I knew. And, second,
there was the man's continual policy to be remembered, how his conduct
had been continually mingled with caresses, and he had scarce ever, in
the midst of so much contention, laid aside a mask of friendship. He
must conceive that my imprisonment had incensed me. Perhaps this
little jesting, friendly message was intended to disarm my rancour?

I will be honest - and I think it did. I felt a sudden warmth towards
that beautiful Miss Grant, that she should stoop to so much interest in
my affairs. The summoning up of Catriona moved me of itself to milder
and more cowardly counsels. If the Advocate knew of her and our
acquaintance - if I should please him by some of that "discretion" at
which his letter pointed - to what might not this lead! IN VAIN IS THE
NET PREPARED IN THE SIGHT OF ANY FOWL, the Scripture says. Well, fowls
must be wiser than folk! For I thought I perceived the policy, and yet
fell in with it.

I was in this frame, my heart beating, the grey eyes plain before me
like two stars, when Andie broke in upon my musing.

"I see ye has gotten guid news," said he.

I found him looking curiously in my face; with that there came before
me like a vision of James Stewart and the court of Inverary; and my
mind turned at once like a door upon its hinges. Trials, I reflected,
sometimes draw out longer than is looked for. Even if I came to
Inverary just too late, something might yet be attempted in the
interests of James - and in those of my own character, the best would
be accomplished. In a moment, it seemed without thought, I had a plan
devised.

"Andie," said I, "is it still to be to-morrow?"

He told me nothing was changed.

"Was anything said about the hour?" I asked.

He told me it was to be two o'clock afternoon.

"And about the place?" I pursued.

"Whatten place?" says Andie.

"The place I am to be landed at?" said I.

He owned there was nothing as to that.

"Very well, then," I said, "this shall be mine to arrange. The wind is
in the east, my road lies westward: keep your boat, I hire it; let us
work up the Forth all day; and land me at two o'clock to-morrow at the
westmost we'll can have reached."

"Ye daft callant!" he cried; "ye would try for Inverary after a'!"

"Just that, Andie," says I.

"Weel, ye're ill to beat!" says he. "And I was a kind o' sorry for ye
a' day yesterday," he added. "Ye see, I was never entirely sure till
then, which way of it ye really wantit."

Here was a spur to a lame horse!

"A word in your ear, Andie," said I. "This plan of mine has another
advantage yet. We can leave these Hielandman behind us on the rock,
and one of your boats from the Castleton can bring them off to-morrow.
Yon Neil has a queer eye when he regards you; maybe, if I was once out
of the gate there might be knives again; these red-shanks are unco
grudgeful. And if there should come to be any question, here is your
excuse. Our lives were in danger by these savages; being answerable
for my safety, you chose the part to bring me from their neighbourhood
and detain me the rest of the time on board your boat: and do you
know, Andie?" says I, with a smile, "I think it was very wisely
chosen,"

"The truth is I have nae goo for Neil," says Andie, "nor he for me, I'm
thinking; and I would like ill to come to my hands wi' the man. Tam
Anster will make a better hand of it with the cattle onyway."  (For
this man, Anster, came from Fife, where the Gaelic is still spoken.)  
"Ay, ay!" says Andie, "Tam'll can deal with them the best. And troth!
the mair I think of it, the less I see we would be required. The place
- ay, feggs! they had forgot the place. Eh, Shaws, ye're a lang-heided
chield when ye like! Forby that I'm awing ye my life," he added, with
more solemnity, and offered me his hand upon the bargain.

Whereupon, with scarce more words, we stepped suddenly on board the
boat, cast off, and set the lug. The Gregara were then busy upon
breakfast, for the cookery was their usual part; but, one of them
stepping to the battlements, our flight was observed before we were
twenty fathoms from the rock; and the three of them ran about the ruins
and the landing-shelf, for all the world like ants about a broken nest,
hailing and crying on us to return. We were still in both the lee and
the shadow of the rock, which last lay broad upon the waters, but
presently came forth in almost the same moment into the wind and
sunshine; the sail filled, the boat heeled to the gunwale, and we swept
immediately beyond sound of the men's voices. To what terrors they
endured upon the rock, where they were now deserted without the
countenance of any civilised person or so much as the protection of a
Bible, no limit can be set; nor had they any brandy left to be their
consolation, for even in the haste and secrecy of our departure Andie
had managed to remove it.

It was our first care to set Anster ashore in a cove by the Glenteithy
Rocks, so that the deliverance of our maroons might be duly seen to the
next day. Thence we kept away up Firth. The breeze, which was then so
spirited, swiftly declined, but never wholly failed us. All day we
kept moving, though often not much more; and it was after dark ere we
were up with the Queensferry. To keep the letter of Andie's engagement
(or what was left of it) I must remain on board, but I thought no harm
to communicate with the shore in writing. On Prestongrange's cover,
where the Government seal must have a good deal surprised my
correspondent, I writ, by the boat's lantern, a few necessary words,
aboard and Andie carried them to Rankeillor. In about an hour he came
again, with a purse of money and the assurance that a good horse should
be standing saddled for me by two to-morrow at Clackmannan Pool. This
done, and the boat riding by her stone anchor, we lay down to sleep
under the sail.

We were in the Pool the next day long ere two; and there was nothing
left for me but to sit and wait. I felt little alacrity upon my
errand. I would have been glad of any passable excuse to lay it down;
but none being to be found, my uneasiness was no less great than if I
had been running to some desired pleasure. By shortly after one the
horse was at the waterside, and I could see a man walking it to and fro
till I should land, which vastly swelled my impatience. Andie ran the
moment of my liberation very fine, showing himself a man of his bare
word, but scarce serving his employers with a heaped measure; and by
about fifty seconds after two I was in the saddle and on the full
stretch for Stirling. In a little more than an hour I had passed that
town, and was already mounting Alan Water side, when the weather broke
in a small tempest. The rain blinded me, the wind had nearly beat me
from the saddle, and the first darkness of the night surprised me in a
wilderness still some way east of Balwhidder, not very sure of my
direction and mounted on a horse that began already to be weary.

In the press of my hurry, and to be spared the delay and annoyance of a
guide, I had followed (so far as it was possible for any horseman) the
line of my journey with Alan. This I did with open eyes, foreseeing a
great risk in it, which the tempest had now brought to a reality. The
last that I knew of where I was, I think it must have been about Uam
Var; the hour perhaps six at night. I must still think it great good
fortune that I got about eleven to my destination, the house of Duncan
Dhu. Where I had wandered in the interval perhaps the horse could
tell. I know we were twice down, and once over the saddle and for a
moment carried away in a roaring burn. Steed and rider were bemired up
to the eyes.

From Duncan I had news of the trial. It was followed in all these
Highland regions with religious interest; news of it spread from
Inverary as swift as men could travel; and I was rejoiced to learn
that, up to a late hour that Saturday it was not yet concluded; and all
men began to suppose it must spread over the Monday. Under the spur of
this intelligence I would not sit to eat; but, Duncan having agreed to
be my guide, took the road again on foot, with the piece in my hand and
munching as I went. Duncan brought with him a flask of usquebaugh and
a hand-lantern; which last enlightened us just so long as we could find
houses where to rekindle it, for the thing leaked outrageously and blew
out with every gust. The more part of the night we walked blindfold
among sheets of rain, and day found us aimless on the mountains. Hard
by we struck a hut on a burn-side, where we got bite and a direction;
and, a little before the end of the sermon, came to the kirk doors of
Inverary.

The rain had somewhat washed the upper parts of me, but I was still
bogged as high as to the knees; I streamed water; I was so weary I
could hardly limp, and my face was like a ghost's. I stood certainly
more in need of a change of raiment and a bed to lie on, than of all
the benefits in Christianity. For all which (being persuaded the chief
point for me was to make myself immediately public) I set the door of
the church with the dirty Duncan at my tails, and finding a vacant
place sat down.

"Thirteently, my brethren, and in parenthesis, the law itself must be
regarded as a means of grace," the minister was saying, in the voice of
one delighting to pursue an argument.

The sermon was in English on account of the assize. The judges were
present with their armed attendants, the halberts glittered in a corner
by the door, and the seats were thronged beyond custom with the array
of lawyers. The text was in Romans 5th and 13th - the minister a
skilled hand; and the whole of that able churchful - from Argyle, and
my Lords Elchies and Kilkerran, down to the halbertmen that came in
their attendance - was sunk with gathered brows in a profound critical
attention. The minister himself and a sprinkling of those about the
door observed our entrance at the moment and immediately forgot the
same; the rest either did not hear or would not hear or would not be
heard; and I sat amongst my friends and enemies unremarked.

The first that I singled out was Prestongrange. He sat well forward,
like an eager horseman in the saddle, his lips moving with relish, his
eyes glued on the minister; the doctrine was clearly to his mind.
Charles Stewart, on the other hand, was half asleep, and looked
harassed and pale. As for Simon Fraser, he appeared like a blot, and
almost a scandal, in the midst of that attentive congregation, digging
his hands in his pockets, shifting his legs, clearing his throat, and
rolling up his bald eyebrows and shooting out his eyes to right and
left, now with a yawn, now with a secret smile. At times, too, he
would take the Bible in front of him, run it through, seem to read a
bit, run it through again, and stop and yawn prodigiously: the whole
as if for exercise.

In the course of this restlessness his eye alighted on myself. He sat
a second stupefied, then tore a half-leaf out of the Bible, scrawled
upon it with a pencil, and passed it with a whispered word to his next
neighbour. The note came to Prestongrange, who gave me but the one
look; thence it voyaged to the hands of Mr. Erskine; thence again to
Argyle, where he sat between the other two lords of session, and his
Grace turned and fixed me with an arrogant eye. The last of those
interested in my presence was Charlie Stewart, and he too began to
pencil and hand about dispatches, none of which I was able to trace to
their destination in the crowd.

But the passage of these notes had aroused notice; all who were in the
secret (or supposed themselves to be so) were whispering information -
the rest questions; and the minister himself seemed quite
discountenanced by the flutter in the church and sudden stir and
whispering. His voice changed, he plainly faltered, nor did he again
recover the easy conviction and full tones of his delivery. It would
be a puzzle to him till his dying day, why a sermon that had gone with
triumph through four parts, should this miscarry in the fifth.

As for me, I continued to sit there, very wet and weary, and a good
deal anxious as to what should happen next, but greatly exulting in my
success.

CHAPTER XVII - THE MEMORIAL

THE last word of the blessing was scarce out of the minister's mouth
before Stewart had me by the arm. We were the first to be forth of the
church, and he made such extraordinary expedition that we were safe
within the four walls of a house before the street had begun to be
thronged with the home-going congregation.

"Am I yet in time?" I asked.

"Ay and no," said he. "The case is over; the jury is enclosed, and
will so kind as let us ken their view of it to-morrow in the morning,
the same as I could have told it my own self three days ago before the
play began. The thing has been public from the start. The panel kent
it, 'YE MAY DO WHAT YE WILL FOR ME,' whispers he two days ago. 'YE KEN
MY FATE BY WHAT THE DUKE OF ARGYLE HAS JUST SAID TO MR. MACINTOSH.'  O,
it's been a scandal!

"The great Agyle he gaed before,
He gart the cannons and guns to roar,"

and the very macer cried 'Cruachan!'  But now that I have got you again
I'll never despair. The oak shall go over the myrtle yet; we'll ding
the Campbells yet in their own town. Praise God that I should see the
day!"

He was leaping with excitement, emptied out his mails upon the floor
that I might have a change of clothes, and incommoded me with his
assistance as I changed. What remained to be done, or how I was to do
it, was what he never told me nor, I believe, so much as thought of.
"We'll ding the Campbells yet!" that was still his overcome. And it
was forced home upon my mind how this, that had the externals of a
sober process of law, was in its essence a clan battle between savage
clans. I thought my friend the Writer none of the least savage. Who
that had only seen him at a counsel's back before the Lord Ordinary or
following a golf ball and laying down his clubs on Bruntsfield links,
could have recognised for the same person this voluble and violent
clansman?

James Stewart's counsel were four in number - Sheriffs Brown of
Colstoun and Miller, Mr. Robert Macintosh, and Mr. Stewart younger of
Stewart Hall. These were covenanted to dine with the Writer after
sermon, and I was very obligingly included of the party. No sooner the
cloth lifted, and the first bowl very artfully compounded by Sheriff
Miller, than we fell to the subject in hand. I made a short narration
of my seizure and captivity, and was then examined and re-examined upon
the circumstances of the murder. It will be remembered this was the
first time I had had my say out, or the matter at all handled, among
lawyers; and the consequence was very dispiriting to the others and (I
must own) disappointing to myself.

"To sum up," said Colstoun, "you prove that Alan was on the spot; you
have heard him proffer menaces against Glenure; and though you assure
us he was not the man who fired, you leave a strong impression that he
was in league with him, and consenting, perhaps immediately assisting,
in the act. You show him besides, at the risk of his own liberty,
actively furthering the criminal's escape. And the rest of your
testimony (so far as the least material) depends on the bare word of
Alan or of James, the two accused. In short, you do not at all break,
but only lengthen by one personage, the chain that binds our client to
the murderer; and I need scarcely say that the introduction of a third
accomplice rather aggravates that appearance of a conspiracy which has
been our stumbling block from the beginning."

"I am of the same opinion," said Sheriff Miller. "I think we may all
be very much obliged to Prestongrange for taking a most uncomfortable
witness out of our way. And chiefly, I think, Mr. Balfour himself
might be obliged. For you talk of a third accomplice, but Mr. Balfour
(in my view) has very much the appearance of a fourth."

"Allow me, sirs!" interposed Stewart the Writer. "There is another
view. Here we have a witness - never fash whether material or not - a
witness in this cause, kidnapped by that old, lawless, bandit crew of
the Glengyle Macgregors, and sequestered for near upon a month in a
bourock of old ruins on the Bass. Move that and see what dirt you
fling on the proceedings! Sirs, this is a tale to make the world ring
with! It would be strange, with such a grip as this, if we couldnae
squeeze out a pardon for my client."

"And suppose we took up Mr. Balfour's cause to-morrow?" said Stewart
Hall. "I am much deceived or we should find so many impediments thrown
in our path, as that James should have been hanged before we had found
a court to hear us. This is a great scandal, but I suppose we have
none of us forgot a greater still, I mean the matter of the Lady
Grange. The woman was still in durance; my friend Mr. Hope of
Rankeillor did what was humanly possible; and how did he speed? He
never got a warrant! Well, it'll be the same now; the same weapons
will be used. This is a scene, gentleman, of clan animosity. The
hatred of the name which I have the honour to bear, rages in high
quarters. There is nothing here to be viewed but naked Campbell spite
and scurvy Campbell intrigue."

You may be sure this was to touch a welcome topic, and I sat for some
time in the midst of my learned counsel, almost deaved with their talk
but extremely little the wiser for its purport. The Writer was led
into some hot expressions; Colstoun must take him up and set him right;
the rest joined in on different sides, but all pretty noisy; the Duke
of Argyle was beaten like a blanket; King George came in for a few digs
in the by-going and a great deal of rather elaborate defence; and there
was only one person that seemed to be forgotten, and that was James of
the Glens.

Through all this Mr. Miller sat quiet. He was a slip of an oldish
gentleman, ruddy and twinkling; he spoke in a smooth rich voice, with
an infinite effect of pawkiness, dealing out each word the way an actor
does, to give the most expression possible; and even now, when he was
silent, and sat there with his wig laid aside, his glass in both hands,
his mouth funnily pursed, and his chin out, he seemed the mere picture
of a merry slyness. It was plain he had a word to say, and waited for
the fit occasion.

It came presently. Colstoun had wound up one of his speeches with some
expression of their duty to their client. His brother sheriff was
pleased, I suppose, with the transition. He took the table in his
confidence with a gesture and a look.

"That suggests to me a consideration which seems overlooked," said he.
"The interest of our client goes certainly before all, but the world
does not come to an end with James Stewart." Whereat he cocked his eye.
"I might condescend, EXEMPLI GRATIA, upon a Mr. George Brown, a Mr.
Thomas Miller, and a Mr. David Balfour. Mr. David Balfour has a very
good ground of complaint, and I think, gentlemen - if his story was
properly redd out - I think there would be a number of wigs on the
green."

The whole table turned to him with a common movement.

"Properly handled and carefully redd out, his is a story that could
scarcely fail to have some consequence," he continued. "The whole
administration of justice, from its highest officer downward, would be
totally discredited; and it looks to me as if they would need to be
replaced." He seemed to shine with cunning as he said it. "And I need
not point out to ye that this of Mr. Balfour's would be a remarkable
bonny cause to appear in," he added.

Well, there they all were started on another hare; Mr. Balfour's cause,
and what kind of speeches could be there delivered, and what officials
could be thus turned out, and who would succeed to their positions. I
shall give but the two specimens. It was proposed to approach Simon
Fraser, whose testimony, if it could be obtained, would prove certainly
fatal to Argyle and to Prestongrange. Miller highly approved of the
attempt. "We have here before us a dreeping roast," said he, "here is
cut-and-come-again for all."  And methought all licked their lips. The
other was already near the end. Stewart the Writer was out of the body
with delight, smelling vengeance on his chief enemy, the Duke.

"Gentlemen," cried he, charging his glass, "here is to Sheriff Miller.
His legal abilities are known to all. His culinary, this bowl in front
of us is here to speak for. But when it comes to the poleetical!" -
cries he, and drains the glass.

"Ay, but it will hardly prove politics in your meaning, my friend,"
said the gratified Miller. "A revolution, if you like, and I think I
can promise you that historical writers shall date from Mr. Balfour's
cause. But properly guided, Mr. Stewart, tenderly guided, it shall
prove a peaceful revolution."

"And if the damned Campbells get their ears rubbed, what care I?" cries
Stewart, smiting down his fist.

It will be thought I was not very well pleased with all this, though I
could scarce forbear smiling at a kind of innocency in these old
intriguers. But it was not my view to have undergone so many sorrows
for the advancement of Sheriff Miller or to make a revolution in the
Parliament House: and I interposed accordingly with as much simplicity
of manner as I could assume.

"I have to thank you, gentlemen, for your advice," said I. "And now I
would like, by your leave, to set you two or three questions. There is
one thing that has fallen rather on one aide, for instance: Will this
cause do any good to our friend James of the Glens?"

They seemed all a hair set back, and gave various answers, but
concurring practically in one point, that James had now no hope but in
the King's mercy.

"To proceed, then," said I, "will it do any good to Scotland? We have
a saying that it is an ill bird that fouls his own nest. I remember
hearing we had a riot in Edinburgh when I was an infant child, which
gave occasion to the late Queen to call this country barbarous; and I
always understood that we had rather lost than gained by that. Then
came the year 'Forty-five, which made Scotland to be talked of
everywhere; but I never heard it said we had anyway gained by the
'Forty-five. And now we come to this cause of Mr. Balfour's, as you
call it. Sheriff Miller tells us historical writers are to date from
it, and I would not wonder. It is only my fear they would date from it
as a period of calamity and public reproach."

The nimble-witted Miller had already smelt where I was travelling to,
and made haste to get on the same road. "Forcibly put, Mr. Balfour,"
says he. "A weighty observe, sir."

"We have next to ask ourselves if it will be good for King George," I
pursued. "Sheriff Miller appears pretty easy upon this; but I doubt
you will scarce be able to pull down the house from under him, without
his Majesty coming by a knock or two, one of which might easily prove
fatal."

I have them a chance to answer, but none volunteered.

"Of those for whom the case was to be profitable," I went on, "Sheriff
Miller gave us the names of several, among the which he was good enough
to mention mine.  I hope he will pardon me if I think otherwise. I
believe I hung not the least back in this affair while there was life
to be saved; but I own I thought myself extremely hazarded, and I own I
think it would be a pity for a young man, with some idea of coming to
the Bar, to ingrain upon himself the character of a turbulent, factious
fellow before he was yet twenty. As for James, it seems - at this date
of the proceedings, with the sentence as good as pronounced - he has no
hope but in the King's mercy. May not his Majesty, then, be more
pointedly addressed, the characters of these high officers sheltered
from the public, and myself kept out of a position which I think spells
ruin for me?"

They all sat and gazed into their glasses, and I could see they found
my attitude on the affair unpalatable. But Miller was ready at all
events.

"If I may be allowed to put my young friend's notion in more formal
shape," says he, "I understand him to propose that we should embody the
fact of his sequestration, and perhaps some heads of the testimony he
was prepared to offer, in a memorial to the Crown. This plan has
elements of success. It is as likely as any other (and perhaps
likelier) to help our client. Perhaps his Majesty would have the
goodness to feel a certain gratitude to all concerned in such a
memorial, which might be construed into an expression of a very
delicate loyalty; and I think, in the drafting of the same, this view
might be brought forward."

They all nodded to each other, not without sighs, for the former
alternative was doubtless more after their inclination.

"Paper, then, Mr. Stewart, if you please," pursued Miller; "and I think
it might very fittingly be signed by the five of us here present, as
procurators for the condemned man."'

"It can do none of us any harm, at least," says Colstoun, heaving
another sigh, for he had seen himself Lord Advocate the last ten
minutes.

Thereupon they set themselves, not very enthusiastically, to draft the
memorial - a process in the course of which they soon caught fire; and
I had no more ado but to sit looking on and answer an occasional
question. The paper was very well expressed; beginning with a
recitation of the facts about myself, the reward offered for my
apprehension, my surrender, the pressure brought to bear upon me; my
sequestration; and my arrival at Inverary in time to be too late; going
on to explain the reasons of loyalty and public interest for which it
was agreed to waive any right of action; and winding up with a forcible
appeal to the King's mercy on behalf of James.

Methought I was a good deal sacrificed, and rather represented in the
light of a firebrand of a fellow whom my cloud of lawyers had
restrained with difficulty from extremes. But I let it pass, and made
but the one suggestion, that I should be described as ready to deliver
my own evidence and adduce that of others before any commission of
inquiry - and the one demand, that I should be immediately furnished
with a copy.

Colstoun hummed and hawed. "This is a very confidential document,"
said he.

"And my position towards Prestongrange is highly peculiar," I replied.
"No question but I must have touched his heart at our first interview,
so that he has since stood my friend consistently. But for him,
gentlemen, I must now be lying dead or awaiting my sentence alongside
poor James. For which reason I choose to communicate to him the fact
of this memorial as soon as it is copied. You are to consider also
that this step will make for my protection. I have enemies here
accustomed to drive hard; his Grace is in his own country, Lovat by his
side; and if there should hang any ambiguity over our proceedings I
think I might very well awake in gaol."

Not finding any very ready answer to these considerations, my company
of advisers were at the last persuaded to consent, and made only this
condition that I was to lay the paper before Prestongrange with the
express compliments of all concerned.

The Advocate was at the castle dining with his Grace. By the hand of
one of Colstoun's servants I sent him a billet asking for an interview,
and received a summons to meet him at once in a private house of the
town. Here I found him alone in a chamber; from his face there was
nothing to be gleaned; yet I was not so unobservant but what I spied
some halberts in the hall, and not so stupid but what I could gather he
was prepared to arrest me there and then, should it appear advisable.

"So, Mr. David, this is you?" said he.

"Where I fear I am not overly welcome, my lord," said I. "And I would
like before I go further to express my sense of your lordship's good
offices, even should they now cease."

"I have heard of your gratitude before," he replied drily, "and I think
this can scarce be the matter you called me from my wine to listen to.
I would remember also, if I were you, that you still stand on a very
boggy foundation."

"Not now, my lord, I think," said I; "and if your lordship will but
glance an eye along this, you will perhaps think as I do."

He read it sedulously through, frowning heavily; then turned back to
one part and another which he seemed to weigh and compare the effect
of. His face a little lightened.

"This is not so bad but what it might be worse," said he; "though I am
still likely to pay dear for my acquaintance with Mr. David Balfour."

"Rather for your indulgence to that unlucky young man, my lord," said
I.

He still skimmed the paper, and all the while his spirits seemed to
mend.

"And to whom am I indebted for this?" he asked presently. "Other
counsels must have been discussed, I think. Who was it proposed this
private method? Was it Miller?"

"My lord, it was myself," said I. "These gentlemen have shown me no
such consideration, as that I should deny myself any credit I can
fairly claim, or spare them any responsibility they should properly
bear. And the mere truth is, that they were all in favour of a process
which should have remarkable consequences in the Parliament House, and
prove for them (in one of their own expressions) a dripping roast.
Before I intervened, I think they were on the point of sharing out the
different law appointments. Our friend Mr. Simon was to be taken in
upon some composition."

Prestongrange smiled. "These are our friends," said he. "And what
were your reasons for dissenting, Mr. David?"

I told them without concealment, expressing, however, with more force
and volume those which regarded Prestongrange himself.

"You do me no more than justice," said he. "I have fought as hard in
your interest as you have fought against mine. And how came you here
to-day?" he asked. "As the case drew out, I began to grow uneasy that
I had clipped the period so fine, and I was even expecting you to-
morrow. But to-day - I never dreamed of it."

I was not of course, going to betray Andie.

"I suspect there is some very weary cattle by the road," said I

"If I had known you were such a mosstrooper you should have tasted
longer of the Bass," says he.

"Speaking of which, my lord, I return your letter."  And I gave him the
enclosure in the counterfeit hand.

"There was the cover also with the seal," said he.

"I have it not," said I. "It bore not even an address, and could not
compromise a cat. The second enclosure I have, and with your
permission, I desire to keep it."

I thought he winced a little, but he said nothing to the point. "To-
morrow," he resumed, "our business here is to be finished, and I
proceed by Glasgow. I would be very glad to have you of my party, Mr
David."

"My lord . . ." I began.

"I do not deny it will be of service to me," he interrupted. "I desire
even that, when we shall come to Edinburgh, you should alight at my
house. You have very warm friends in the Miss Grants, who will be
overjoyed to have you to themselves. If you think I have been of use
to you, you can thus easily repay me, and so far from losing, may reap
some advantage by the way. It is not every strange young man who is
presented in society by the King's Advocate."

Often enough already (in our brief relations) this gentleman had caused
my head to spin; no doubt but what for a moment he did so again now.
Here was the old fiction still maintained of my particular favour with
his daughters, one of whom had been so good as to laugh at me, while
the other two had scarce deigned to remark the fact of my existence.
And now I was to ride with my lord to Glasgow; I was to dwell with him
in Edinburgh; I was to be brought into society under his protection!
That he should have so much good-nature as to forgive me was surprising
enough; that he could wish to take me up and serve me seemed
impossible; and I began to seek some ulterior meaning. One was plain.
If I became his guest, repentance was excluded; I could never think
better of my present design and bring any action. And besides, would
not my presence in his house draw out the whole pungency of the
memorial? For that complaint could not be very seriously regarded, if
the person chiefly injured was the guest of the official most
incriminated. As I thought upon this I could not quite refrain from
smiling.

"This is in the nature of a countercheck to the memorial?" said I.

"You are cunning, Mr. David," said he, "and you do not wholly guess
wrong the fact will be of use to me in my defence. Perhaps, however,
you underrate friendly sentiments, which are perfectly genuine. I have
a respect for you, David, mingled with awe," says he, smiling.

"I am more than willing, I am earnestly desirous to meet your wishes,"
said I. "It is my design to be called to the Bar, where your
lordship's countenance would be invaluable; and I am besides sincerely
grateful to yourself and family for different marks of interest and of
indulgence. The difficulty is here. There is one point in which we
pull two ways. You are trying to hang James Stewart, I am trying to
save him. In so far as my riding with you would better your lordship's
defence, I am at your lordships orders; but in so far as it would help
to hang James Stewart, you see me at a stick."

I thought he swore to himself. "You should certainly be called; the
Bar is the true scene for your talents," says he, bitterly, and then
fell a while silent. "I will tell you," he presently resumed, "there
is no question of James Stewart, for or against, James is a dead man;
his life is given and taken - bought (if you like it better) and sold;
no memorial can help - no defalcation of a faithful Mr. David hurt him.
Blow high, blow low, there will be no pardon for James Stewart: and
take that for said! The question is now of myself: am I to stand or
fall? and I do not deny to you that I am in some danger. But will Mr.
David Balfour consider why? It is not because I pushed the case unduly
against James; for that, I am sure of condonation. And it is not
because I have sequestered Mr. David on a rock, though it will pass
under that colour; but because I did not take the ready and plain path,
to which I was pressed repeatedly, and send Mr. David to his grave or
to the gallows. Hence the scandal - hence this damned memorial,"
striking the paper on his leg. "My tenderness for you has brought me
in this difficulty. I wish to know if your tenderness to your own
conscience is too great to let you help me out of it."

No doubt but there was much of the truth in what he said; if James was
past helping, whom was it more natural that I should turn to help than
just the man before me, who had helped myself so often, and was even
now setting me a pattern of patience? I was besides not only weary,
but beginning to be ashamed, of my perpetual attitude of suspicion and
refusal

"If you will name the time and place, I will be punctually ready to
attend your lordship," said I.

He shook hands with me. "And I think my misses have some news for
you," says he, dismissing me.

I came away, vastly pleased to have my peace made, yet a little
concerned in conscience; nor could I help wondering, as I went back,
whether, perhaps, I had not been a scruple too good-natured. But there
was the fact, that this was a man that might have been my father, an
able man, a great dignitary, and one that, in the hour of my need, had
reached a hand to my assistance. I was in the better humour to enjoy
the remainder of that evening, which I passed with the advocates, in
excellent company no doubt, but perhaps with rather more than a
sufficiency of punch: for though I went early to bed I have no clear
mind of how I got there.

CHAPTER XVIII - THE TEE'D BALL

ON the morrow, from the justices' private room, where none could see
me, I heard the verdict given in and judgment rendered upon James. The
Duke's words I am quite sure I have correctly; and since that famous
passage has been made a subject of dispute, I may as well commemorate
my version. Having referred to the year '45, the chief of the
Campbells, sitting as Justice-General upon the bench, thus addressed
the unfortunate Stewart before him: "If you had been successful in
that rebellion, you might have been giving the law where you have now
received the judgment of it; we, who are this day your judges, might
have been tried before one of your mock courts of judicature; and then
you might have been satiated with the blood of any name or clan to
which you had an aversion."

"This is to let the cat out of the bag, indeed," thought I. And that
was the general impression. It was extraordinary how the young
advocate lads took hold and made a mock of this speech, and how scarce
a meal passed but what someone would get in the words: "And then you
might have been satiated."  Many songs were made in time for the hour's
diversion, and are near all forgot. I remember one began:

"What do ye want the bluid of, bluid of?
Is it a name, or is it a clan,
Or is it an aefauld Hielandman,
That ye want the bluid of, bluid of?"

Another went to my old favourite air, THE HOUSE OF AIRLIE, and began
thus:

"It fell on a day when Argyle was on the bench,
That they served him a Stewart for his denner."

And one of the verses ran:

"Then up and spak' the Duke, and flyted on his cook,
I regard it as a sensible aspersion,
That I would sup ava', an' satiate my maw,
With the bluid of ony clan of my aversion."

James was as fairly murdered as though the Duke had got a fowling-piece
and stalked him. So much of course I knew: but others knew not so
much, and were more affected by the items of scandal that came to light
in the progress of the cause. One of the chief was certainly this
sally of the justice's. It was run hard by another of a juryman, who
had struck into the midst of Coulston's speech for the defence with a
"Pray, sir, cut it short, we are quite weary," which seemed the very
excess of impudence and simplicity. But some of my new lawyer friends
were still more staggered with an innovation that had disgraced and
even vitiated the proceedings. One witness was never called. His
name, indeed, was printed, where it may still be seen on the fourth
page of the list: "James Drummond, ALIAS Macgregor, ALIAS James More,
late tenant in Inveronachile"; and his precognition had been taken, as
the manner is, in writing. He had remembered or invented (God help
him) matter which was lead in James Stewart's shoes, and I saw was like
to prove wings to his own. This testimony it was highly desirable to
bring to the notice of the jury, without exposing the man himself to
the perils of cross-examination; and the way it was brought about was a
matter of surprise to all. For the paper was handed round (like a
curiosity) in court; passed through the jury-box, where it did its
work; and disappeared again (as though by accident) before it reached
the counsel for the prisoner. This was counted a most insidious
device; and that the name of James More should be mingled up with it
filled me with shame for Catriona and concern for myself.

The following day, Prestongrange and I, with a considerable company,
set out for Glasgow, where (to my impatience) we continued to linger
some time in a mixture of pleasure and affairs. I lodged with my lord,
with whom I was encouraged to familiarity; had my place at
entertainments; was presented to the chief guests; and altogether made
more of than I thought accorded either with my parts or station; so
that, on strangers being present, I would often blush for
Prestongrange. It must be owned the view I had taken of the world in
these last months was fit to cast a gloom upon my character. I had met
many men, some of them leaders in Israel whether by their birth or
talents; and who among them all had shown clean hands? As for the
Browns and Millers, I had seen their self-seeking, I could never again
respect them. Prestongrange was the best yet; he had saved me, spared
me rather, when others had it in their minds to murder me outright; but
the blood of James lay at his door; and I thought his present
dissimulation with myself a thing below pardon. That he should affect
to find pleasure in my discourse almost surprised me out of my
patience. I would sit and watch him with a kind of a slow fire of
anger in my bowels. "Ah, friend, friend," I would think to myself, "if
you were but through with this affair of the memorial, would you not
kick me in the streets?"  Here I did him, as events have proved, the
most grave injustice; and I think he was at once far more sincere, and
a far more artful performer, than I supposed.

But I had some warrant for my incredulity in the behaviour of that
court of young advocates that hung about in the hope of patronage. The
sudden favour of a lad not previously heard of troubled them at first
out of measure; but two days were not gone by before I found myself
surrounded with flattery and attention. I was the same young man, and
neither better nor bonnier, that they had rejected a month before; and
now there was no civility too fine for me! The same, do I say? It was
not so; and the by-name by which I went behind my back confirmed it.
Seeing me so firm with the Advocate, and persuaded that I was to fly
high and far, they had taken a word from the golfing green, and called
me THE TEE'D BALL. I was told I was now "one of themselves"; I was to
taste of their soft lining, who had already made my own experience of
the roughness of the outer husk; and one, to whom I had been presented
in Hope Park, was so aspired as even to remind me of that meeting. I
told him I had not the pleasure of remembering it.

"Why" says he, "it was Miss Grant herself presented me! My name is so-
and-so."

"It may very well be, sir," said I; "but I have kept no mind of it."

At which he desisted; and in the midst of the disgust that commonly
overflowed my spirits I had a glisk of pleasure.

But I have not patience to dwell upon that time at length. When I was
in company with these young politics I was borne down with shame for
myself and my own plain ways, and scorn for them and their duplicity.
Of the two evils, I thought Prestongrange to be the least; and while I
was always as stiff as buckram to the young bloods, I made rather a
dissimulation of my hard feelings towards the Advocate, and was (in old
Mr. Campbell's word) "soople to the laird."  Himself commented on the
difference, and bid me be more of my age, and make friends with my
young comrades.

I told him I was slow of making friends.

"I will take the word back," said he. "But there is such a thing as
FAIR GUDE S'EN AND FAIR GUDE DAY, Mr. David. These are the same young
men with whom you are to pass your days and get through life: your
backwardness has a look of arrogance; and unless you can assume a
little more lightness of manner, I fear you will meet difficulties in
the path."

"It will be an ill job to make a silk purse of a sow's ear," said I.

On the morning of October 1st I was awakened by the clattering in of an
express; and getting to my window almost before he had dismounted, I
saw the messenger had ridden hard. Somewhile after I was called to
Prestongrange, where he was sitting in his bedgown and nightcap, with
his letters round him.

"Mr. David," add he, "I have a piece of news for you. It concerns some
friends of yours, of whom I sometimes think you are a little ashamed,
for you have never referred to their existence."

I suppose I blushed.

"See you understand, since you make the answering signal," said he.
"And I must compliment you on your excellent taste in beauty. But do
you know, Mr. David? this seems to me a very enterprising lass. She
crops up from every side. The Government of Scotland appears unable to
proceed for Mistress Katrine Drummond, which was somewhat the case (no
great while back) with a certain Mr. David Balfour. Should not these
make a good match? Her first intromission in politics - but I must not
tell you that story, the authorities have decided you are to hear it
otherwise and from a livelier narrator. This new example is more
serious, however; and I am afraid I must alarm you with the
intelligence that she is now in prison."

I cried out.

"Yes," said he, "the little lady is in prison. But I would not have
you to despair. Unless you (with your friends and memorials) shall
procure my downfall, she is to suffer nothing."

"But what has she done? What is her offence?" I cried.

"It might be almost construed a high treason," he returned, "for she
has broke the king's Castle of Edinburgh."

"The lady is much my friend," I said. "I know you would not mock me if
the thing were serious."

"And yet it is serious in a sense," said he; "for this rogue of a
Katrine - or Cateran, as we may call her - has set adrift again upon
the world that very doubtful character, her papa."

Here was one of my previsions justified: James More was once again at
liberty. He had lent his men to keep me a prisoner; he had volunteered
his testimony in the Appin case, and the same (no matter by what
subterfuge) had been employed to influence the jury. Now came his
reward, and he was free. It might please the authorities to give to it
the colour of an escape; but I knew better - I knew it must be the
fulfilment of a bargain. The same course of thought relieved me of the
least alarm for Catriona. She might be thought to have broke prison
for her father; she might have believed so herself. But the chief hand
in the whole business was that of Prestongrange; and I was sure, so far
from letting her come to punishment, he would not suffer her to be even
tried. Whereupon thus came out of me the not very politic ejaculation:

"Ah! I was expecting that!"

"You have at times a great deal of discretion, too!" says
Prestongrange.

"And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?" I asked.

"I was just marvelling", he replied, "that being so clever as to draw
these inferences, you should not be clever enough to keep them to
yourself. But I think you would like to hear the details of the
affair. I have received two versions: and the least official is the
more full and far the more entertaining, being from the lively pen of
my eldest daughter. 'Here is all the town bizzing with a fine piece of
work,' she writes, 'and what would make the thing more noted (if it
were only known) the malefactor is a PROTEGEE of his lordship my papa.
I am sure your heart is too much in your duty (if it were nothing else)
to have forgotten Grey Eyes. What does she do, but get a broad hat
with the flaps open, a long hairy-like man's greatcoat, and a big
gravatt; kilt her coats up to GUDE KENS WHAUR, clap two pair of boot-
hose upon her legs, take a pair of CLOUTED BROGUES in her hand, and off
to the Castle! Here she gives herself out to be a soutar in the employ
of James More, and gets admitted to his cell, the lieutenant (who seems
to have been full of pleasantry) making sport among his soldiers of the
soutar's greatcoat. Presently they hear disputation and the sound of
blows inside. Out flies the cobbler, his coat flying, the flaps of his
hat beat about his face, and the lieutenant and his soldiers mock at
him as he runs off. They laughed no so hearty the next time they had
occasion to visit the cell and found nobody but a tall, pretty, grey-
eyed lass in the female habit! As for the cobbler, he was 'over the
hills ayout Dumblane,' and it's thought that poor Scotland will have to
console herself without him. I drank Catriona's health this night in
public.

Indeed, the whole town admires her; and I think the beaux would wear
bits of her garters in their button-holes if they could only get them.
I would have gone to visit her in prison too, only I remembered in time
I was papa's daughter; so I wrote her a billet instead, which I
entrusted to the faithful Doig, and I hope you will admit I can be
political when I please. The same faithful gomeral is to despatch this
letter by the express along with those of the wiseacres, so that you
may hear Tom Fool in company with Solomon. Talking of GOMERALS, do
tell DAUVIT BALFOUR. I would I could see the face of him at the
thought of a long-legged lass in such a predicament; to say nothing of
the levities of your affectionate daughter, and his respectful friend.'  
So my rascal signs herself!" continued Prestongrange. "And you see,
Mr. David, it is quite true what I tell you, that my daughters regard
you with the most affectionate playfulness."

"The gomeral is much obliged," said I.

"And was not this prettily done!" he went on. "Is not this Highland
maid a piece of a heroine?"

"I was always sure she had a great heart," said I. "And I wager she
guessed nothing . . . But I beg your pardon, this is to tread upon
forbidden subjects."

"I will go bail she did not," he returned, quite openly. "I will go
bail she thought she was flying straight into King George's face."

Remembrance of Catriona and the thought of her lying in captivity,
moved me strangely. I could see that even Prestongrange admired, and
could not withhold his lips from smiling when he considered her
behaviour. As for Miss Grant, for all her ill habit of mockery, her
admiration shone out plain. A kind of a heat came on me.

"I am not your lordship's daughter. . . " I began.

"That I know of!" he put in, smiling.

"I speak like a fool," said I; "or rather I began wrong. It would
doubtless be unwise in Mistress Grant to go to her in prison; but for
me, I think I would look like a half-hearted friend if I did not fly
there instantly."

"So-ho, Mr. David," says he; "I thought that you and I were in a
bargain?"

"My lord," I said, "when I made that bargain I was a good deal affected
by your goodness, but I'll never can deny that I was moved besides by
my own interest. There was self-seeking in my heart, and I think shame
of it now. It may be for your lordship's safety to say this fashious
Davie Balfour is your friend and housemate. Say it then; I'll never
contradict you. But as for your patronage, I give it all back. I ask
but the one thing - let me go, and give me a pass to see her in her
prison."

He looked at me with a hard eye. "You put the cart before the horse, I
think," says he. "That which I had given was a portion of my liking,
which your thankless nature does not seem to have remarked. But for my
patronage, it is not given, nor (to be exact) is it yet offered."  He
paused a bit. "And I warn you, you do not know yourself," he added.
"Youth is a hasty season; you will think better of all this before a
year."

"Well, and I would like to be that kind of youth!" I cried. "I have
seen too much of the other party in these young advocates that fawn
upon your lordship and are even at the pains to fawn on me. And I have
seen it in the old ones also. They are all for by-ends, the whole clan
of them! It's this that makes me seem to misdoubt your lordship's
liking. Why would I think that you would like me? But ye told me
yourself ye had an interest!"

I stopped at this, confounded that I had run so far; he was observing
me with an unfathomable face.

"My lord, I ask your pardon," I resumed. "I have nothing in my chafts
but a rough country tongue. I think it would be only decent-like if I
would go to see my friend in her captivity; but I'm owing you my life -
I'll never forget that; and if it's for your lordship's good, here I'll
stay. That's barely gratitude."

"This might have been reached in fewer words," says Prestongrange
grimly. "It is easy, and it is at times gracious, to say a plain Scots
'ay'."

"Ah, but, my lord, I think ye take me not yet entirely!" cried I. "For
YOUR sake, for my life-safe, and the kindness that ye say ye bear to me
- for these, I'll consent; but not for any good that might be coming to
myself. If I stand aside when this young maid is in her trial, it's a
thing I will be noways advantaged by; I will lose by it, I will never
gain. I would rather make a shipwreck wholly than to build on that
foundation."

He was a minute serious, then smiled. "You mind me of the man with the
long nose," said he; "was you to see the moon by a telescope you would
see David Balfour there! But you shall have your way of it. I will
ask at you one service, and then set you free: My clerks are
overdriven; be so good as copy me these few pages, and when that is
done, I shall bid you God speed! I would never charge myself with Mr.
David's conscience; and if you could cast some part of it (as you went
by) in a moss hag, you would find yourself to ride much easier without
it."

"Perhaps not just entirely in the same direction though, my lord!" says
I.

"And you shall have the last word, too!" cries he gaily.

Indeed, he had some cause for gaiety, having now found the means to
gain his purpose. To lessen the weight of the memorial, or to have a
readier answer at his hand, he desired I should appear publicly in the
character of his intimate. But if I were to appear with the same
publicity as a visitor to Catriona in her prison the world would scarce
stint to draw conclusions, and the true nature of James More's escape
must become evident to all. This was the little problem I had to set
him of a sudden, and to which he had so briskly found an answer. I was
to be tethered in Glasgow by that job of copying, which in mere outward
decency I could not well refuse; and during these hours of employment
Catriona was privately got rid of. I think shame to write of this man
that loaded me with so many goodnesses. He was kind to me as any
father, yet I ever thought him as false as a cracked bell.

CHAPTER XIX - I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES

THE copying was a weary business, the more so as I perceived very early
there was no sort of urgency in the matters treated, and began very
early to consider my employment a pretext. I had no sooner finished
than I got to horse, used what remained of daylight to the best
purpose, and being at last fairly benighted, slept in a house by
Almond-Water side. I was in the saddle again before the day, and the
Edinburgh booths were just opening when I clattered in by the West Bow
and drew up a smoking horse at my lord Advocate's door. I had a
written word for Doig, my lord's private hand that was thought to be in
all his secrets - a worthy little plain man, all fat and snuff and
self-sufficiency. Him I found already at his desk and already
bedabbled with maccabaw, in the same anteroom where I rencountered with
James More. He read the note scrupulously through like a chapter in
his Bible.

"H'm," says he; "ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. Balfour. The
bird's flaen - we hae letten her out."

"Miss Drummond is set free?" I cried.

"Achy!" said he. "What would we keep her for, ye ken? To hae made a
steer about the bairn would has pleased naebody."

"And where'll she be now?" says I.

"Gude kens!" says Doig, with a shrug.

"She'll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I'm thinking," said I.

"That'll be it," said he.

"Then I'll gang there straight," says I.

"But ye'll be for a bite or ye go?" said he.

"Neither bite nor sup," said I. "I had a good wauch of milk in by
Ratho."

"Aweel, aweel," says Doig. "But ye'll can leave your horse here and
your bags, for it seems we're to have your up-put."

"Na, na", said I. "Tamson's mear would never be the thing for me this
day of all days."

Doig speaking somewhat broad, I had been led by imitation into an
accent much more countrified than I was usually careful to affect a
good deal broader, indeed, than I have written it down; and I was the
more ashamed when another voice joined in behind me with a scrap of a
ballad:

"Gae saddle me the bonny black,
Gae saddle sune and mak' him ready
For I will down the Gatehope-slack,
And a' to see my bonny leddy."

The young lady, when I turned to her, stood in a morning gown, and her
hands muffled in the same, as if to hold me at a distance. Yet I could
not but think there was kindness in the eye with which she saw me.

"My best respects to you, Mistress Grant," said I, bowing.

"The like to yourself, Mr. David," she replied with a deep courtesy.
"And I beg to remind you of an old musty saw, that meat and mass never
hindered man. The mass I cannot afford you, for we are all good
Protestants. But the meat I press on your attention. And I would not
wonder but I could find something for your private ear that would be
worth the stopping for."

"Mistress Grant," said I, "I believe I am already your debtor for some
merry words - and I think they were kind too - on a piece of unsigned
paper."

"Unsigned paper?" says she, and made a droll face, which was likewise
wondrous beautiful, as of one trying to remember.

"Or else I am the more deceived," I went on. "But to be sure, we shall
have the time to speak of these, since your father is so good as to
make me for a while your inmate; and the GOMERAL begs you at this time
only for the favour of his liberty,"

"You give yourself hard names," said she.

"Mr. Doig and I would be blythe to take harder at your clever pen,"
says I.

"Once more I have to admire the discretion of all men-folk," she
replied. "But if you will not eat, off with you at once; you will be
back the sooner, for you go on a fool's errand. Off with you, Mr.
David," she continued, opening the door.

"He has lowpen on his bonny grey,
He rade the richt gate and the ready
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny leddy."

I did not wait to be twice bidden, and did justice to Miss Grant's
citation on the way to Dean.

Old Lady Allardyce walked there alone in the garden, in her hat and
mutch, and having a silver-mounted staff of some black wood to lean
upon. As I alighted from my horse, and drew near to her with CONGEES,
I could see the blood come in her face, and her head fling into the air
like what I had conceived of empresses.

"What brings you to my poor door?" she cried, speaking high through her
nose. "I cannot bar it. The males of my house are dead and buried; I
have neither son nor husband to stand in the gate for me; any beggar
can pluck me by the baird - and a baird there is, and that's the worst
of it yet?" she added partly to herself.

I was extremely put out at this reception, and the last remark, which
seemed like a daft wife's, left me near hand speechless.

"I see I have fallen under your displeasure, ma'am," said I. "Yet I
will still be so bold as ask after Mistress Drummond."

She considered me with a burning eye, her lips pressed close together
into twenty creases, her hand shaking on her staff. "This cows all!"
she cried. "Ye come to me to speir for her? Would God I knew!"

"She is not here?" I cried.

She threw up her chin and made a step and a cry at me, so that I fell
back incontinent.

"Out upon your leeing throat!" she cried. "What! ye come and speir at
me! She's in jyle, whaur ye took her to - that's all there is to it.
And of a' the beings ever I beheld in breeks, to think it should be to
you! Ye timmer scoun'rel, if I had a male left to my name I would have
your jaicket dustit till ye raired."

I thought it not good to delay longer in that place, because I remarked
her passion to be rising. As I turned to the horse-post she even
followed me; and I make no shame to confess that I rode away with the
one stirrup on and scrambling for the other.

As I knew no other quarter where I could push my inquiries, there was
nothing left me but to return to the Advocate's. I was well received
by the four ladies, who were now in company together, and must give the
news of Prestongrange and what word went in the west country, at the
most inordinate length and with great weariness to myself; while all
the time that young lady, with whom I so much desired to be alone
again, observed me quizzically and seemed to find pleasure in the sight
of my impatience. At last, after I had endured a meal with them, and
was come very near the point of appealing for an interview before her
aunt, she went and stood by the music-case, and picking out a tune,
sang to it on a high key - "He that will not when he may, When he will
he shall have nay."  But this was the end of her rigours, and
presently, after making some excuse of which I have no mind, she
carried me away in private to her father's library. I should not fail
to say she was dressed to the nines, and appeared extraordinary
handsome.

"Now, Mr. David, sit ye down here and let us have a two-handed crack,"
said she. "For I have much to tell you, and it appears besides that I
have been grossly unjust to your good taste."

"In what manner, Mistress Grant?" I asked. "I trust I have never
seemed to fail in due respect."

"I will be your surety, Mr, David," said she. "Your respect, whether
to yourself or your poor neighbours, has been always and most
fortunately beyond imitation. But that is by the question. You got a
note from me?" she asked.

"I was so bold as to suppose so upon inference," said I, "and it was
kindly thought upon."

"It must have prodigiously surprised you," said she. "But let us begin
with the beginning. You have not perhaps forgot a day when you were so
kind as to escort three very tedious misses to Hope Park? I have the
less cause to forget it myself, because you was so particular obliging
as to introduce me to some of the principles of the Latin grammar, a
thing which wrote itself profoundly on my gratitude."

"I fear I was sadly pedantical," said I, overcome with confusion at the
memory. "You are only to consider I am quite unused with the society
of ladies."

"I will say the less about the grammar then," she replied. "But how
came you to desert your charge? 'He has thrown her out, overboard, his
ain dear Annie!'" she hummed; "and his ain dear Annie and her two
sisters had to taigle home by theirselves like a string of green geese!
It seems you returned to my papa's, where you showed yourself
excessively martial, and then on to realms unknown, with an eye (it
appears) to the Bass Rock; solan geese being perhaps more to your mind
than bonny lasses."

Through all this raillery there was something indulgent in the lady's
eye which made me suppose there might be better coming.

"You take a pleasure to torment me," said I, "and I make a very
feckless plaything; but let me ask you to be more merciful. At this
time there is but the one thing that I care to hear of, and that will
be news of Catriona."

"Do you call her by that name to her face, Mr. Balfour?" she asked.

"In troth, and I am not very sure," I stammered.

"I would not do so in any case to strangers," said Miss Grant. "And
why are you so much immersed in the affairs of this young lady?"

"I heard she was in prison," said I.

"Well, and now you hear that she is out of it," she replied, "and what
more would you have? She has no need of any further champion."

"I may have the greater need of her, ma'am," said I.

"Come, this is better!" says Miss Grant. "But look me fairly in the
face; am I not bonnier than she?"

"I would be the last to be denying it," said I. "There is not your
marrow in all Scotland."

"Well, here you have the pick of the two at your hand, and must needs
speak of the other," said she. "This is never the way to please the
ladies, Mr. Balfour."

"But, mistress," said I, "there are surely other things besides mere
beauty."

"By which I am to understand that I am no better than I should be,
perhaps?" she asked.

"By which you will please understand that I am like the cock in the
midden in the fable book," said I. "I see the braw jewel - and I like
fine to see it too - but I have more need of the pickle corn."

"Bravissimo!" she cried. "There is a word well said at last, and I
will reward you for it with my story. That same night of your
desertion I came late from a friend's house - where I was excessively
admired, whatever you may think of it - and what should I hear but that
a lass in a tartan screen desired to speak with me? She had been there
an hour or better, said the servant-lass, and she grat in to herself as
she sat waiting. I went to her direct; she rose as I came in, and I
knew her at a look. 'GREY EYES!' says I to myself, but was more wise
than to let on. YOU WILL BE MISS GRANT AT LAST? she says, rising and
looking at me hard and pitiful. AY, IT WAS TRUE HE SAID, YOU ARE BONNY
AT ALL EVENTS. - THE WAY GOD MADE ME, MY DEAR, I said, BUT I WOULD BE
GEY AND OBLIGED IF YOU COULD TELL ME WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE AT SUCH A
TIME OF THE NIGHT. - LADY, she said, WE ARE KINSFOLK, WE ARE BOTH COME
OF THE BLOOD OF THE SONS OF ALPIN. - MY DEAR, I replied, I THINK NO
MORE OF ALPIN OR HIS SONS THAN WHAT I DO OF A KALESTOCK. YOU HAVE A
BETTER ARGUMENT IN THESE TEARS UPON YOUR BONNY FACE. And at that I was
so weak-minded as to kiss her, which is what you would like to do
dearly, and I wager will never find the courage of. I say it was weak-
minded of me, for I knew no more of her than the outside; but it was
the wisest stroke I could have hit upon. She is a very staunch, brave
nature, but I think she has been little used with tenderness; and at
that caress (though to say the truth, it was but lightly given) her
heart went out to me. I will never betray the secrets of my sex, Mr.
Davie; I will never tell you the way she turned me round her thumb,
because it is the same she will use to twist yourself. Ay, it is a
fine lass! She is as clean as hill well water."

"She is e'en't!" I cried.

"Well, then, she told me her concerns," pursued Miss Grant, "and in
what a swither she was in about her papa, and what a taking about
yourself, with very little cause, and in what a perplexity she had
found herself after you was gone away. AND THEN I MINDED AT LONG LAST,
says she, THAT WE WERE KINSWOMEN, AND THAT MR. DAVID SHOULD HAVE GIVEN
YOU THE NAME OF THE BONNIEST OF THE BONNY, AND I WAS THINKING TO MYSELF
'IF SHE IS SO BONNY SHE WILL BE GOOD AT ALL EVENTS'; AND I TOOK UP MY
FOOT SOLES OUT OF THAT. That was when I forgave yourself, Mr. Davie.
When you was in my society, you seemed upon hot iron: by all marks, if
ever I saw a young man that wanted to be gone, it was yourself, and I
and my two sisters were the ladies you were so desirous to be gone
from; and now it appeared you had given me some notice in the by-going,
and was so kind as to comment on my attractions! From that hour you
may date our friendship, and I began to think with tenderness upon the
Latin grammar."

"You will have many hours to rally me in," said I; "and I think besides
you do yourself injustice. I think it was Catriona turned your heart
in my direction. She is too simple to perceive as you do the stiffness
of her friend."

"I would not like to wager upon that, Mr. David," said she. "The
lasses have clear eyes. But at least she is your friend entirely, as I
was to see. I carried her in to his lordship my papa; and his Advocacy
being in a favourable stage of claret, was so good as to receive the
pair of us. HERE IS GREY EYES THAT YOU HAVE BEEN DEAVED WITH THESE
DAYS PAST, said I, SHE IS COME TO PROVE THAT WE SPOKE TRUE, AND I LAY
THE PRETTIEST LASS IN THE THREE LOTHIANS AT YOUR FEET - making a
papistical reservation of myself. She suited her action to my words:
down she went upon her knees to him - I would not like to swear but he
saw two of her, which doubtless made her appeal the more irresistible,
for you are all a pack of Mahomedans - told him what had passed that
night, and how she had withheld her father's man from following of you,
and what a case she was in about her father, and what a flutter for
yourself; and begged with weeping for the lives of both of you (neither
of which was in the slightest danger), till I vow I was proud of my sex
because it was done so pretty, and ashamed for it because of the
smallness of the occasion. She had not gone far, I assure you, before
the Advocate was wholly sober, to see his inmost politics ravelled out
by a young lass and discovered to the most unruly of his daughters.
But we took him in hand, the pair of us, and brought that matter
straight. Properly managed - and that means managed by me - there is
no one to compare with my papa."

"He has been a good man to me," said I.

"Well, he was a good man to Katrine, and I was there to see to it,"
said she.

"And she pled for me?" say I.

"She did that, and very movingly," said Miss Grant. "I would not like
to tell you what she said - I find you vain enough already."

"God reward her for it!" cried I.

"With Mr. David Balfour, I suppose?" says she.

"You do me too much injustice at the last!" I cried. "I would tremble
to think of her in such hard hands. Do you think I would presume,
because she begged my life? She would do that for a new whelped puppy!
I have had more than that to set me up, if you but ken'd. She kissed
that hand of mine. Ay, but she did. And why? because she thought I
was playing a brave part and might be going to my death. It was not
for my sake - but I need not be telling that to you, that cannot look
at me without laughter. It was for the love of what she thought was
bravery. I believe there is none but me and poor Prince Charlie had
that honour done them. Was this not to make a god of me? and do you
not think my heart would quake when I remember it?"

"I do laugh at you a good deal, and a good deal more than is quite
civil," said she; "but I will tell you one thing: if you speak to her
like that, you have some glimmerings of a chance."

"Me?" I cried, "I would never dare. I can speak to you, Miss Grant,
because it's a matter of indifference what ye think of me. But her? no
fear!" said I.

"I think you have the largest feet in all broad Scotland," says she.

"Troth they are no very small," said I, looking down.

"Ah, poor Catriona!" cries Miss Grant.

And I could but stare upon her; for though I now see very well what she
was driving at (and perhaps some justification for the same), I was
never swift at the uptake in such flimsy talk.

"Ah well, Mr. David," she said, "it goes sore against my conscience,
but I see I shall have to be your speaking board. She shall know you
came to her straight upon the news of her imprisonment; she shall know
you would not pause to eat; and of our conversation she shall hear just
so much as I think convenient for a maid of her age and inexperience.
Believe me, you will be in that way much better served than you could
serve yourself, for I will keep the big feet out of the platter."

"You know where she is, then?" I exclaimed.

"That I do, Mr. David, and will never tell," said she.

"Why that?" I asked.

"Well," she said, "I am a good friend, as you will soon discover; and
the chief of those that I am friend to is my papa. I assure you, you
will never heat nor melt me out of that, so you may spare me your
sheep's eyes; and adieu to your David-Balfourship for the now."

"But there is yet one thing more," I cried. "There is one thing that
must be stopped, being mere ruin to herself, and to me too."

"Well," she said, "be brief; I have spent half the day on you already."

"My Lady Allardyce believes," I began - "she supposes - she thinks that
I abducted her."

The colour came into Miss Grant's face, so that at first I was quite
abashed to find her ear so delicate, till I bethought me she was
struggling rather with mirth, a notion in which I was altogether
confirmed by the shaking of her voice as she replied -

"I will take up the defence of your reputation," she said. "You may
leave it in my hands."

And with that she withdrew out of the library.

CHAPTER XX - I CONTINUE TO MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY

FOR about exactly two months I remained a guest in Prestongrange's
family, where I bettered my acquaintance with the bench, the bar, and
the flower of Edinburgh company. You are not to suppose my education
was neglected; on the contrary, I was kept extremely busy. I studied
the French, so as to be more prepared to go to Leyden; I set myself to
the fencing, and wrought hard, sometimes three hours in the day, with
notable advancement; at the suggestion of my cousin, Pilrig, who was an
apt musician, I was put to a singing class; and by the orders of my
Miss Grant, to one for the dancing, at which I must say I proved far
from ornamental. However, all were good enough to say it gave me an
address a little more genteel; and there is no question but I learned
to manage my coat skirts and sword with more dexterity, and to stand in
a room as though the same belonged to me. My clothes themselves were
all earnestly re-ordered; and the most trifling circumstance, such as
where I should tie my hair, or the colour of my ribbon, debated among
the three misses like a thing of weight. One way with another, no
doubt I was a good deal improved to look at, and acquired a bit of
modest air that would have surprised the good folks at Essendean.

The two younger misses were very willing to discuss a point of my
habiliment, because that was in the line of their chief thoughts. I
cannot say that they appeared any other way conscious of my presence;
and though always more than civil, with a kind of heartless cordiality,
could not hide how much I wearied them. As for the aunt, she was a
wonderful still woman; and I think she gave me much the same attention
as she gave the rest of the family, which was little enough. The
eldest daughter and the Advocate himself were thus my principal
friends, and our familiarity was much increased by a pleasure that we
took in common. Before the court met we spent a day or two at the
house of Grange, living very nobly with an open table, and here it was
that we three began to ride out together in the fields, a practice
afterwards maintained in Edinburgh, so far as the Advocate's continual
affairs permitted. When we were put in a good frame by the briskness
of the exercise, the difficulties of the way, or the accidents of bad
weather, my shyness wore entirely off; we forgot that we were
strangers, and speech not being required, it flowed the more naturally
on. Then it was that they had my story from me, bit by bit, from the
time that I left Essendean, with my voyage and battle in the COVENANT,
wanderings in the heather, etc.; and from the interest they found in my
adventures sprung the circumstance of a jaunt we made a little later
on, on a day when the courts were not sitting, and of which I will tell
a trifle more at length.

We took horse early, and passed first by the house of Shaws, where it
stood smokeless in a great field of white frost, for it was yet early
in the day. Here Prestongrange alighted down, gave me his horse, an
proceeded alone to visit my uncle. My heart, I remember, swelled up
bitter within me at the sight of that bare house and the thought of the
old miser sitting chittering within in the cold kitchen!

"There is my home," said I; "and my family."

"Poor David Balfour!" said Miss Grant.

What passed during the visit I have never heard; but it would doubtless
not be very agreeable to Ebenezer, for when the Advocate came forth
again his face was dark.

"I think you will soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie," says he,
turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup.

"I will never pretend sorrow," said I; and, to say the truth, during
his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing the place in fancy
with plantations, parterres, and a terrace - much as I have since
carried out in fact.

Thence we pushed to the Queensferry, where Rankeillor gave us a good
welcome, being indeed out of the body to receive so great a visitor.
Here the Advocate was so unaffectedly good as to go quite fully over my
affairs, sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in his study, and
expressing (I was told) a great esteem for myself and concern for my
fortunes. To while this time, Miss Grant and I and young Rankeillor
took boat and passed the Hope to Limekilns. Rankeillor made himself
very ridiculous (and, I thought, offensive) with his admiration for the
young lady, and to my wonder (only it is so common a weakness of her
sex) she seemed, if anything, to be a little gratified. One use it
had: for when we were come to the other side, she laid her commands on
him to mind the boat, while she and I passed a little further to the
alehouse. This was her own thought, for she had been taken with my
account of Alison Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself. We
found her once more alone - indeed, I believe her father wrought all
day in the fields - and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and
the beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.

"Is this all the welcome I am to get?" said I, holding out my hand.
"And have you no more memory of old friends?"

"Keep me! wha's this of it?" she cried, and then, "God's truth, it's
the tautit laddie!"

"The very same," says

"Mony's the time I've thocht upon you and your freen, and blythe am I
to see in your braws," she cried. "Though I kent ye were come to your
ain folk by the grand present that ye sent me and that I thank ye for
with a' my heart."

"There," said Miss Grant to me, "run out by with ye, like a guid bairn.
I didnae come here to stand and haud a candle; it's her and me that are
to crack."

I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when she came forth
I observed two things - that her eyes were reddened, and a silver
brooch was gone out of her bosom. This very much affected me.

"I never saw you so well adorned," said I.

"O Davie man, dinna be a pompous gowk!" said she, and was more than
usually sharp to me the remainder of the day.

About candlelight we came home from this excursion.

For a good while I heard nothing further of Catriona - my Miss Grant
remaining quite impenetrable, and stopping my mouth with pleasantries.
At last, one day that she returned from walking and found me alone in
the parlour over my French, I thought there was something unusual in
her looks; the colour heightened, the eyes sparkling high, and a bit of
a smile continually bitten in as she regarded me.  She seemed indeed
like the very spirit of mischief, and, walking briskly in the room, had
soon involved me in a kind of quarrel over nothing and (at the least)
with nothing intended on my side. I was like Christian in the slough -
the more I tried to clamber out upon the side, the deeper I became
involved; until at last I heard her declare, with a great deal of
passion, that she would take that answer from the hands of none, and I
must down upon my knees for pardon.

The causelessness of all this fuff stirred my own bile. "I have said
nothing you can properly object to," said I, "and as for my knees, that
is an attitude I keep for God."

"And as a goddess I am to be served!" she cried, shaking her brown
locks at me and with a bright colour. "Every man that comes within
waft of my petticoats shall use me so!"

"I will go so far as ask your pardon for the fashion's sake, although I
vow I know not why," I replied. "But for these play-acting postures,
you can go to others."

"O Davie!" she said. "Not if I was to beg you?"

I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is the same as to say
a child, and that upon a point entirely formal.

"I think it a bairnly thing," I said, "not worthy in you to ask, or me
to render. Yet I will not refuse you, neither," said I; "and the
stain, if there be any, rests with yourself."  And at that I kneeled
fairly down.

"There!" she cried. "There is the proper station, there is where I
have been manoeuvring to bring you."  And then, suddenly, "Kep," said
she, flung me a folded billet, and ran from the apartment laughing.

The billet had neither place nor date. "Dear Mr. David," it began, "I
get your news continually by my cousin, Miss Grant, and it is a
pleisand hearing. I am very well, in a good place, among good folk,
but necessitated to be quite private, though I am hoping that at long
last we may meet again. All your friendships have been told me by my
loving cousin, who loves us both. She bids me to send you this
writing, and oversees the same. I will be asking you to do all her
commands, and rest your affectionate friend, Catriona Macgregor-
Drummond. P.S. - Will you not see my cousin, Allardyce?"

I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers say)
that I should have done as I was here bidden and gone forthright to the
house by Dean. But the old lady was now entirely changed and supple as
a glove. By what means Miss Grant had brought this round I could never
guess; I am sure, at least, she dared not to appear openly in the
affair, for her papa was compromised in it pretty deep. It was he,
indeed, who had persuaded Catriona to leave, or rather, not to return,
to her cousin's, placing her instead with a family of Gregorys - decent
people, quite at the Advocate's disposition, and in whom she might have
the more confidence because they were of his own clan and family.
These kept her private till all was ripe, heated and helped her to
attempt her father's rescue, and after she was discharged from prison
received her again into the same secrecy. Thus Prestongrange obtained
and used his instrument; nor did there leak out the smallest word of
his acquaintance with the daughter of James More. There was some
whispering, of course, upon the escape of that discredited person; but
the Government replied by a show of rigour, one of the cell porters was
flogged, the lieutenant of the guard (my poor friend, Duncansby) was
broken of his rank, and as for Catriona, all men were well enough
pleased that her fault should be passed by in silence.

I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer. "No," she
would say, when I persisted, "I am going to keep the big feet out of
the platter."  This was the more hard to bear, as I was aware she saw
my little friend many times in the week, and carried her my news
whenever (as she said) I "had behaved myself."  At last she treated me
to what she called an indulgence, and I thought rather more of a
banter. She was certainly a strong, almost a violent, friend to all
she liked, chief among whom was a certain frail old gentlewoman, very
blind and very witty, who dwelt on the top of a tall land on a strait
close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, and thronged all day with
visitors. Miss Grant was very fond to carry me there and put me to
entertain her friend with the narrative of my misfortunes: and Miss
Tibbie Ramsay (that was her name) was particular kind, and told me a
great deal that was worth knowledge of old folks and past affairs in
Scotland. I should say that from her chamber window, and not three
feet away, such is the straitness of that close, it was possible to
look into a barred loophole lighting the stairway of the opposite
house.

Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one day alone with Miss
Ramsay. I mind I thought that lady inattentive and like one
preoccupied. I was besides very uncomfortable, for the window,
contrary to custom, was left open and the day was