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," {1} 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 {2} 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.

{3} 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!" {4} 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 {5} 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!"

{6}

"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 {7}

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 {8} 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, {9} 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, {10} 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. {11}

"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 {12}. 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." {13}

"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