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diff --git a/30870-h/30870-h.htm b/30870-h/30870-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef91e6f --- /dev/null +++ b/30870-h/30870-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13441 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson Volume XI, by Robert Louis Stevenson. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + + body { text-align: justify; line-height: 1.4em; margin-left: 12%; margin-right: 12%; } + p { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; text-indent: 1em; } + p.noind { margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; text-indent: 0; } + + h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; } + hr { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; width: 70%; height: 5px; background-color: #dcdcdc; border: none;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + hr.art { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 40%; height: 5px; background-color: #708090; + margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 5em } + hr.foot {text-align: left; margin-left: 2em; text-align: left; width: 16%; color: black; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0; height: 1px; } + + table.nobctr { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; } + table.reg { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both; } + table p { margin-left: 1.5em; text-indent: -1.5em; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; } + + td.tc2 { padding-right: 0; padding-left: 0; text-align: right; vertical-align: top;} + td.tc2b { padding-right: 0; padding-left: 0; text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} + td.tc3 { padding-right: 2em; padding-left: 2.5em; text-indent: -2em; text-align: left; vertical-align: top;} + td.tc5b { padding-right: 0; padding-left: 0; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 0.75em; } + + a:link, a:visited, link {text-decoration: none} + .sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-style: normal; } + .scs {font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 85%; } + .rt {text-align: right; padding-right: 2em;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 5%; text-align: right; font-size: 10pt; + background-color: #f5f5f5; color: #778899; text-indent: 0; + padding-left: 0.5em; padding-right: 0.5em; font-style: normal; } + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; font-size: 0.9em; } + .fn { position: absolute; left: 12%; text-align: left; background-color: #f5f5f5; + text-indent: 0; padding-left: 0.2em; padding-right: 0.2em; } + .sp {position: relative; bottom: 0.5em; font-size: 0.7em;} + + .figcenter {text-align: center; padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em;} + .center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + .f80 { font-size: 80% } + .f90 { font-size: 90% } + + div.quote { margin-left: 2em; font-size: 90%; line-height: 1.2em; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em; } + div.quote p { margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em; } + + .pt05 {padding-top: 0.5em;} + .pt2 {padding-top: 2em;} + .pt3 {padding-top: 3em;} + + div.poemr {margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; font-size: 90%;} + div.poemr p { margin-left: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; margin-top: 0em; margin-bottom: 0em; } + div.poemr p.i05 { margin-left: 0.4em; } + div.poemr p.i2 { margin-left: 2em; } + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - +Swanston Edition Vol. 11 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition Vol. 11 (of 25) + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Release Date: January 6, 2010 [EBook #30870] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOUIS *** + + + + +Produced by Marius Masi, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h4>There are several editions of this ebook in the Project Gutenberg collection. Various characteristics of each ebook are listed to aid in selecting the preferred file.<br />Click on any of the filenumbers below to quickly view each ebook. +</h4> + + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30870/30870-h/30870-h.htm"> +30870</a> </b> </td><td>(A Table of Contents; No illustrations) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/589/589-h/589-h.htm"> +589</a></b></td><td>(No illustrations and No Table of Contents) +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> + <b><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/14133/14133-h/14133-h.htm"> +14133</a></b> </td><td>(An illustrated HTML file with a Table of Contents) +</td></tr> + +</table> + + + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h4>THE WORKS OF</h4> + +<h3>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</h3> + +<h4>SWANSTON EDITION</h4> + +<h5>VOLUME XI</h5> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<p class="noind center"><i>Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five<br /> +Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS<br /> +STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies<br /> +have been printed, of which only Two Thousand<br /> +Copies are for sale.</i></p> + +<p class="noind center"><i>This is No. <span style="font-size: 60%;">............</span></i></p> +<div class="pt05"> </div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img style="border:0; width:620px; height:484px" + src="images/image1.jpg" + alt="" /> +<p class="f80">MONUMENT TO R. L. S. IN ST. GILES’S, EDINBURGH</p> +</div> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<h3>THE WORKS OF</h3> +<h2>ROBERT LOUIS</h2> +<h2>STEVENSON</h2> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h5>VOLUME ELEVEN</h5> +<div class="pt3"> </div> + +<h5>LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND<br /> +WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL<br /> +AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM<br /> +HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN<br /> +AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII</h5> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<h6>ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</h6> + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h4>CATRIONA</h4></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>PART I.—THE LORD ADVOCATE</h5></td></tr> + +<tr style="font-size: 70%; "> <td class="tc2">CHAPTER</td> + <td> </td> + <td class="tc2">PAGE</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">I.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Beggar on Horseback</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page7">7</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Highland Writer</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page16">16</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">I go to Pilrig</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page25">25</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Lord Advocate Prestongrange</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page33">33</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">V.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">In the Advocate’s House</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page44">44</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Umquhile the Master of Lovat</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page52">52</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">I make a Fault in Honour</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page59">59</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">VIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Bravo</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page71">71</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Heather on Fire</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page81">81</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">X.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Red-headed Man</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page89">89</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Wood by Silvermills</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page99">99</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">On the March again with Alan</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page106">106</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Gillane Sands</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page115">115</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XIV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Bass</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page125">125</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Black Andie’s Tale of Tod Lapraik</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page134">134</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XVI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Missing Witness</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page146">146</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XVII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Memorial</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page156">156</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XVIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Tee’d Ball</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page169">169</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XIX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">I am much in the Hands of the Ladies</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page179">179</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">I Continue to move in Good Society</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page189">189</a></td> </tr> + + +<tr><td class="tc5b" colspan="3"><h5>PART II.—FATHER AND DAUGHTER</h5></td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Voyage into Holland</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page203">203</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Helvoetsluys</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page214">214</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Travels in Holland</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page222">222</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXIV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">Full Story of a Copy of Heineccius</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page233">233</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXV.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Return of James More</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page245">245</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXVI.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Threesome</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page252">252</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXVII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">A Twosome</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page261">261</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">In which I am left alone</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page268">268</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXIX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">We meet in Dunkirk</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page278">278</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">XXX.</td> + <td class="scs tc3">The Letter from the Ship</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page286">286</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2"> </td> + <td class="scs tc3">Conclusion</td> + <td class="tc2b"><a href="#page301">301</a></td> </tr> + </table> + +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page1"></a>1</span></p> + +<div style="margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%;"> +<h2>CATRIONA</h2> + +<h6>BEING MEMOIRS OF<br /> +THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF</h6> + +<h2>DAVID BALFOUR</h2> + +<h6>AT HOME AND ABROAD</h6> + +<h6 style="text-align: left; text-align: justify;">IN WHICH ARE SET FORTH HIS MISFORTUNES +ANENT THE APPIN MURDER, +HIS TROUBLES WITH LORD ADVOCATE +GRANT: CAPTIVITY ON THE BASS ROCK, +JOURNEY INTO HOLLAND AND FRANCE, +AND SINGULAR RELATIONS WITH JAMES +MORE DRUMMOND OR MACGREGOR, A +SON OF THE NOTORIOUS ROB ROY, AND +HIS DAUGHTER CATRIONA: WRITTEN BY +HIMSELF, AND NOW SET FORTH BY</h6> + +<h6>ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</h6> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page2"></a>2</span></p> +<div class="pt3"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page3"></a>3</span></p> + +<h4><i>TO CHARLES BAXTER</i></h4> + +<h5><i>WRITER TO THE SIGNET</i></h5> + +<p><i>My dear Charles,</i></p> + +<p style="text-indent: 5em;"><i>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.</i></p> + +<p><i>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.</i></p> + +<p class="rt"><i>R. L. S.</i></p> + +<p><i>Vailima, Upolu,</i></p> +<p style="padding-left: 3em;"><i>Samoa, 1892.</i></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page4"></a>4</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page5"></a>5</span></p> +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PART I</h2> + +<h2>THE LORD ADVOCATE</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page6"></a>6</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page7"></a>7</span></p> + +<h2>CATRIONA</h2> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h5>A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> 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 beggarman 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.</p> + +<p>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 behoved to come by some +clothes of my own, and in the meanwhile to walk by the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page8"></a>8</span> +porter’s side, and put my hand on his arm as though we +were a pair of friends.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Naething kenspeckle,”<a name="FnAnchor_1" href="#Footnote_1"><span class="sp">1</span></a> said he; “plain, dacent claes. +As for the rapier, nae doubt it sits wi’ your degree; but an +I had been you, I would hae 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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>caddie</i>, 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page9"></a>9</span> +a piece of little wisdom, the way I was now placed, to tack +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.</p> + +<p>Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther +in. The narrow paved way descended swiftly. Prodigious +tall houses sprang up on each side and bulged out, one +story 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page10"></a>10</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 cringing 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.</p> + +<p>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 any one so near, she +looked at me a little longer, and perhaps with more surprise, +than was entirely civil.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page11"></a>11</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 the least of it, not +by this young lady.</p> + +<p>I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her, +the best that I was able.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>She made me a little, distant curtsey. “There is no +harm done,” she said, with a pretty accent, most like the +English (but more agreeable). “A cat may look at a king.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, it will be a very unusual thing for strangers +to be speaking to each other on the causeway,” she replied.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page12"></a>12</span></p> + +<p>“But if you are landward<a name="FnAnchor_2" href="#Footnote_2"><span class="sp">2</span></a> 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.”</p> + +<p>“It is not yet a week since I passed the line,” said I. +“Less than a week ago I was on the braes of Balquhidder.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan +Dhu Maclaren,” I replied.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said I, “they are fine people, and the place is a +bonny place.”</p> + +<p>“Where in the great world is such another?” she cries; +“I am loving the smell of that place and the roots that grow +there.”</p> + +<p>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 Balquhidder,” said I, “and I will +yours for the sake of my lucky day.”</p> + +<p>“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.<a name="FnAnchor_3" href="#Footnote_3"><span class="sp">3</span></a> Catriona Drummond is the one +I use.”</p> + +<p>Now indeed I knew where I was standing. In all broad +Scotland there was but the one name proscribed, and that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13"></a>13</span> +was the name of the Macgregors. Yet so far from fleeing +this undesirable acquaintancy, I plunged the deeper in.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Did ye so?” cries she. “Ye met Rob?”</p> + +<p>“I passed the night with him,” said I.</p> + +<p>“He is a fowl of the night,” said she.</p> + +<p>“There was a set of pipes there,” I went on, “so you +may judge if the time passed.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is it so?” cried I. “Are you a daughter of James +More’s?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 Balquhidder.”</p> + +<p>“It was not one of my people gave it,” said she.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“If it had been a great sum, it might have done you +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14"></a>14</span> +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....”</p> + +<p>“The Advocate’s?” I cried. “Is that...?”</p> + +<p>“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 fourpenny-piece that was to buy +that snuff, and James More must go wanting, and will think +his daughter has forgotten him.”</p> + +<p>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 Balquhidder,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” she said, “you are a friend to the Gregara!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The one cannot be without the other,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I will even try,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And what will you be thinking of myself?” she cried, +“to be holding my hand to the first stranger!”</p> + +<p>“I am thinking nothing but that you are a good +daughter,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I must not be without repaying it,” she said. “Where +is it you stop?”</p> + +<p>“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 be so bold as come seeking +my sixpence for myself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page15"></a>15</span></p> + +<p>“Will I can trust you for that?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“You need have little fear,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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’ baubee-joes!”</p> + +<p>“If you dare to speak of the young lady ...” I +began.</p> + +<p>“Leddy!” he cried. “Haud us and safe us, whatten +leddy? Ca’ <i>thon</i> a leddy? The toun’s fu’ o’ them. +Leddies! Man, it’s weel seen ye’re no very acquaint in +Embro!”</p> + +<p>A clap of anger took me.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said I, “lead me where I told you, and keep +your foul mouth shut!”</p> + +<p>He did not wholly obey me, for though he no more +addressed me directly, he sang at me as he went in a very +impudent manner of innuendo, and with an exceedingly +ill voice and ear—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“As Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee,</p> +<p class="i05">She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee.</p> +<p class="i05">And we’re a’ gaun east and wast, we’re a’ gaun ajee,</p> +<p class="i05">We’re a’ gaun east and wast courtin’ Mally Lee.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1" href="#FnAnchor_1"><span class="fn">1</span></a> Conspicuous.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2" href="#FnAnchor_2"><span class="fn">2</span></a> Country.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_3" href="#FnAnchor_3"><span class="fn">3</span></a> The Fairies.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page16"></a>16</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h5>THE HIGHLAND WRITER</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Mr. Charles Stewart</span> the Writer dwelt at the top of the +longest stair that 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.</p> + +<p>“Awa’ east and wast wi’ ye!” said I, took the moneybag +out of his hands, and followed the clerk in.</p> + +<p>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 upon 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.</p> + +<p>I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer.</p> + +<p>“The same,” says he; “and if the question is equally +fair, who may you be yourself?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He rose without more words, casting down his paper +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17"></a>17</span> +like a man ill-pleased, sent forth his clerk of an errand, +and shut-to the house-door behind him.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Put it in your pocket, sir!” cries he. “Ye need +name no names. The deevil’s buckie, I ken the button +of him! And deil hae’t! Where is he now?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I needn’t ask your politics,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Ye need not,” said I, smiling, “for I am as big a Whig +as grows.”</p> + +<p>“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 kennt plenty of them.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a forfeited rebel, and more’s the pity,” said +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page18"></a>18</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“I hear you say so,” said Stewart.</p> + +<p>“More than you are to hear me say so, before long,” +said I. “Alan Breck is innocent, and so is James.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” says he, “the two cases hang together. If +Alan is out, James can never be in.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this +country,” said I, “but I need not be repeating that.”</p> + +<p>“I am little likely to forget it,” said Stewart.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He noted it.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page19"></a>19</span></p> + +<p>“How much snuff are we to say?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking of two pounds,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Two,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Then there’s the lass Alison Hastie, in Limekilns,” +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.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad to see you are thrifty, Mr. Balfour,” says +he, making his notes.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He said this with a plain sneer.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +doesna ken of your existence.”</p> + +<p>I saw I had got to the wrong side of the man.</p> + +<p>“There’s a braw day coming for him, then,” said I, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page20"></a>20</span> +“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.”</p> + +<p>“When ye <i>call</i> on him!” repeated Mr. Stewart. “Am +I daft, or are you? What takes ye near the Advocate?”</p> + +<p>“O, just to give myself up,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Balfour,” he cried, “are ye making a mock of +me?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Nor yet me,” says Stewart. “And I give you 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 wouldna bribe me further +in.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He was silent for a breathing-space, and then, “My +man,” said he, “you’ll never be allowed to give such +evidence.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll have to see about that,” said I; “I’m stiff-necked +when I like.”</p> + +<p>“Ye muckle ass!” cried Stewart, “it’s James they +want; James has got to hang—Alan too, if they could +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page21"></a>21</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“I think better of the Advocate than that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“The Advocate be damned!” 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.</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said I, “I was told that same no further back +than this morning by another lawyer.”</p> + +<p>“And who was he?” asked Stewart. “He spoke +sense at least.”</p> + +<p>I told him 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.</p> + +<p>“I think all the world seems to be mixed up in it!” +cries Stewart. “But what said you?”</p> + +<p>I told him what had passed between Rankeillor and +myself before the house of Shaws.</p> + +<p>“Well, and so ye will hang!” said he. “Ye’ll hang +beside James Stewart. There’s your fortune told.”</p> + +<p>“I hope better of it yet than that,” said I; “but I +could never deny there was a risk.”</p> + +<p>“Risk!” says he, and then sat silent again. “I +ought to thank you for your 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.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page22"></a>22</span> +“It’s a different way of thinking, I suppose,” said I; +“I was brought up to this one by my father before me.”</p> + +<p>“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 couldna be just that. But—laigh in your ear, +man—I’m maybe no’ very keen on the other side.”</p> + +<p>“Is that a fact?” cried I. “It’s what I would think +of a man of your intelligence.”</p> + +<p>“Hoot I none of your whillywhas!”<a name="FnAnchor_4" href="#Footnote_4"><span class="sp">4</span></a> 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?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “it’s a fact ye have little of the wild +Highlandman.”</p> + +<p>“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 Ardshiel, 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, <i>disaffected</i>, branded on +our hurdles like folk’s names upon their kye! And what can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page23"></a>23</span> +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 kennt the heid of a Hebrew word from the hurdies +of it, be damned but I would fling the whole thing up and +turn minister!”</p> + +<p>“It’s rather a hard position,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I hope it will be that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I made him a sign that his clerk was within hearing.</p> + +<p>“Hoot, ye needna 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?”</p> + +<p>“There’ll be Andie Scougal, in the <i>Thristle</i>,” 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 it was anybody important, +I would give Tam the go-by.”</p> + +<p>“The head’s worth two hundred pounds, Robin,” +said Stewart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page24"></a>24</span></p> + +<p>“Gosh, that’ll no’ be Alan Breck?” cried the clerk.</p> + +<p>“Just Alan,” said his master.</p> + +<p>“Weary winds! that’s sayrious,” cried Robin. “I’ll +try Andie, then; Andie’ll be the best.”</p> + +<p>“It seems it’s quite a big business,” I observed.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Balfour, there’s no end to it,” said Stewart.</p> + +<p>“There was a name your clerk mentioned,” I went +on: “Hoseason. That must be my man, I think: Hoseason, +of the brig <i>Covenant</i>. Would you set your trust on him?”</p> + +<p>“He didna 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?”</p> + +<p>“No more honest skipper in the trade than Eli,” said +the clerk. “I would lippen to<a name="FnAnchor_5" href="#Footnote_5"><span class="sp">5</span></a> Eli’s word—ay, if it was +the Chevalier, or Appin himsel’,” he added.</p> + +<p>“And it was him that brought the doctor, wasna’t?” +asked the master.</p> + +<p>“He was the very man,” said the clerk.</p> + +<p>“And I think he took the doctor back?” says Stewart.</p> + +<p>“Ay, with his sporran full!” cried Robin. “And +Eli kennt of that!”<a name="FnAnchor_6" href="#Footnote_6"><span class="sp">6</span></a></p> + +<p>“Well, it seems it’s hard to ken folk rightly,” said I.</p> + +<p>“That was just what I forgot when ye came in, Mr. +Balfour!” says the Writer.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_4" href="#FnAnchor_4"><span class="fn">4</span></a> Flatteries.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_5" href="#FnAnchor_5"><span class="fn">5</span></a> Trust to.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_6" href="#FnAnchor_6"><span class="fn">6</span></a> This must have reference to Dr. Cameron on his first visit.—D.B.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page25"></a>25</span></p> +<h3>CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h5>I GO TO PILRIG</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> 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 adventures. 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.</p> + +<p>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 +Argyle, 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.</p> + +<p>Next it came upon me I was acting for the sake of justice: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page26"></a>26</span> +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 discovery 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27"></a>27</span> +little chill of it sang in my blood, and gave me a feeling of +the autumn, and the dead leaves, and dead folk’s 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 folk’s 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.”</p> + +<p>My way lay over Mouter’s Hill, and through an end +of a clachan on the braeside among fields. There was +a whir 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.</p> + +<p>“Who are these two, mother?” I asked, and pointed +to the corpses.</p> + +<p>“A blessing on your precious face!” she cried. “Twa +joes<a name="FnAnchor_7" href="#Footnote_7"><span class="sp">7</span></a> o’ mine: just twa o’ my old joes, my hinny dear.”</p> + +<p>“What did they suffer for?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Ou, just for the guid cause,” said she. “Aften I +spaed to them the way that it would end. Twa shillin’ +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28"></a>28</span> +Scots: no pickle mair; and there are twa bonny callants +hingin’ for’t! They took it frae a wean<a name="FnAnchor_8" href="#Footnote_8"><span class="sp">8</span></a> belanged to +Brouchton.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Gie’s your loof,<a name="FnAnchor_9" href="#Footnote_9"><span class="sp">9</span></a> hinny,” says she, “and let me spae +your weird to ye.”</p> + +<p>“No, mother,” said I, “I see far enough the way I +am. It’s an unco thing to see too far in front.”</p> + +<p>“I read it in your bree,” she said. “There’s a bonny +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,<a name="FnAnchor_10" href="#Footnote_10"><span class="sp">10</span></a> joe, that lies braid across your path. +Gie’s your loof, hinny, and let Auld Merren spae it to ye +bonny.”</p> + +<p>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 bawbee, +which she continued to sit and play with under the moving +shadows of the hanged.</p> + +<p>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 mops 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 side, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page29"></a>29</span> +and hold a nose. I saw them plain, and they had grey +eyes, and their screens upon their heads were of the +Drummond colours.</p> + +<p>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 Walk-side 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.</p> + +<p>“And what is it, cousin David?” says 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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman,” says he.</p> + +<p>“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.<a name="FnAnchor_11" href="#Footnote_11"><span class="sp">11</span></a> +“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 blithe to avoid a knowledge of.”</p> + +<p>“Why, very well, Mr. David,” he replied, “I am +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30"></a>30</span> +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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I have Rankeillor’s word for it,” said Mr. Balfour, +“and I count that a warrandice against all deadly.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“None of which will do you any harm,” said Mr. +Balfour.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I believe I could indicate in two words where the +thing sticks,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps that would be the best,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s the Appin murder,” said I. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31"></a>31</span> +He held up both his hands. “Sirs! sirs!” cried he.</p> + +<p>I thought by the expression of his face and voice that +I had lost my helper.</p> + +<p>“Let me explain ...” I began.</p> + +<p>“I thank you kindly, I will hear no more of it,” says +he. “I decline <i>in toto</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said he; and then again, “Well, well! I +will do what I can for you.” Therewith he took a pen +and paper, sat a while in thought, and began to write +with much consideration. “I understand that Rankeillor +approves of what you have in mind?” he asked presently.</p> + +<p>“After some discussion, sir, he bade me to go forward +in God’s name,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p class="rt">“<span class="sc">Pilrig</span>, <i>August 26th</i>, 1751.</p> + +<p>“<span class="sc">My Lord</span>,—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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32"></a>32</span> +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.</p> +</div> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_7" href="#FnAnchor_7"><span class="fn">7</span></a> Sweethearts.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_8" href="#FnAnchor_8"><span class="fn">8</span></a> Child.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_9" href="#FnAnchor_9"><span class="fn">9</span></a> Palm.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_10" href="#FnAnchor_10"><span class="fn">10</span></a> Gallows.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_11" href="#FnAnchor_11"><span class="fn">11</span></a> My Catechism.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page33"></a>33</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<h5>LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">My</span> 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.</p> + +<p>I do not know the hour, but the darkness was long +come, when the door of the cabinet opened, and I was aware, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page34"></a>34</span> +by the light behind him, of a tall figure of a man upon the +threshold. I rose at once.</p> + +<p>“Is anybody there?” he asked. “Who is that?”</p> + +<p>“I am bearer of a letter from the laird of Pilrig to the +Lord Advocate,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Have you been here long?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I would not like to hazard an estimate of how many +hours,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, sit ye down,” said he, “and let us see +Pilrig’s letter.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Balfour,” +he said, when he had done. “Let me offer you a glass of +claret.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page35"></a>35</span></p> + +<p>“You shall be the judge,” said he. “But if you will +permit, I believe I will even have the bottle in myself.”</p> + +<p>He touched a bell, and a footman came, as at a signal, +bringing wine and glasses.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I should perhaps begin by telling you, my lord, that +I am here at your own pressing invitation,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You have the advantage of me somewhere,” said +he, “for I profess I think I never heard of you before this +evening.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you would afford me a clue,” says he. “I +am no Daniel.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“In what sense?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“In the sense of rewards offered for my person,” said I.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“‘<i>A tall strong lad of about eighteen</i>,’” I quoted; +“‘<i>speaks like a Lowlander, and has no beard</i>.’”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page36"></a>36</span></p> + +<p>“I can only suppose (seeing you here) that you claim +to be innocent,” said he.</p> + +<p>“The inference is clear,” said I. “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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And unfortunately, my lord,” I added, a little drily, +“directly personal to another great personage who may +be nameless.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“When you are come to more discretion you will understand +such talk is 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; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page37"></a>37</span> +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 change-house 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.”</p> + +<p>“I had thought it was rather I that should learn the +same from your lordship,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Meaning how?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I saw what way he was driving. “I suppose it is +needless any one 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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page38"></a>38</span></p> + +<p>“And have no cause to be,” says he encouragingly. +“Nor yet (if you are careful) to fear the consequences.”</p> + +<p>“My lord,” said I, “speaking under your correction, +I am not very easy to be frightened.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I shall try to follow your lordship’s advice,” said I.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“By accident,” said I.</p> + +<p>“How came you in speech with Colin Campbell?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“I was inquiring my way of him to Aucharn,” I replied.</p> + +<p>I observed he did not write this answer down.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I had thought, my lord, that all points of fact were +equally material in such a case,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Not immediately, my lord, and the cause was my +seeing of the murderer.”</p> + +<p>“You saw him, then?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page39"></a>39</span></p> + +<p>“As plain as I see your lordship, though not so near +hand.”</p> + +<p>“You know him?”</p> + +<p>“I should know him again.”</p> + +<p>“In your pursuit you were not so fortunate, then, as +to overtake him?”</p> + +<p>“I was not.”</p> + +<p>“Was he alone?”</p> + +<p>“He was alone.”</p> + +<p>“There was no one else in that neighbourhood?”</p> + +<p>“Alan Breck Stewart was not far off, in a piece of a +wood.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“I content myself with following your lordship’s advice, +and answering what I am asked,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>At this he rose from his chair, lit a second candle, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page40"></a>40</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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. <i>Salus populi suprema lex</i> 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—”</p> + +<p>“Under your pardon, my lord, I would have you to +believe nothing but that which I can prove,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 +fomenter 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.”</p> + +<p>“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. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page41"></a>41</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You are at the head of Justice in this country,” I cried, +“and you propose to me a crime!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 blithe to get it.”</p> + +<p>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 ’Forty-five 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, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42"></a>42</span> +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....”</p> + +<p>“I can bear you out in that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 ’Forty-five 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.”</p> + +<p>“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 oaths 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43"></a>43</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>He had heard me motionless, and stood so a while longer.</p> + +<p>“This is an unexpected obstacle,” says he, aloud, but +to himself.</p> + +<p>“And how is your lordship to dispose of me?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“If I wished,” said he, “you know that you might sleep +in gaol.”</p> + +<p>“My lord,” said I, “I have slept in worse places.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I had no thought to entrap you,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I am sure of that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Let me see,” he continued. “To-morrow is the +Sabbath. Come to me on Monday by eight in the morning, +and give me your promise until then.”</p> + +<p>“Freely given, my lord,” said I. “And with regard +to what has fallen from yourself, I will give it for as long as +it shall please God to spare your days.”</p> + +<p>“You will observe,” he said next, “that I have made no +employment of menaces.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said he, “good-night to you. May you sleep +well, for I think it is more than I am like to do.”</p> + +<p>With that he sighed, took up a candle, and gave me his +conveyance as far as the street-door.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page44"></a>44</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER V</h3> + +<h5>IN THE ADVOCATE’S HOUSE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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 weariful 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page45"></a>45</span></p> + +<p>“Give you a good-morning, sir,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And a good-morning to you, sir,” said he.</p> + +<p>“You bide tryst with Prestongrange?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I do, sir, and I pray your business with that gentleman +be more agreeable than mine,” was his reply.</p> + +<p>“I hope at least that yours will be brief, for I suppose +you pass before me,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>There came a kind of Highland snuffle out of the man +that raised my dander strangely.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 ’Forty-five with my battalion.”</p> + +<p>“I believe that would be a brother to Balfour of Baith,” +said I, for I was ready for the surgeon now.</p> + +<p>“The same, sir,” said James More. “And since I have +been fellow-soldier with your kinsman, you must suffer me +to grasp your hand.”</p> + +<p>He shook hands with me long and tenderly, beaming on +me the while as though he had found a brother.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page46"></a>46</span></p> + +<p>“Ah!” says he, “these are changed days since your +cousin and I heard the balls whistle in our lugs.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“In the year you refer to, Mr. Macgregor, I was getting +skelped in the parish school,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 skirling 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—”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47"></a>47</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“I have a moment’s engagement,” 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>three braw +dauchters</i>. 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 Allan Ramsay’s +answer!”</p> + +<p>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 +cheek. 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48"></a>48</span> +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 fellow 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.</p> + +<p>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 past 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Haena I got just the lilt of it?</p> +<p class="i05">Isna this the tune that ye whustled?</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“You see,” she says, “I can do the poetry too, only +it won’t rhyme. And then again:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“I am Miss Grant, sib to the Advocate:</p> +<p class="i05">You, I believe, are Dauvit Balfour.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>I told her how much astonished I was by her genius.</p> + +<p>“And what do you call the name of it?” she asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page49"></a>49</span></p> + +<p>“I do not know the real name,” said I. “I just call +it ‘Alan’s air.’”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>This was said with a significance that gave my heart +a jog. “Why that, Miss Grant?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 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.</p> + +<p>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 “<i>Grey eyes</i> again.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50"></a>50</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Presently papa returned, the same kind, happy-like, +pleasant-spoken man.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>So they each made me a little farthing compliment, +and I was led away.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51"></a>51</span> +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.</p> + +<p>Well, I was to be served to my desire, for the scene to +which he was conducting me was of a different character.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page52"></a>52</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<h5>UMQUHILE THE MASTER OF LOVAT</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">There</span> 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.</p> + +<p>The Advocate presented us in a familiar, friendly way.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>With that he stepped aside to his book-shelves, and +made believe to consult a quarto volume in the far +end.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page53"></a>53</span></p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “what is all this I hear +of ye?”</p> + +<p>“It would not become me to prejudge,” said I, “but +if the Advocate was your authority he is fully possessed +of my opinions.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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: <i>experto crede</i>. +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.”</p> + +<p>“Doubtless a proud position for your father’s son,” +says I.</p> + +<p>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. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54"></a>54</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“I am thinking that I lack the docility of the son,” says I.</p> + +<p>“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 prosecuting a man that +I have drawn the sword alongside of? The choice is not +left me.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I was waiting for you there,” said I.</p> + +<p>“The evidence of Mungo Campbell; your flight after +the completion of the murder; your long course of secrecy—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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55"></a>55</span> +see the grave and the gallows nearer by than you had +fancied.”</p> + +<p>“I own to a natural weakness,” said I. “I think +no shame for that. Shame ...” I was going on.</p> + +<p>“Shame waits for you on the gibbet,” he broke in.</p> + +<p>“Where I shall but be even’d with my lord your father” +said I.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>will</i> be shown, trust <i>me</i> +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.”</p> + +<p>There was a touch of the truth in these words that +knocked me like a blow: clothes, a bottle of <i>usquebaugh</i>, +and three-and-fivepence-halfpenny in change, made up, +indeed, the most of what Alan and I had carried from +Aucharn; and I saw that some of James’s people had been +blabbing in their dungeons.</p> + +<p>“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 hand-gun: on the other, a rope to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56"></a>56</span> +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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There is a gentleman in this room,” cried I. “I +appeal to him. I put my life and credit in his hands.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>These were very good words, and I could see besides +that there was little love, and perhaps a spice of genuine +ill-will, between those two who were opposed to me. For +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57"></a>57</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” says 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 +women-folk 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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58"></a>58</span> +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.</p> + +<p>The voices of two of Prestongrange’s liveried men upon +his doorstep recalled me to myself.</p> + +<p>“Hae,” said the one; “this billet as fast as ye can +link to the captain.”</p> + +<p>“Is that for the cateran back again?” asked the other.</p> + +<p>“It would seem sae,” returned the first. “Him and +Simon are seeking him.”</p> + +<p>“I think Prestongrange is gane gyte,” says the second. +“He’ll have James More in bed with him next.”</p> + +<p>“Weel, it’s neither your affair nor mine’s,” says the first.</p> + +<p>And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the +other back into the house.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I began to walk swiftly and at random, conscious only +of a desire for movement, air, and the open country.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page59"></a>59</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<h5>I MAKE A FAULT IN HONOUR</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I came</span> forth, I vow I know not how, on the <i>Lang Dykes</i>.<a name="FnAnchor_12" href="#Footnote_12"><span class="sp">12</span></a> +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, properly Lord Lovat, +daunted me wholly.</p> + +<p>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 outfaced +these men, I would continue to outface them; come what +might, I would stand by the word spoken.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60"></a>60</span> +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 folk’s 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What do ye come seeking here?” she asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page61"></a>61</span></p> + +<p>I told her I was after Miss Drummond.</p> + +<p>“And what may be your business with Miss Drummond?” +says she.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>I told my name.</p> + +<p>“Preserve me!” she cried. “Has Ebenezer gotten +a son?”</p> + +<p>“No, ma’am,” said I. “I am a son of Alexander’s. +It’s I that am the Laird of Shaws.”</p> + +<p>“Ye’ll find your work cut out for ye to establish that,” +quoth she.</p> + +<p>“I perceive you know my uncle,” said I; “and I +daresay you may be the better pleased to hear that business +is arranged.”</p> + +<p>“And what brings ye here after Miss Drummond?” +she pursued.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>lucky day</i> +and your <i>sake of Balwhidder</i>”—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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62"></a>62</span> +is one thing; but it would be quite another, and I think I +would look very like a fool, to commit myself.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 gallows’ foot, a young lady whom I have seen +but the 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.”</p> + +<p>“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 heided, 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63"></a>63</span> +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....”</p> + +<p>“Spoke with her but the once, I should have said,” +I interrupted. “I saw her again this morning from a +window at Prestongrange’s.”</p> + +<p>This I daresay I put in because it sounded well; but I +was properly paid for my ostentation on the return.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I told her that was so.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64"></a>64</span> +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 backbone, 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page65"></a>65</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“O!” she cried, “you have been seeking your sixpence: +did you get it?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That was Miss Grant,” said I, “the eldest and the +bonniest.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page66"></a>66</span></p> + +<p>“They say they are all beautiful,” said she.</p> + +<p>“They think the same of you, Miss Drummond,” +I replied, “and were all crowding to the window to observe +you.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I would think so too, at all events!” said she, +at which we both of us laughed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“O, I think any man will be afraid of her,” she cried. +“My father is afraid of her himself.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Speaking of which,” said I, “I met your father no +later than this morning.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I did even that,” said I.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page67"></a>67</span> +I; “I did not like him very much; I spoke him rather ill, +and he was angry.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 good 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.”</p> + +<p>“It will not be through your friendship, I am thinking,” +said she; “and he is much made up to you for your +sorrow.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Drummond,” cried I, “I am alone in this +world....”</p> + +<p>“And I am not wondering at that,” said she.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“O, let me have one to believe in me!” I pleaded, +“I canna 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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page68"></a>68</span> +a stop. “What is this you say?” she asked. “What +are you talking of?”</p> + +<p>“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 byword—Catriona, +how can I go through with it? The +thing’s not possible; it’s more than a man has in his +heart.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Glenure! It is the Appin murder,” she said softly, +but with a very deep surprise.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“In the name of heaven, what ails you now?” she +cried.</p> + +<p>“I gave my honour,” I groaned, “I gave my honour, +and now I have broke it. O Catriona!”</p> + +<p>“I am asking you what it is,” she said; “was it these +things you should not have spoken? And do you think +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page69"></a>69</span> +<i>I</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.”</p> + +<p>“O, I knew you would be true!” said I. “It’s me—it’s +here. I that stood but this morning and outfaced 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? <i>You</i> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I, looking at her, hang-dog, “is this +true of it? Would ye trust me yet?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And maybe all this while I am but a child frighted +with bogles,” said I. “Maybe they but make a mock +of me.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page70"></a>70</span> +written it, my thoughts about her father’s dealing being +alone omitted.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>Indeed, it was already dipping towards the mountains.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12" href="#FnAnchor_12"><span class="fn">12</span></a> Now Princes Street.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page71"></a>71</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h5>THE BRAVO</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You have news for me?” cried I.</p> + +<p>“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 is to be held at Inverary, +Thursday, 21st <i>proximo</i>.”</p> + +<p>I was too much amazed to find words.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page72"></a>72</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I did, my lord,” said I.</p> + +<p>“This was immediately after the murder?”</p> + +<p>“It was.”</p> + +<p>“Did you speak to him?”</p> + +<p>“I did.”</p> + +<p>“You had known him before, I think?” says my lord +carelessly.</p> + +<p>“I cannot guess your reason for so thinking, my lord,” +I replied, “but such is the fact.”</p> + +<p>“And when did you part with him again?” said +he.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page73"></a>73</span></p> + +<p>“I reserve my answer,” said I. “The question will +be put to me at the assize.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“My lord,” said I, “I give you my word I do not so +much as guess where Alan is.”</p> + +<p>He paused a breath. “Nor how he might be found?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>I sat before him like a log of wood.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>My three keepers led me out by Bristo and the Bruntsfield +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page74"></a>74</span> +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 that 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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>I told him it was, not very kindly, for his manner was +scant civil.</p> + +<p>“Ha, Palfour,” says he, and then, repeating it, “Palfour, +Palfour!”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you do not like my name, sir,” says I, +annoyed with myself to be annoyed with such a rustical +fellow.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page75"></a>75</span></p> + +<p>“No,” says he, “but I wass thinking.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Tit you effer hear where Alan Grigor fand the tangs?” +said he.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>There could be no mistake about this, and my cheek +burned.</p> + +<p>“Before I went about to put affronts on gentlemen,” +said I, “I think I would learn the English language first.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I paid him as good or better on the return; whereupon +he stepped a little back and took off his hat to me +decorously.</p> + +<p>“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 canna speak Cot’s English? We have swords at our +hurdies, and here is the King’s Park at hand. Will ye +walk first, or let me show ye the way?”</p> + +<p>I returned his bow, told him to go first, and followed +him. As he went I heard him grumble to himself about +<i>Cot’s English</i> and the <i>King’s coat</i>, 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page76"></a>76</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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. Duncansby, +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.</p> + +<p>“Fat deil ails her?” cries the lieutenant.</p> + +<p>And suddenly engaging, he twitched the sword out +of my grasp, and sent it flying far among the rushes.</p> + +<p>Twice was this manoevure 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.</p> + +<p>“Pe tamned if I touch you!” he cried, and asked me +bitterly what right I had to stand up before “shentlemans” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page77"></a>77</span> +when I did not know the back of a sword from the +front of it.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, no, Palfour,” said he; “and I think I wass +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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“That will be the true service. For though he has sent +me a gallant adversary for the first, the thought in Mr. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page78"></a>78</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“And I would not like it myself, if I wass no more +of a man than what you wass!” he cried. “But I will +do you right, Palfour. Lead on!”</p> + +<p>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: “<i>Surely the bitterness of +death is past.</i>” I mind that I was extremely thirsty, and +had a drink at St. 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 Nether Bow, +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>As the man departed unwillingly enough upon this +errand, we made so bold as to follow him to the antechamber, +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.</p> + +<p>“Well, well, Mr. Balfour, and what brings you here +again? and who is this you bring with you?” says +Prestongrange.</p> + +<p>As for Fraser, he looked before him on the table.</p> + +<p>“He is here to bear a little testimony in my favour, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page79"></a>79</span> +my lord, which I think it very needful you should hear,” +said I, and turned to Duncansby.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I thank you for your honest expressions,” said I.</p> + +<p>Whereupon Duncansby made his bow to the company, +and left the chamber, as we had agreed upon before.</p> + +<p>“What have I to do with this?” says Prestongrange.</p> + +<p>“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 is 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.”</p> + +<p>The veins swelled on Prestongrange’s brow, and he +regarded me with fury.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>But Sheriff Erskine had preserved his temper, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page80"></a>80</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>His coolness brought the others to their prudence; +and they made haste, with a somewhat distracted civility, +to pack me from the house.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page81"></a>81</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<h5>THE HEATHER ON FIRE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">When</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page82"></a>82</span> +signal and immediately vanished. Seven stories up, there +he was again in a house-door, the which he locked 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“How’s it with Alan?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Hout awa!” cried Stewart. “I’ll never believe +that.”</p> + +<p>“I have maybe a suspicion of my own,” says I, “but +I would like fine to hear your reasons.”</p> + +<p>“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 +canna 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.”</p> + +<p>“And how are they to bring in Alan till they can catch +him?” says I.</p> + +<p>“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, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page83"></a>83</span> +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 furth of Scotland) +<i>at the cross of Edinburgh, and the pier and shore of Leith, for +sixty days</i>. 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 summoning 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 any one would show me where he has lived +forty days together since the ’Forty-five; 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 furth 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.”</p> + +<p>“You have given the very words,” said I. “Here +at the cross, and at the pier and shore of Leith, for sixty +days.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” I cried. “Not seeking him?”</p> + +<p>“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.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page84"></a>84</span></p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 outfaced 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!”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“See,” said Stewart, “he couldn’t dare to refuse me +access to my client, so he <i>recommends the commanding +officer to let me in</i>. 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?”</p> + +<p>“It will bear that colour,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And I’ll go on to prove it you outright,” said he. +“They have the right to hold James in prison, yet they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page85"></a>85</span> +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: +<i>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.</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“And I am not to see them until Inverary, when the +court is set!” cries he, “and then to hear Prestongrange +upon <i>the anxious responsibilities of his office and the great +facilities afforded the defence</i>! But I’ll begowk them there, +Mr. David. I have a plan to waylay the witnesses upon +the road, and see if I canna get a little harle of justice out +of the <i>military man notoriously ignorant of the law</i> that +shall command the party.”</p> + +<p>It was actually so—it was actually on the wayside near +Tyndrum, and by the connivance of a soldier officer, that +Mr. Stewart first saw the witnesses upon the case.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing that would surprise me in this +business,” I remarked.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it would likely be King George,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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>I</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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page86"></a>86</span></p> + +<p>“Is not this against the law?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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: <i>sumptibus moesti rei</i>: 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?”</p> + +<p>“Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Disappear yourself,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I do not take you,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page87"></a>87</span> +Grange. Bet me what ye please—there was their +<i>expedient</i>!”</p> + +<p>“You make me think,” said I, and told him of the +whistle and the red-headed retainer, Neil.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ye make a strong case,” I admitted.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you one thing,” said I. “I saw the murderer, +and it was not Alan.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Where am I to go, then?” I inquired.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page88"></a>88</span></p> + +<p>“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’s Arms’ in Stirling; +and if ye’ve managed for yourself as long as that, I’ll see +that ye reach Inverary.”</p> + +<p>“One thing more,” said I: “Can I no’ see Alan?”</p> + +<p>He seemed boggled. “Hech, I would rather you +wouldna,” 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!”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page89"></a>89</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER X</h3> + +<h5>THE RED-HEADED MAN</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> 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 salve 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. Drummond-Ogilvy’s.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page90"></a>90</span></p> + +<p>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 Queen’s Ferry, 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 <i>countryfeed</i>; at least, I was not so +much so as she thought; and it was plain enough, 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.</p> + +<p>“Saxpence had better take his broth with us, Catrine,” +says she. “Run and tell the lasses.”</p> + +<p>And for the little while we were alone she 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 match-maker +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.</p> + +<p>“I must not ask?” says she eagerly, the same moment +we were left alone.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but to-day I can talk with a free conscience,” I +replied. “I am lightened of my pledge, and indeed (after +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page91"></a>91</span> +what has come and gone since morning) I would not have +renewed it were it asked.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” she said. “My cousin will not be so long.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 any one.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You are a bloodthirsty maid,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 any one?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But how did you feel, then—after it?” she asked. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page92"></a>92</span></p> + +<p>“’Deed, I sat down and grat like a bairn,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said she, “you are brave. And your friend, +I admire and love him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and I think any one 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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I am a thousand miles from judging,” I replied. +“And I give you my word I do rejoice to know your heart +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page93"></a>93</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard tell of that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What country is that?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“My country and yours,” said she.</p> + +<p>“This is my day for discoveries, I think,” said I, “for +I always thought the name of it was Scotland.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Troth,” said I, “and that I never learned!” For +I lacked heart to take her up about the Macedonian.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page94"></a>94</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“It is long till I see you now?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“It is beyond my judging,” I replied. “It will be +long, it may be never.”</p> + +<p>“It may be so,” said she. “And you are sorry?”</p> + +<p>I bowed my head, looking upon her.</p> + +<p>“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. <i>God go with you, and guide you, prays your little +friend</i>: so I said—I will be telling them—and here is +what I did.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“O yes, Mr. David,” said she, “that is what I think +of you. The heart goes with the lips.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>After that honour she had done me I could offer no +more trivial civility. It was even hard for me to speak; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page95"></a>95</span> +a certain lifting in her voice had knocked directly at the +door of my own tears.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Catriona was yet in the garden walking by herself.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I, “you see me back again.”</p> + +<p>“With a changed face,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I carry two men’s lives besides my own,” said I. +“It would be a sin and a 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.”</p> + +<p>“I could tell you one that would be liking it less, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page96"></a>96</span> +will like little enough to hear you talking at this very same +time,” she cried. “What have I done, at all events?”</p> + +<p>“O, you! 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.”</p> + +<p>“To be sure, you are mistaken there,” she said, with +a white face. “Neil is in Edinburgh on errands from my +father.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Why, how will you know that?” says she.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page97"></a>97</span> +of those that hang by me, through the means of your clan, +let me go where I have to go with my eyes open.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Twice or thrice they spoke together, and I could make +out that Neil (for all his obsequiousness) was an angry man.</p> + +<p>Then she turned to me. “He swears it is not,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I, “do you believe the man yourself?”</p> + +<p>She made a gesture like wringing the hands.</p> + +<p>“How will I can know?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They spoke together once more in the Gaelic.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“It is pretty plain now,” said I, “and may God forgive +the wicked!”</p> + +<p>She said never anything to that, but continued gazing +at me with the same white face.</p> + +<p>“This is a fine business,” said I again. “Am I to fall, +then, and those two along with me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what am I to do?” she cried. “Could I go +against my father’s orders, and him in prison, in the +danger of his life?”</p> + +<p>“But perhaps we go too fast,” said I. “This may be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page98"></a>98</span> +a lie too. He may have no right orders; all may be contrived +by Simon, and your father knowing nothing.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Here,” said I, “keep him but the one hour; and I’ll +chance it, and say God bless you.”</p> + +<p>She put out her hand to me. “I will be needing one +good word,” she sobbed.</p> + +<p>“The full hour, then?” said I, keeping her hand in +mine. “Three lives of it, my lass!”</p> + +<p>“The full hour!” she said, and cried aloud on her +Redeemer to forgive her.</p> + +<p>I thought it no fit place for me, and fled.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page99"></a>99</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<h5>THE WOOD BY SILVERMILLS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I lost</span> no time, but down through the valley, and by +Stockbridge and Silvermills as hard as I could stave. It +was Alan’s tryst to lie 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?</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100"></a>100</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Two things became plain to me first: that I had 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. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101"></a>101</span> +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 thenceforth 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.</p> + +<p>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, “<i>How can Satan cast out Satan?”</i> +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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page102"></a>102</span></p> + +<p>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 people’s 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Is this you at last, Davie?” he whispered.</p> + +<p>“Just myself,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 couldna +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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll have a long crack of it first,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Well, indeed, and I have a good deal it will be telling +you to hear,” said I.</p> + +<p>And I told him what behoved, making rather a jumble +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103"></a>103</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“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 o’ 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!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“And what’s your ain opinion, you that’s a man of so +much experience?” said he.</p> + +<p>“It passes me,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And me too,” says Alan. “Do ye think this lass +would keep her word to ye?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I do that,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“How many would ye think there would be of them?” +I asked.</p> + +<p>“That depends,” said Alan. “If it was only you, they +would likely send two-three lively, brisk young birkies, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104"></a>104</span> +if they thought that I was to appear in the employ, I daresay +ten or twelve,” said he.</p> + +<p>It was no use, I gave a little crack of laughter.</p> + +<p>“And I think your own two eyes will have seen me drive +that number, or the double of it, nearer hand!” cries he.</p> + +<p>“It matters the less,” said I, “because I am well rid of +them for this time.”</p> + +<p>“Nae doubt that’s your opinion,” said he; “but I +wouldna 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 needna 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.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt that’s a branch of education that was left +out with me,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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 ignorant, and ye canna see’t. +Wae’s me for my Greek and Hebrew; but, man, I ken that +I dinna 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! <i>Because I couldna see them</i>, says you. Ye blockhead, +that’s their livelihood.”</p> + +<p>“Take the worst of it,” said I, “and what are we to +do?”</p> + +<p>“I am thinking of that same,” said he. “We might +twine. It wouldna 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. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105"></a>105</span> +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 blithe +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.”</p> + +<p>“Have with ye, then!” says I. “Do ye gang back +where you were stopping.”</p> + +<p>“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 +amna 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.”</p> + +<p>With which he rose from his place, and we began to move +quietly eastward through the wood.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page106"></a>106</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<h5>ON THE MARCH AGAIN WITH ALAN</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">It</span> 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 +bauks, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107"></a>107</span> +while you were there sottering and sleeping I have done a +thing that maybe I do over seldom.”</p> + +<p>“And what was that?” said I.</p> + +<p>“O, just said my prayers,” said he.</p> + +<p>“And where are my gentry, as ye call them?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I feel like a gomeril,” 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.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, but ye wouldna, Alan,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“If that’s all you have to complain of, Alan, it’s no such +great affair,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever,” said +he, “and me but new out of yon deil’s haystack.”</p> + +<p>“And so you were unco weary of your haystack?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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 (wasna’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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page108"></a>108</span></p> + +<p>“How did you know the hour to bide your tryst?” I +asked.</p> + +<p>“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 be 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!”</p> + +<p>“What did you do with yourself?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What were they about?” says I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“So ye were frich’ened of Sim Fraser?” he asked once.</p> + +<p>“In troth was I!” cried I.</p> + +<p>“So would I have been, Davie,” said he. “And that +is indeed a dreidful 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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page109"></a>109</span></p> + +<p>“Is he so brave?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Brave!” said he. “He is as brave as my steel sword.”</p> + +<p>The story of my duel set him beside himself.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Alan,” said I, “this is midsummer madness. Here +is no time for fencing lessons.”</p> + +<p>“I canna 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.”</p> + +<p>“You silly fellow,” said I, “you forget it was just +me.”</p> + +<p>“Na,” said he, “but three times!”</p> + +<p>“When ye ken yourself that I am fair incompetent,” I +cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, I never heard tell the equal of it,” said he.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, the next time!” says he. “And when will that +be, I would like to ken?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That’s but a weary trade, Davie,” says Alan, “and +rather a blagyard one forbye. Ye would be better in a +king’s coat than that.”</p> + +<p>“And no doubt that would be the way to have us meet,” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110"></a>110</span> +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.”</p> + +<p>“There’s some sense in that,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>“An advocate, then, it’ll have to be,” I continued, +“and I think it a more suitable trade for a gentleman that +was <i>three times</i> 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 <i>Royal Ecossais</i> get a furlough, +slip over the marches, and call in upon a Leyden student!”</p> + +<p>“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 Cæsar, would be doubtless very pleased +to have the advantage of my observes.”</p> + +<p>“Is Lord Melfort an author, then?” I asked; for much +as Alan thought of soldiers, I thought more of the gentry +that write books.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The best will be to write me in the care of my chieftain,” +said he, “Charles Stewart, of Ardshiel, 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.”</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111"></a>111</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 goodwife (as chanced) +was called away.</p> + +<p>“What do ye want?” says he. “A man should aye +put his best foot forrit with the women-kind; 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 bonny, she would never have heard +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112"></a>112</span> +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 gomeril that didna give +his attention to the same.”</p> + +<p>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 good-brother 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.</p> + +<p>“We pit a fomentation to his feet,” the goodwife 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....”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” says I, cutting very quietly in, “there’s a friend +of mine gone by the house.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Presently, however, he paid her with a half-crown piece, +and she must go forth after the change.</p> + +<p>“Was it him with the red head?” asked Alan.</p> + +<p>“Ye have it,” said I.</p> + +<p>“What did I tell you in the wood?” he cried. “And +yet it’s strange he should be here too. Was he his lane?”</p> + +<p>“His lee-lane for what I could see,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Did he gang by?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Straight by,” said I, “and looked neither to the right +nor left.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page113"></a>113</span></p> + +<p>“There is one big differ, though,” said I, “that now we +have money in our pockets.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I’m saying, Luckie,” says he, when the goodwife returned, +“have ye a back road out of this change-house?”</p> + +<p>She told him there was, and where it led to.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 +rael ta’en up about the good-brother. O man, David, try +and learn to have some kind of intelligence!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try, Alan,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And now for him of the red head,” says he; “was he +gaun fast or slow?”</p> + +<p>“Betwixt and between,” said I.</p> + +<p>“No kind of a hurry about the man?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Never a sign of it,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Nhm!” said Alan, “it looks queer. We saw nothing +of them this morning on the Whins; he’s passed us by, he +doesna 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.”</p> + +<p>“They ken?” I asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page114"></a>114</span></p> + +<p>“I think Andie Scougal’s sold me—him, or his mate, +wha kennt some part of the affair—or else Chairlie’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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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. ‘<i>But</i>,’ says he, ‘<i>if I can +get a bit of a wind out of the west I’ll be there long or that</i>,’ he +says, ‘<i>and lie-to for ye behind the Isle of Fidra</i>.’ 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 +gomerils, 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 down 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.”</p> + +<p>“I believe there’s some chance in it,” said I. “Have +on with ye, Alan!”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page115"></a>115</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XIII</h3> + +<h5>GILLANE SANDS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I did</span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Hae ye seen my horse?” he gasped.</p> + +<p>“Na, man, I haena seen nae horse the day,” replied the +countryman.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Them that canna tell the truth,” he observed to myself +as we went on again, “should be aye mindfu’ to leave an +honest, handy lee behind them. If folk dinna 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.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116"></a>116</span> +runs a string of four small islets, Craigleith, 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 <i>Thistle</i> riding.</p> + +<p>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 +embarkation, 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.</p> + +<p>But here Alan came to a full stop.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117"></a>117</span> +arranged for our coming from the east and here we are +upon their west.”</p> + +<p>“Ay,” says Alan, “I wish we were in some force, and +this was a battle, we would have bonnily outmanœuvred +them! But it isna, Davit; and the way it is, is a wee thing +less inspiring to Alan Breck. I swither, Davie.”</p> + +<p>“Time flies, Alan,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Alan,” said I, “this is no’ like you. It’s got to be now +or never.”</p> + +<p class="center f90">“This is no’ me, quo’ he,”</p> + +<p class="noind">sang Alan, with a queer face betwixt shame and drollery,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Neither you nor me, quo’ he, neither you nor me,</p> +<p class="i05">Wow, na, Johnnie man! neither you nor me.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>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 sandhills to the east. His appearance +was at first unremarked: Scougal not expecting him +so early, and <i>my gentry</i> watching on the other side. Then +they awoke on board the <i>Thistle</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>Alan had not seen this, looking straight to seaward at +the ship and skiff.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page118"></a>118</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“There is one thing I would like to ken,” says Alan. +“I would like fine 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 bauk.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I believe ye’ll be in the right,” says Alan. “For all +which I am wearying a good deal for yon boat.”</p> + +<p>And he snapped his fingers and whistled to it like a dog.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“This is a fine, bright, caller place to get shot in,” says +Alan suddenly; “and, man, I wish that I had your courage!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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, +deidly courage, I am not fit to hold a candle to yourself. +Look at us two here upon the sands. Here am I, fair +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119"></a>119</span> +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 +havena got the courage and wouldna daur; and secondly, +because I am a man of so much penetration and would see +ye damned first.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Remembrance of my temptation in the wood made me +strong as iron.</p> + +<p>“I have a tryst to keep,” I continued. “I am trysted +with your cousin Charlie; I have passed my word.”</p> + +<p>“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 Simon Fraser and the ither Whigs?” he added +with extraordinary bitterness.</p> + +<p>“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 is 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 man-sworn, +here I’ll have to die.”</p> + +<p>“Aweel, aweel,” said Alan.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120"></a>120</span> +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 looks of us.</p> + +<p>Whoever had betrayed Alan it was not the captain: +he was in the skiff himself, steering and stirring up his oars-men, +like a man with his heart in his employ. Already he +was near in, and the boat scouring—already Alan’s face had +flamed crimson with the excitement of his deliverance, when +our friends in the bents, either in despair to see their prey +escape them, or with some hope of scaring Andie, raised +suddenly a shrill cry of several voices.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“What’s this of it?” sings out the captain, for he was +come within an easy hail.</p> + +<p>“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 sweer to leave ye.”</p> + +<p>“Not a hair of me,” said I.</p> + +<p>He stood part of a second where he was to his knees in +the salt water, hesitating.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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 light or sound of man; the sun shone on the wet sand +and the dry, the wind blew in the bents, the gulls made a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page121"></a>121</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 if I were to show bare steel +I might play straight into the hands of my worst enemy and +seal my own doom.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122"></a>122</span> +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.</p> + +<p>“Under protest,” said I, “if ye ken what that means, +which I misdoubt.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 that 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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>He assured me in answer I should be tenderly used, for +he knew I was “acquent wi’ the leddy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page123"></a>123</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Lads,” cried he, “hae ye a paper like this?” and held +up one in his hand. Neil produced a second, which the new +comer 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 a 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124"></a>124</span> +body and spirits wearied with the day’s employment, I +turned upon one side and slumbered.</p> + +<p>I had no means of guessing at what hour I was wakened, +only the moon was down and the fire 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.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page125"></a>125</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XIV</h3> + +<h5>THE BASS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I had</span> 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 <i>twenty-pounders</i>. +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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Nae harm,” said he, “nae harm ava’. Ye’ll hae +strong freens, I’m thinking. Ye’ll be richt eneuch yet.”</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126"></a>126</span> +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.</p> + +<p>At the sight the truth came in upon me in a clap.</p> + +<p>“It’s there you’re taking me!” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Just to the Bass, mannie,” said he: “whaur the auld +sants were afore ye, and I misdoubt if ye have come so fairly +by your preeson.”</p> + +<p>“But none dwells there now,” I cried; “the place is +long a ruin.”</p> + +<p>“It’ll be the mair pleisand a change for the solan geese, +then,” quoth Andie drily.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 apiece being a common price, and paid willingly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page127"></a>127</span> +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 folk’s 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 altogether 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 locked 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.</p> + +<p>This bed he now offered me to use, saying he supposed I +would set up to be gentry.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 +ruins 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>Seahorse</i>, Captain +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128"></a>128</span> +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 Bass. 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 +<i>Seahorse</i> 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.</p> + +<p>All the time of my stay on the rock we lived well. We +had small ale and brandy, and oatmeal of which we made +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page129"></a>129</span> +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 scaring him from his prey +ere he had swallowed it.</p> + +<p>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 martyrs’ dungeons, and see the soldiers tramp the +ramparts with their glinting pipes, and the dawn rising +behind them out of the North Sea.</p> + +<p>No doubt it was a good deal Andie and his tales that put +these fancies in my head. He was extraordinary 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page130"></a>130</span> +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 goodwill. 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.</p> + +<p>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 be 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page131"></a>131</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ay, you’re funny, Mr. Dale,” said I, “but perhaps if +you’ll glance an eye upon that paper you may change your +note.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>He read it. “Troth, and ye’re nane sae ill aff,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I thought that would maybe vary your opinions,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Hout!” said he. “It shows me ye can bribe; but +I’m no’ to be bribit.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ye’re no’ a’thegether wrong either,” says Andie. +“I’m to let ye gang, bar orders contrair, on Saturday, +the 23rd.”</p> + +<p>I could not but feel there was something extremely +insidious in this arrangement. That I was to reappear +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.</p> + +<p>“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? +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132"></a>132</span> +or what kind of a process is this that I am fallen +under? To be apprehended by some ragged John-Hielandmen +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?”</p> + +<p>“I canna gainsay ye, Shaws. It looks unco under-hand,” +says Andie. “And werena the folk guid sound +Whigs and true-blue Presbyterians I would hae seen them +ayont Jordan and Jeroozlem or I would have set hand to it.”</p> + +<p>“The Master of Lovat’ll be a braw Whig,” says I, “and +a grand Presbyterian.”</p> + +<p>“I ken naething by him,” said he. “I hae nae trokings +wi’ Lovats.”</p> + +<p>“No, it’ll be Prestongrange that you’ll be dealing with,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I’ll no’ tell ye that,” said Andie.</p> + +<p>“Little need when I ken,” was my retort.</p> + +<p>“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 amna goin’ to,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Well, Andie, I see I’ll have to speak out plain with +you,” I replied. And I told him so much as I thought +needful of the facts.</p> + +<p>He heard me out with serious interest, and when I had +done, seemed to consider a little with himself.</p> + +<p>“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 is the maitter clear +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133"></a>133</span> +and plain to ye. There’ll be nae skaith to yoursel’ if I keep +ye here; far frae 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.”</p> + +<p>“Andie,” said I, laying my hand upon his knee, “this +Hielantman’s innocent.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, it’s a peety about that,” said he. “But ye see, +in this warld, the way God made it, we canna just get +a’thing that we want.”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page134"></a>134</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XV</h3> + +<h5>BLACK ANDIE’S TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I have</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page135"></a>135</span></p> + +<p>“Ay,” he would say, “<i>it’s an unco place, the +Bass</i>.”</p> + +<p>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 any way +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.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Not canny?” I asked. “How can that be?”</p> + +<p>“Na,” said he; “it will be made by a bogle and her +wanting ta heid upon his body.”<a name="FnAnchor_13" href="#Footnote_13"><span class="sp">13</span></a></p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “there can be no bogles here, Neil; +for it’s not likely they would fash themselves to frighten +solan geese.”</p> + +<p>“Ay?” says Andie, “is that what ye think of it? But +I’ll can tell ye there’s been waur nor bogles here.”</p> + +<p>“What’s waur than bogles, Andie?” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136"></a>136</span> +Highlander that had the least English of the three set himself +to listen with all his might.</p> + +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<h5>THE TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK</h5> + +<p>My faither, Tam Dale, peace to his banes, was a wild +sploring lad in his young days, wi’ little wisdom and less +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 frae the shore with +vivers, the thing was ill-guided, and there were whiles when +they büt to fish and shoot solans for their diet. To crown +a’, thir was the Days of the Persecution. The perishin’ +cauld chalmers were a’ occupeed wi’ sants and martyrs, the +saut of the yerd, of which it wasna worthy. And though +Tam Dale carried a firelock there, a single sodger, and likit +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 hauldin’ 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, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137"></a>137</span> +there were the rousing compainions, and his guid resolves +depairtit.</p> + +<p>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 dinnled in folk’s lugs, and the words of him +like coals of fire.</p> + +<p>Now there was a lass on the rock, and I think she had +little to do, for it was nae place for dacent 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 remarkit by the sodgers that she gied but the ae +skirl.</p> + +<p>Nae doubt this judgment had some weicht upon Tam +Dale; but it passed again, and him nane 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 happit 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! <i>Deil hae me</i>, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138"></a>138</span> +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 dischairge, and +he went and dwallt and merried in North Berwick, and had +aye a gude name with honest folk frae that day on.</p> + +<p>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 kennt +the gate to handle solans, and the seasons and values of +them. Forbye 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, forbye 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 likit 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 steekit. We +cried to him by his name, we skirled in the deid lug of him, +we shook him by the shouther. Nae mainner o’ service! +There he sat on his dowp, an’ cawed the shuttle and smiled +like creish.</p> + +<p>“God be guid to us,” says Tam Dale, “this is no’ +canny!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page139"></a>139</span></p> + +<p>He had jimp said the word, when Tod Lapraik cam to +himsel’.</p> + +<p>“Is this you, Tam?” says he. “Haith, man! I’m +blithe to see ye. I whiles fa’ into a bit dwam like this,” he +says; “it’s frae the stamach.”</p> + +<p>Weel, they began to crack about the Bass, and which +of them twa was to get the warding o’t, and by little and +little cam to very ill words, and twined in anger. I mind +weel, that as my faither and me gaed hame again, he came +ower and ower the same expression, how little he likit Tod +Lapraik and his dwams.</p> + +<p>“Dwam!” says he. “I think folk hae brunt for dwams +like yon.”</p> + +<p>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 +it’s 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 +below, and the solans skirling and flying. It was a braw +spring morn, and Tam whustled as he claught in the young +geese. Mony’s the time I heard him tell of this experience, +and aye the swat ran upon the man.</p> + +<p>It chanced, ye see, that Tam keekit 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’.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page140"></a>140</span></p> + +<p>“Shoo!” says Tam. “Awa’, bird! Shoo, awa’ wi’ +ye!” says he.</p> + +<p>The solan keekit doun 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.</p> + +<p>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 about him. “If I +get a dwam here,” he thocht, “it’s by wi’ Tam Dale.” +And he signalled for the lads to pu’ him up.</p> + +<p>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 laigher, 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 held drapt upon his shouther, and +they pu’d him up like a deid corp, dadding on the craig.</p> + +<p>A dram of brandy (which he went never without) +broucht him to his mind, or what was left of it. Up he sat.</p> + +<p>“Rin, Geordie, rin to the boat, mak’ sure of the boat, +man—rin!” he cries, “or yon solan’ll have it awa’,” says +he.</p> + +<p>The fower lads stared at ither, an’ tried to whillywha +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.</p> + +<p>“Na,” says he, “and neither 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.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page141"></a>141</span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>It was about this time o’ the year; my grandfaither was +out at the white fishing; and like a bairn, I büt 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 forgathered +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.</p> + +<p>“What’s yon on the Bass?” says he.</p> + +<p>“On the Bass?” says grandfaither.</p> + +<p>“Ay,” says Sandie, “on the green side o’t.”</p> + +<p>“Whatten kind of a thing?” says grandfaither. +“There canna be naething on the Bass but just the sheep.”</p> + +<p>“It looks unco like a body,” quo’ Sandie, who was +nearer in.</p> + +<p>“A body!” says we, and we nane of us likit that. For +there was nae boat that could have broucht a man, and the +key o’ the prison yett hung ower my faither’s heid at hame +in the press bed.</p> + +<p>We keept the twa boats closs 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 gless 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’.</p> + +<p>“It’s Tod,” says grandfaither, and passed the gless to +Sandie.</p> + +<p>“Ay, it’s him,” says Sandie.</p> + +<p>“Or ane in the likeness o’ him,” says grandfaither.</p> + +<p>“Sma’ is the differ,” quo’ Sandie. “Deil or warlock, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142"></a>142</span> +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 a’ that country.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Hout!” says Sandie, “this is the Lord’s judgments +surely, and be damned to it!” says he.</p> + +<p>“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 forgathered wi’ before,” says +he.</p> + +<p>This was ower true, and Sandie was a wee thing set ajee. +“Aweel, Edie,” says he, “and what would be your way +of it?”</p> + +<p>“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 canna 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.”</p> + +<p>Aweel, so it was agreed between them twa. I was just +a bairn, an’ clum in Sandie’s boat, whaur I thocht 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 ae boat set aff for North +Berwick, an’ the tither lay whaur it was and watched the +wanchancy thing on the brae-side.</p> + +<p>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 folk 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. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143"></a>143</span> +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’ thae hours by his lane in the black glory +of his heart. Nae doubt they burn for it in muckle hell, +but they have a grand time here of it, whatever!—and the +Lord forgie us!</p> + +<p>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 yerd whaur +the Wonder had been lowping and flinging but ae second +syne.</p> + +<p>The hale way hame I roared and grat wi’ the terror of +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 +likit 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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page144"></a>144</span></p> + +<p>When the corp was examined the leid draps hadna +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.</p> + +<div class="pt05"> </div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“She would ken that story afore,” he said. “She was +the story of Uistean More M’Gillie Phadrig and the Gavar +Vore.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Thir will be no words to use to shentlemans,” says +Neil.</p> + +<p>“Shentlemans!” cries Andie. “Shentlemans, ye +Hielant stot! If God would gie ye the grace to see yoursel’ +the way that ithers see ye, ye would throw your denner up.”</p> + +<p>There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and +the black knife was in his hand that moment.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page145"></a>145</span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_13" href="#FnAnchor_13"><span class="fn">13</span></a> A learned folklorist of my acquaintance hereby identifies Alan’s +air. It has been printed (it seems) in Campbell’s “Tales of the West +Highlands,” vol. ii., p. 91. Upon examination it would really seem +as if Miss Grant’s unrhymed doggerel (see Chapter v.) would fit, with +a little humouring, to the notes in question.—R. L. S.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page146"></a>146</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XVI</h3> + +<h5>THE MISSING WITNESS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">On</span> 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“If I thocht it was to do guid to ye, Shaws!” said he, +staring at me over his spectacles.</p> + +<p>“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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page147"></a>147</span> +your lap! <i>What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole +world?</i>”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Andie! have I named the name of siller?” cried I.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>you</i> were to hang, where +would <i>I</i> be? Na: the thing’s no’ possible. And just awa’ +wi’ ye like a bonny lad! and let Andie read his chapter.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning (Friday, 22nd) a boat came with +provisions, and Andie placed a packet in my hand. The +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page148"></a>148</span> +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.</p> + +<p>But the second enclosure was by far the more surprising. +It was in a lady’s hand of writ. “<i>Maister Dauvit Balfour +is informed a friend was speiring for him, and her eyes were +of the grey</i>,” 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 inconsequential 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page149"></a>149</span> +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?</p> + +<p>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 of +our acquaintance—if I should please him by some of that +“discretion” at which his letter pointed—to what might +not this lead? <i>In vain is the net spread in the sight of any +fowl</i>, the scripture says. Well, fowls must be wiser than +folk! For I thought I perceived the policy, and yet fell in +with it.</p> + +<p>I was in this frame, my heart beating, the grey eyes plain +before me like two stars, when Andie broke in upon my +musing.</p> + +<p>“I see ye hae gotten guid news,” said he.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Andie,” said I, “is it still to be to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>He told me nothing was changed.</p> + +<p>“Was anything said about the hour?” I asked.</p> + +<p>He told me it was to be two o’clock afternoon.</p> + +<p>“And about the place?” I pursued.</p> + +<p>“Whatten place?” says Andie.</p> + +<p>“The place I’m to be landed at,” said I.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page150"></a>150</span></p> + +<p>He owned there was nothing as to that.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ye daft callant!” he cried, “ye would try for Inverary +after a’!”</p> + +<p>“Just that, Andie,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Weel, ye’re ill to beat!” says he. “And I was 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.”</p> + +<p>Here was a spur to a lame horse!</p> + +<p>“A word in your ear, Andie,” said I. “This plan of +mine has another advantage yet. We can leave these +Hielandmen 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.”</p> + +<p>“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 wi’ them the best. +And troth! the mair I think of it, the less I see what way +we would be required. The place—ay, feggs! they had +forgot the place. Eh, Shaws, ye’re a lang-heided chield +when ye like! Forbye that I’m awing ye my life,” he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page151"></a>151</span> +added, with more solemnity, and offered me his hand upon +the bargain.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Queen’s Ferry. 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, and Andie carried them to Rankeillor. +In about an hour he came aboard 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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page152"></a>152</span> +Pool. This done, and the boat riding by her stone anchor, +we lay down to sleep under the sail.</p> + +<p>We were in the Pool the next day long ere two; and +there was nothing left for me but 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 water-side, 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 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 Allan 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>From Duncan I had news of the trial. It was followed +in all these Highland regions with religious interest; news +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page153"></a>153</span> +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 to 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 a bite and a +direction: and, a little before the end of the sermon, came +to the kirk-doors of Inverary.</p> + +<p>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 open, entered that church with the dirty Duncan +at my tails, and, finding a vacant place hard by, sat down.</p> + +<p>“Thirteenthly, 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page154"></a>154</span> +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 heed; and I sat there amongst my friends and +enemies unremarked.</p> + +<p>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, 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.</p> + +<p>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 to observe my +presence was Charlie Stewart, and he too began to pencil +and hand about despatches, none of which I was able to +trace to their destination in the crowd.</p> + +<p>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 +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page155"></a>155</span> +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 +thus miscarry in the fifth.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page156"></a>156</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XVII</h3> + +<h5>THE MEMORIAL</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> 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.</p> + +<p>“Am I yet in time?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Ay and no,” said he. “The case is over; the jury is +enclosed, and will be 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 kennt it, ‘<i>Ye +may do what ye will for me</i>,’ whispers he two days ago. ‘<i>I +ken my fate by what the Duke of Argyle has just said to Mr. +Macintosh.</i>’ O, it’s been a scandal!</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“The great Argyle he gaed before,</p> +<p class="i05">He gart the cannons and guns to roar,</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">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!”</p> + +<p>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 owercome. And +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page157"></a>157</span> +it was forced home upon my mind how this, that had the +externals of a sober process of law, was in its essence a clan +battle between savage clans. I thought my friend the +Writer none of the least savage. Who, that had only seen +him at a counsel’s back before the Lord Ordinary, or following +a golf-ball and laying down his clubs on Bruntsfield +links, could have recognised for the same person this voluble +and violent clansman?</p> + +<p>James Stewart’s counsel were four in number—Sheriffs +Brown of Colstoun and Miller, Mr. Robert Macintosh and +Mr. Stewart, younger of Stewart Hall. These were covenanted +to dine with the Writer after sermon, and I was very +obligingly included of the party. No sooner the cloth lifted, +and the first bowl very artfully compounded by Sheriff +Miller, than we fell to the subject in hand. I made a short +narration of my seizure and captivity, and was then examined +and re-examined upon the circumstances of the +murder. It will be remembered this was the first time I +had had my say out, or the matter at all handled, among +lawyers; and the consequence was very dispiriting to the +others and (I must own) disappointing to myself.</p> + +<p>“To sum up,” said Colstoun, “you prove that Alan was +on the spot; you have heard him proffer menaces against +Glenure; and though you assure us he was not the man who +fired, you leave a strong impression that he was in league +with him, and consenting, perhaps immediately assisting, in +the act. You show him besides, at the risk of his own liberty, +actively furthering the criminal’s escape. And the rest of +your testimony (so far as the least material) depends on the +bare word of Alan or of James, the two accused. In short, +you do not at all break, but only lengthen by one personage, +the chain that binds our client to the murderer; and I need +scarcely say that the introduction of a third accomplice +rather aggravates that appearance of a conspiracy which +has been our stumbling-block from the beginning.”</p> + +<p>“I am of the same opinion,” said Sheriff Miller. “I +think we may all be very much obliged to Prestongrange for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page158"></a>158</span> +taking a most uncomfortable witness out of our way. And +chiefly, I think, Mr. Balfour himself might be obliged. For +you talk of a third accomplice, but Mr. Balfour (in my view) +has very much the appearance of a fourth.”</p> + +<p>“Allow me, sirs!” interposed Stewart the Writer. +“There is another view. Here we have a witness—never +fash whether material or not—a witness in this cause, kidnapped +by that old, lawless, bandit crew of the Glengyle +Macgregors, and sequestered for near upon a month in a +bourock of old cold ruins on the Bass. Move that and see +what dirt you fling on the proceedings! Sirs, this is a tale +to make the world ring with! It would be strange, with +such a grip as this, if we couldna squeeze out a pardon for my +client.”</p> + +<p>“And suppose we took up Mr. Balfour’s cause to-morrow?” +said Stewart Hall. “I am much deceived or we +should find so many impediments thrown in our path, as +that James should have been hanged before we had found a +court to hear us. This is a great scandal, but I suppose we +have none of us forgot a greater still, I mean the matter of +the Lady Grange. The woman was still in durance; my +friend Mr. Hope of Rankeillor did what was humanly +possible; and how did he speed? He never got a warrant! +Well, it’ll be the same now; the same weapons will be used. +This is a scene, gentlemen, of clan animosity. The hatred +of the name which I have the honour to bear rages in high +quarters. There is nothing here to be viewed but naked +Campbell spite and scurvy Campbell intrigue.”</p> + +<p>You may be sure this was to touch a welcome topic, and +I sat for some time in the midst of my learned counsel, +almost deaved with their talk, but extremely little the wiser +for its purport. The Writer was led into some hot expressions; +Colstoun must take him up and set him right; the +rest joined in on different sides, but all pretty noisy; the +Duke of Argyle was beaten like a blanket; King George +came in for a few digs in the by-going and a great deal of +rather elaborate defence: and there was only one person +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page159"></a>159</span> +that seemed to be forgotten, and that was James of the +Glens.</p> + +<p>Through all this Mr. Miller sat quiet. He was a slip of +an oldish gentleman, ruddy and twinkling; he spoke in a +smooth rich voice, with an infinite effect of pawkiness, dealing +out each word the way an actor does, to give the most +expression possible; and even now, when he was silent, and +sat there with his wig laid aside, his glass in both hands, his +mouth funnily pursed, and his chin out, he seemed the mere +picture of a merry slyness. It was plain he had a word to +say, and waited for the fit occasion.</p> + +<p>It came presently. Colstoun had wound up one of his +speeches with some expression of their duty to their client. +His brother sheriff was pleased, I suppose, with the transition. +He took the table in his confidence with a gesture and +a look.</p> + +<p>“That suggests to me a consideration which seems overlooked,” +said he. “The interest of our client goes certainly +before all, but the world does not come to an end with James +Stewart.” Whereat he cocked his eye. “I might condescend, +<i>exempli gratia</i>, upon a Mr. George Brown, a Mr. +Thomas Miller, and a Mr. David Balfour. Mr. David Balfour +has a very good ground of complaint, and I think, +gentlemen—if his story was properly redd out—I think +there would be a number of wigs on the green.”</p> + +<p>The whole table turned to him with a common +movement.</p> + +<p>“Properly handled and carefully redd out, his is a story +that could scarcely fail to have some consequence,” he continued. +“The whole administration of justice, from its +highest officer downward, would be totally discredited; and +it looks to me as if they would need to be replaced.” He +seemed to shine with cunning as he said it. “And I need +not point out to ye that this of Mr. Balfour’s would be a +remarkable bonny cause to appear in,” he added.</p> + +<p>Well, there they all were started on another hare; Mr. +Balfour’s cause, and what kind of speeches could be there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page160"></a>160</span> +delivered, and what officials could be thus turned out, and +who would succeed to their positions. I shall give but the +two specimens. It was proposed to approach Simon Fraser, +whose testimony, if it could be obtained, would prove certainly +fatal to Argyle and Prestongrange. Miller highly +approved of the attempt. “We have here before us a +dreeping roast,” said he, “here is cut-and-come-again for +all.” And methought all licked their lips. The other was +already near the end. Stewart the Writer was out of the +body with delight, smelling vengeance on his chief enemy, +the Duke.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” cried he, charging his glass, “here is to +Sheriff Miller. His legal abilities are known to all. His +culinary, this bowl in front of us is here to speak for. But +when it comes to the poleetical!”—cries he, and drains the +glass.</p> + +<p>“Ay, but it will hardly prove politics in your meaning, +my friend,” said the gratified Miller. “A revolution, if you +like, and I think I can promise you that historical writers +shall date from Mr. Balfour’s cause. But, properly guided, +Mr. Stewart, tenderly guided, it shall prove a peaceful +revolution.”</p> + +<p>“And if the damned Campbells get their ears rubbed, +what care I?” cries Stewart, smiting down his fist.</p> + +<p>It will be thought I was not very well pleased with all +this, though I could scarce forbear smiling at a kind of innocency +in these old intriguers. But it was not my view to +have undergone so many sorrows for the advancement of +Sheriff Miller or to make a revolution in the Parliament +House: and I interposed accordingly with as much simplicity +of manner as I could assume.</p> + +<p>“I have to thank you, gentlemen, for your advice,” said +I. “And now I would like, by your leave, to set you two +or three questions. There is one thing that has fallen rather +on one side,—for instance: Will this cause do any good to +our friend James of the Glens?”</p> + +<p>They seemed all a hair set back, and gave various +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page161"></a>161</span> +answers, but concurring practically in one point, that James +had now no hope but in the King’s mercy.</p> + +<p>“To proceed, then,” said I, “will it do any good to +Scotland? We have a saying that it is an ill bird that fouls +his own nest. I remember hearing we had a riot in Edinburgh +when I was an infant child, which gave occasion to +the late Queen to call this country barbarous; and I always +understood that we had rather lost than gained by that. +Then came the year ’Forty-five, which made Scotland to be +talked of everywhere; but I never heard it said we had anyway +gained by the ’Forty-five. And now we come to this +cause of Mr. Balfour’s, as you call it. Sheriff Miller tells us +historical writers are to date from it, and I would not wonder. +It is only my fear they would date from it as a period of +calamity and public reproach.”</p> + +<p>The nimble-witted Miller had already smelt where I was +travelling to, and made haste to get on the same road. +“Forcibly put, Mr. Balfour,” says he. “A weighty observe, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“We have next to ask ourselves if it will be good for +King George,” I pursued. “Sheriff Miller appears pretty +easy upon this; but I doubt you will scarce be able to pull +down the house from under him, without his Majesty coming +by a knock or two, one of which might easily prove +fatal.”</p> + +<p>I gave them a chance to answer, but none volunteered.</p> + +<p>“Of those for whom the case was to be profitable,” I +went on, “Sheriff Miller gave us the names of several, +among the which he was good enough to mention mine. +I hope he will pardon me if I think otherwise. I believe I +hung not the least back in this affair while there was life to be +saved; but I own I thought myself extremely hazarded, and +I own I think it would be a pity for a young man, with some +idea of coming to the Bar, to ingrain upon himself the character +of a turbulent, factious fellow before he was yet twenty. +As for James, it seems—at this date of the proceedings, with +the sentence as good as pronounced—he has no hope but in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page162"></a>162</span> +the King’s mercy. May not his Majesty, then, be more +pointedly addressed, the characters of these high officers +sheltered from the public, and myself kept out of a position +which I think spells ruin for me?”</p> + +<p>They all sat and gazed into their glasses, and I could see +they found my attitude on the affair unpalatable. But +Miller was ready at all events.</p> + +<p>“If I may be allowed to put our young friend’s notion in +more formal shape,” says he, “I understand him to propose +that we should embody the fact of his sequestration, and +perhaps some heads of the testimony he was prepared to +offer, in a memorial to the Crown. This plan has elements +of success. It is as likely as any other (and perhaps likelier) +to help our client. Perhaps his Majesty would have the +goodness to feel a certain gratitude to all concerned in such +a memorial, which might be construed into an expression +of a very delicate loyalty; and I think, in the drafting of the +same, this view might be brought forward.”</p> + +<p>They all nodded to each other, not without sighs, for +the former alternative was doubtless more after their inclination.</p> + +<p>“Paper then, Mr. Stewart, if you please,” pursued +Miller; “and I think it might very fittingly be signed by the +five of us here present, as procurators for the ‘condemned +man.’”</p> + +<p>“It can do none of us any harm at least,” says Colstoun, +heaving another sigh, for he had seen himself Lord Advocate +the last ten minutes.</p> + +<p>Thereupon they set themselves, not very enthusiastically, +to draft the memorial—a process in the course of which they +soon caught fire; and I had no more ado but to sit looking on +and answer an occasional question. The paper was very +well expressed; beginning with a recitation of the facts +about myself, the reward offered for my apprehension, my +surrender, the pressure brought to bear upon me; my sequestration; +and my arrival at Inverary in time to be too +late; going on to explain the reasons of loyalty and public +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page163"></a>163</span> +interest for which it was agreed to waive any right of action; +and winding up with a forcible appeal to the King’s mercy +on behalf of James.</p> + +<p>Methought I was a good deal sacrificed, and rather represented +in the light of a firebrand of a fellow whom my cloud +of lawyers had restrained with difficulty from extremes. +But I let it pass, and made but the one suggestion, that I +should be described as ready to deliver my own evidence +and adduce that of others before any commission of inquiry +—and the one demand, that I should be immediately furnished +with a copy.</p> + +<p>Colstoun hummed and hawed. “This is a very confidential +document,” said he.</p> + +<p>“And my position towards Prestongrange is highly +peculiar,” I replied. “No question but I must have touched +his heart at our first interview, so that he has since stood my +friend consistently. But for him, gentlemen, I must now be +lying dead, or awaiting my sentence alongside poor James. +For which reason I choose to communicate to him the fact +of this memorial as soon as it is copied. You are to consider +also that this step will make for my protection. I have +enemies here accustomed to drive hard; his Grace is in his +own country, Lovat by his side; and if there should hang +any ambiguity over our proceedings I think I might very +well awake in gaol.”</p> + +<p>Not finding any very ready answer to these considerations, +my company of advisers were at the last persuaded to +consent, and made only this condition, that I was to lay the +paper before Prestongrange with the express compliments +of all concerned.</p> + +<p>The Advocate was at the castle dining with his Grace. +By the hand of one of Colstoun’s servants I sent him a billet +asking for an interview, and received a summons to meet +him at once in a private house of the town. Here I found +him alone in a chamber; from his face there was nothing to +be gleaned; yet I was not so unobservant but what I spied +some halberts in the hall, and not so stupid but what I could +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page164"></a>164</span> +gather he was prepared to arrest me there and then, should +it appear advisable.</p> + +<p>“So, Mr. David, this is you?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Where I fear I am not overly welcome, my lord,” said +I. “And I would like before I go further to express my +sense of your lordship’s continued good offices, even should +they now cease.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of your gratitude before,” he replied +drily, “and I think this can scarce be the matter you called +me from my wine to listen to. I would remember also, if I +were you, that you still stand on a very boggy foundation.”</p> + +<p>“Not now, my lord, I think,” said I; “and if your lordship +will but glance an eye along this, you will perhaps think +as I do.”</p> + +<p>He read it sedulously through, frowning heavily; then +turned back to one part and another which he seemed to +weigh and compare the effect of. His face a little lightened.</p> + +<p>“This is not so bad but what it might be worse,” said he; +“though I am still likely to pay dear for my acquaintance +with Mr. David Balfour.”</p> + +<p>“Rather for your indulgence to that unlucky young +man, my lord,” said I.</p> + +<p>He still skimmed the paper, and all the while his spirits +seemed to mend.</p> + +<p>“And to whom am I indebted for this?” he asked +presently. “Other counsels must have been discussed, I +think. Who was it proposed this private method? Was it +Miller?”</p> + +<p>“My lord, it was myself,” said I. “These gentlemen +have shown me no such consideration, as that I should deny +myself any credit I can fairly claim, or spare them any +responsibility they should properly bear. And the mere +truth is, that they were all in favour of a process which +should have remarkable consequences in the Parliament +House, and prove for them (in one of their own expressions) +a dripping roast. Before I intervened, I think they were on +the point of sharing out the different law appointments. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page165"></a>165</span> +Our friend Mr. Simon was to be taken in upon some composition.”</p> + +<p>Prestongrange smiled. “These are our friends!” said +he. “And what were your reasons for dissenting, Mr. +David?”</p> + +<p>I told them without concealment, expressing, however, +with more force and volume those which regarded Prestongrange +himself.</p> + +<p>“You do me no more than justice,” said he. “I have +fought as hard in your interest as you have fought against +mine. And how came you here to-day?” he asked. “As +the case drew out, I began to grow uneasy that I had clipped +the period so fine, and I was even expecting you to-morrow. +But to-day—I never dreamed of it.”</p> + +<p>I was not, of course, going to betray Andie.</p> + +<p>“I suspect there is some very weary cattle by the road,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“If I had known you were such a moss-trooper you +should have tasted longer of the Bass,” says he.</p> + +<p>“Speaking of which, my lord, I return your letter.” +And I gave him the enclosure in the counterfeit +hand.</p> + +<p>“There was the cover also with the seal,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I have it not,” said I. “It bore not even an address, +and could not compromise a cat. The second enclosure I +have, and with your permission, I desire to keep it.”</p> + +<p>I thought he winced a little, but he said nothing to the +point. “To-morrow,” he resumed, “our business here is +to be finished, and I proceed by Glasgow. I would be very +glad to have you of my party, Mr. David.”</p> + +<p>“My lord ...” I began.</p> + +<p>“I do not deny it will be of service to me,” he interrupted. +“I desire even that, when we shall come to Edinburgh, +you should alight at my house. You have very +warm friends in the Miss Grants, who will be overjoyed to +have you to themselves. If you think I have been of use +to you, you can thus easily repay me, and so far from losing, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page166"></a>166</span> +may reap some advantage by the way. It is not every +strange young man who is presented in society by the King’s +Advocate.”</p> + +<p>Often enough already (in our brief relations) this gentleman +had caused my head to spin; no doubt but what for a +moment he did so again now. Here was the old fiction still +maintained of my particular favour with his daughters, one +of whom had been so good as laugh at me, while the other +two had scarce deigned to remark the fact of my existence. +And now I was to ride with my lord to Glasgow; I was to +dwell with him in Edinburgh; I was to be brought into +society under his protection! That he should have so much +good-nature as to forgive me was surprising enough; that +he could wish to take me up and serve me seemed impossible; +and I began to seek for some ulterior meaning. One +was plain. If I became his guest, repentance was excluded; +I could never think better of my present design and bring +any action. And besides, would not my presence in his +house draw out the whole pungency of the memorial? For +that complaint could not be very seriously regarded, if the +person chiefly injured was the guest of the official most incriminated. +As I thought upon this, I could not quite +refrain from smiling.</p> + +<p>“This is in the nature of a countercheck to the memorial?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“You are cunning, Mr. David,” said he, “and you do +not wholly guess wrong; the fact will be of use to me in my +defence. Perhaps, however, you underrate my friendly +sentiments, which are perfectly genuine. I have a respect +for you, Mr. David, mingled with awe,” says he, smiling.</p> + +<p>“I am more than willing, I am earnestly desirous to +meet your wishes,” said I. “It is my design to be called to +the Bar, where your lordship’s countenance would be invaluable; +and I am besides sincerely grateful to yourself +and family for different marks of interest and of indulgence. +The difficulty is here. There is one point in which we pull +two ways. You are trying to hang James Stewart, I am +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page167"></a>167</span> +trying to save him. In so far as my riding with you would +better your lordship’s defence, I am at your lordship’s orders; +but in so far as it would help to hang James Stewart, you +see me at a stick.”</p> + +<p>I thought he swore to himself. “You should certainly +be called; the Bar is the true scene for your talents,” says +he bitterly, and then fell a while silent. “I will tell you,” +he presently resumed, “there is no question of James +Stewart, for or against. James is a dead man; his life is +given and taken—bought (if you like it better) and sold; no +memorial can help—no defalcation of a faithful Mr. David +hurt him. Blow high, blow low, there will be no pardon for +James Stewart: and take that for said! The question is +now of myself: am I to stand or fall? and I do not deny to +you that I am in some danger. But will Mr. David Balfour +consider why? It is not because I have pushed the case +unduly against James; for that, I am sure of condonation. +And it is not because I have sequestered Mr. David on a +rock, though it will pass under that colour; but because I +did not take the ready and plain path, to which I was pressed +repeatedly, and send Mr. David to his grave or to the gallows. +Hence the scandal—hence this damned memorial,” striking +the paper on his leg. “My tenderness for you has brought +me in this difficulty. I wish to know if your tenderness to +your own conscience is too great to let you help me out +of it?”</p> + +<p>No doubt but there was much of the truth in what he +said; if James was past helping, whom was it more natural +that I should turn to help than just the man before me, who +had helped myself so often, and was even now setting me a +pattern of patience? I was besides not only weary, but +beginning to be ashamed of my perpetual attitude of suspicion +and refusal.</p> + +<p>“If you will name the time and place, I will be punctually +ready to attend your lordship,” said I.</p> + +<p>He shook hands with me. “And I think my misses +have some news for you,” says he, dismissing me.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page168"></a>168</span></p> + +<p>I came away, vastly pleased to have my peace made, +yet a little concerned in conscience; nor could I help wondering, +as I went back, whether, perhaps, I had not been a +scruple too good-natured. But there was the fact, that this +was a man that might have been my father, an able man, a +great dignitary, and one that, in the hour of my need, had +reached a hand to my assistance. I was in the better +humour to enjoy the remainder of that evening, which I +passed with the advocates, in excellent company no doubt, +but perhaps with rather more than a sufficiency of punch: +for though I went early to bed I have no clear mind of how I +got there.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page169"></a>169</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XVIII</h3> + +<h5>THE TEE’D BALL</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">On</span> the morrow, from the justices’ private room, where none +could see me, I heard the verdict given in and judgment +rendered upon James. The Duke’s words I am quite sure +I have correctly; and since that famous passage has been +made a subject of dispute, I may as well commemorate my +version. Having referred to the year ’Forty-five, the chief +of the Campbells, sitting as Justice General upon the Bench, +thus addressed the unfortunate Stewart before him: “If +you had been successful in that rebellion, you might have +been giving the law where you have now received the judgment +of it; we, who are this day your judges, might have +been tried before one of your mock courts of judicature; and +then you might have been satiated with the blood of any +name or clan to which you had an aversion.”</p> + +<p>“This is to let the cat out of the bag indeed,” thought I. +And that was the general impression. It was extraordinary +how the young advocate lads took hold and made a mock of +this speech, and how scarce a meal passed but what some one +would get in the words: “And then you might have been +satiated.” Many songs were made in that time for the hour’s +diversion, and are near all forgot. I remember one began:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“What do ye want the bluid of, bluid of?</p> + <p class="i2">Is it a name, or is it a clan,</p> + <p class="i2">Or is it an aefauld Hielandman,</p> +<p class="i05">That ye want the bluid of, bluid of?”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">Another went to my old favourite air, “The House of +Airlie,” and began thus:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“It fell on a day when Argyle was on the bench,</p> +<p class="i05">That they served him a Stewart for his denner.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page170"></a>170</span></p> + +<p class="noind">And one of the verses ran:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Then up and spak the Duke, and flyted on his cook,</p> + <p class="i2">I regaird it as a sensible aspersion,</p> +<p class="i05">That I would sup ava’, an’ satiate my maw</p> + <p class="i2">With the bluid of ony clan of my aversion.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>James was as fairly murdered as though the Duke had +got a fowling-piece and stalked him. So much of course I +knew: but others knew not so much, and were more affected +by the items of scandal that came to light in the progress of +the cause. One of the chief was certainly this sally of the +Justice’s. It was run hard by another of a juryman, who +had struck into the midst of Colstoun’s speech for the defence +with a “Pray, sir, cut it short, we are quite weary,” +which seemed the very excess of impudence and simplicity. +But some of my new lawyer friends were still more staggered +with an innovation that had disgraced and even vitiated the +proceedings. One witness was never called. His name, +indeed, was printed, where it may still be seen on the fourth +page of the list: “James Drummond, <i>alias</i> Macgregor, +<i>alias</i> James More, late tenant in Inveronachile”; and his +precognition had been taken, as the manner is, in writing. +He had remembered or invented (God help him) matter +which was lead in James Stewart’s shoes, and I saw was like +to prove wings to his own. This testimony it was highly +desirable to bring to the notice of the jury, without exposing +the man himself to the perils of cross-examination, and the +way it was brought about was a matter of surprise to all. +For the paper was handed round (like a curiosity) in court; +passed through the jury-box, where it did its work; and disappeared +again (as though by accident) before it reached the +counsel for the prisoner. This was counted a most insidious +device; and that the name of James More should be mingled +up with it filled me with shame for Catriona and concern for +myself.</p> + +<p>The following day, Prestongrange and I, with a considerable +company, set out for Glasgow, where (to my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page171"></a>171</span> +impatience) we continued to linger some time in a mixture of +pleasure and affairs. I lodged with my lord, with whom I +was encouraged to familiarity; had my place at entertainments; +was presented to the chief guests; and altogether +made more of than I thought accorded either with my parts +or station; so that, on strangers being present, I would +often blush for Prestongrange. It must be owned the view +I had taken of the world in these last months was fit to cast +a gloom upon my character. I had met many men, some of +them leaders in Israel, whether by their birth or talents; +and who among them all had shown clean hands? As for +the Browns and Millers, I had seen their self-seeking, I could +never again respect them. Prestongrange was the best yet; +he had saved me, had spared me rather, when others had it +in their minds to murder me outright; but the blood of +James lay at his door; and I thought his present dissimulation +with myself a thing below pardon. That he should +affect to find a pleasure in my discourse almost surprised me +out of my patience. I would sit and watch him with a kind +of a slow fire of anger in my bowels. “Ah, friend, friend,” I +would think to myself, “if you were but through with this +affair of the memorial, would you not kick me in the +streets?” Here I did him, as events have proved, the most +grave injustice; and I think he was at once far more sincere, +and a far more artful performer, than I supposed.</p> + +<p>But I had some warrant for my incredulity in the behaviour +of that court of young advocates that hung about +him in the hope of patronage. The sudden favour of a lad +not previously heard of troubled them at first out of measure, +but two days were not gone by before I found myself surrounded +with flattery and attention. I was the same young +man, and neither better nor bonnier, that they had rejected +a month before; and now there was no civility too fine for +me! The same, do I say? It was not so; and the by-name +by which I went behind my back confirmed it. Seeing me +so firm with the Advocate, and persuaded that I was to fly +high and far, they had taken a word from the golfing green, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page172"></a>172</span> +and called me <i>the Tee’d Ball</i>.<a name="FnAnchor_14" href="#Footnote_14"><span class="sp">14</span></a> I was told I was now “one +of themselves”; I was to taste of their soft lining, who had +already made my own experience of the roughness of the +outer husk; and one, to whom I had been presented in +Hope Park, was so assured as even to remind me of that +meeting. I told him I had not the pleasure of remembering +it.</p> + +<p>“Why,” says he, “it was Miss Grant herself presented +me! My name is So-and-so.”</p> + +<p>“It may very well be, sir,” said I; “but I have kept no +mind of it.”</p> + +<p>At which he desisted; and in the midst of the disgust +that commonly overflowed my spirits I had a glisk of +pleasure.</p> + +<p>But I have not patience to dwell upon that time at +length. When I was in company with these young politics +I was borne down with shame for myself and my own plain +ways, and scorn for them and their duplicity. Of the two +evils, I thought Prestongrange to be the least; and while I +was always as stiff as buckram to the young bloods, I made +rather a dissimulation of my hard feelings towards the +Advocate, and was (in old Mr. Campbell’s word) “soople to +the laird.” Himself commented on the difference, and bid +me be more of my age, and make friends with my young +comrades.</p> + +<p>I told him I was slow of making friends.</p> + +<p>“I will take the word back,” said he. “But there is +such a thing as <i>Fair gude-e’en and fair gude-day</i>, Mr. David. +These are the same young men with whom you are to pass +your days and get through life: your backwardness has a +look of arrogance; and unless you can assume a little more +lightness of manner, I fear you will meet difficulties in the +path.”</p> + +<p>“It will be an ill job to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear,” +said I.</p> + +<p>On the morning of October 1st I was awakened by the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page173"></a>173</span> +clattering in of an express; and, getting to my window +almost before he had dismounted, I saw the messenger had +ridden hard. Somewhile after I was called to Prestongrange, +where he was sitting in his bedgown and nightcap, with his +letters round him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. David,” said he, “I have a piece of news for you. +It concerns some friends of yours, of whom I sometimes +think you are a little ashamed, for you have never referred +to their existence.”</p> + +<p>I suppose I blushed.</p> + +<p>“I see you understand, since you make the answering +signal,” said he. “And I must compliment you on your +excellent taste in beauty. But do you know, Mr. David, +this seems to me a very enterprising lass? She crops up +from every side. The Government of Scotland appears +unable to proceed for Mistress Katrine Drummond, which +was somewhat the case (no great while back) with a certain +Mr. David Balfour. Should not these make a good match? +Her first intromission in politics—but I must not tell you +that story, the authorities have decided you are to hear it +otherwise and from a livelier narrator. This new example +is more serious, however; and I am afraid I must alarm you +with the intelligence that she is now in prison.”</p> + +<p>I cried out.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he, “the little lady is in prison. But I +would not have you to despair. Unless you (with your +friends and memorials) shall procure my downfall, she is to +suffer nothing.”</p> + +<p>“But what has she done? What is her offence?” I +cried.</p> + +<p>“It might be almost construed a high treason,” +he returned, “for she has broke the King’s Castle of +Edinburgh.”</p> + +<p>“The lady is much my friend,” I said. “I know you +would not mock me if the thing were serious.”</p> + +<p>“And yet it is serious in a sense,” said he; “for this +rogue of a Katrine—or Cateran, as we may call her—has set +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page174"></a>174</span> +adrift again upon the world that very doubtful character, +her papa.”</p> + +<p>Here was one of my previsions justified: James More +was once again at liberty. He had lent his men to keep me +a prisoner; he had volunteered his testimony in the Appin +case, and the same (no matter by what subterfuge) had been +employed to influence the jury. Now came his reward, and +he was free. It might please the authorities to give to it the +colour of an escape; but I knew better—I knew it must be +the fulfilment of a bargain. The same course of thought +relieved me of the least alarm for Catriona. She might be +thought to have broke prison for her father; she might have +believed so herself. But the chief hand in the whole business +was that of Prestongrange; and I was sure, so far from +letting her come to punishment, he would not suffer her to +be even tried. Whereupon thus came out of me the not +very politic ejaculation:</p> + +<p>“Ah! I was expecting that!”</p> + +<p>“You have at times a great deal of discretion too!” says +Prestongrange.</p> + +<p>“And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I was just marvelling,” he replied, “that being so +clever as to draw these inferences, you should not be clever +enough to keep them to yourself. But I think you would +like to hear the details of the affair. I have received two +versions: and the least official is the more full and far the +more entertaining, being from the lively pen of my eldest +daughter. ‘Here is all the town bizzing with a fine piece of +work,’ she writes, ‘and what would make the thing more +noted (if it were only known) the malefactor is a <i>protégée</i> of +his lordship my papa. I am sure your heart is too much in +your duty (if it were nothing else) to have forgotten Grey +Eyes. What does she do, but get a broad hat with the flaps +open, a long hairy-like man’s great-coat, and a big gravatt; +kilt her coats up to <i>Gude kens whaur</i>, clap two pair of boot-hose +upon her legs, take a pair of <i>clouted brogues</i><a name="FnAnchor_15" href="#Footnote_15"><span class="sp">15</span></a> in her hand, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page175"></a>175</span> +and off to the Castle! Here she gives herself out to be a +soutar<a name="FnAnchor_16" href="#Footnote_16"><span class="sp">16</span></a> in the employ of James More, and gets admitted to +his cell, the lieutenant (who seems to have been full of pleasantry) +making sport among his soldiers of the soutar’s great-coat. +Presently they hear disputation and the sound of +blows inside. Out flies the cobbler, his coat flying, the flaps +of his hat beat about his face, and the lieutenant and his +soldiers mock at him as he runs off. They laugh not so +hearty the next time they had occasion to visit the cell, and +found nobody but a tall, pretty, grey-eyed lass in the female +habit! As for the cobbler, he was “over the hills ayont +Dumblane,” and it’s thought that poor Scotland will have to +console herself without him. I drank Catriona’s health this +night in public. Indeed, the whole town admires her; and I +think the beaux would wear bits of her garters in their +button-holes if they could only get them. I would have +gone to visit her in prison too, only I remembered in time +I was papa’s daughter; so I wrote her a billet instead, which +I entrusted to the faithful Doig, and I hope you will admit +I can be political when I please. The same faithful gomeril +is to despatch this letter by the express along with those of +the wiseacres, so that you may hear Tom Fool in company +with Solomon. Talking of <i>gomerils</i>, do tell <i>Dauvit Balfour</i>. +I would I could see the face of him at the thought of a long-legged +lass in such a predicament! to say nothing of the +levities of your affectionate daughter, and his respectful +friend.’ So my rascal signs herself!” continued Prestongrange. +“And you see, Mr. David, it is quite true what I +tell you, that my daughters regard you with the most affectionate +playfulness.”</p> + +<p>“The gomeril is much obliged,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And was not this prettily done?” he went on. “Is +not this Highland maid a piece of a heroine?”</p> + +<p>“I was always sure she had a great heart,” said I. “And +I wager she guessed nothing.... But I beg your pardon, +this is to tread upon forbidden subjects.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page176"></a>176</span></p> + +<p>“I will go bail she did not,” he returned, quite openly. +“I will go bail she thought she was flying straight into King +George’s face.”</p> + +<p>Remembrance of Catriona, and the thought of her lying +in captivity, moved me strangely. I could see that even +Prestongrange admired, and could not withhold his lips from +smiling when he considered her behaviour. As for Miss +Grant, for all her ill habit of mockery, her admiration shone +out plain. A kind of a heat came on me.</p> + +<p>“I am not your lordship’s daughter ...” I began.</p> + +<p>“That I know of!” he put in, smiling.</p> + +<p>“I speak like a fool,” said I; “or rather I began wrong. +It would doubtless be unwise in Mistress Grant to go to her +in prison; but for me, I think I would look like a half-hearted +friend if I did not fly there instantly.”</p> + +<p>“So-ho, Mr. David,” says he; “I thought that you and +I were in a bargain?”</p> + +<p>“My lord,” I said, “when I made that bargain I was a +good deal affected by your goodness, but I’ll never can deny +that I was moved besides by my own interest. There was +self-seeking in my heart, and I think shame of it now. It +may be for your lordship’s safety to say this fashious Davie +Balfour is your friend and housemate. Say it then; I’ll +never contradict you. But as for your patronage, I give it +all back. I ask but one thing—let me go, and give me a pass +to see her in her prison.”</p> + +<p>He looked at me with a hard eye. “You put the cart +before the horse, I think,” says he. “That which I had +given was a portion of my liking, which your thankless +nature does not seem to have remarked. But for my patronage, +it is not given, nor (to be exact) is it yet offered.” +He paused a bit. “And I warn you, you do not know yourself,” +he added. “Youth is a hasty season; you will think +better of all this before a year.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and I would like to be that kind of youth!” I +cried. “I have seen too much of the other party in these +young advocates that fawn upon your lordship, and are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page177"></a>177</span> +even at the pains to fawn on me. And I have seen it in the +old ones also. They are all for by-ends, the whole clan of +them! It’s this that makes me seem to misdoubt your lordship’s +liking. Why would I think that you would like me? +But ye told me yourself ye had an interest!”</p> + +<p>I stopped at this, confounded that I had run so far; he +was observing me with an unfathomable face.</p> + +<p>“My lord, I ask your pardon,” I resumed. “I have +nothing in my chafts but a rough country tongue. I think +it would be only decent-like if I would go to see my friend in +her captivity; but I’m owing you my life—I’ll never forget +that; and if it’s for your lordship’s good, here I’ll stay. +That’s barely gratitude.”</p> + +<p>“This might have been reached in fewer words,” says +Prestongrange grimly. “It is easy, and it is at times +gracious, to say a plain Scots ‘ay.’”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but, my lord, I think ye take me not yet entirely!” +cried I. “For <i>your</i> sake, for my life-safe, and the kindness +that ye say ye bear to me—for these I’ll consent; but not +for any good that might be coming to myself. If I stand +aside when this young maid is in her trial, it’s a thing I will +be noways advantaged by; I will lose by it, I will never gain. +I would rather make a shipwreck wholly than to build on +that foundation.”</p> + +<p>He was a minute serious, then smiled. “You mind me +of the man with the long nose,” said he; “was you to look +at the moon by a telescope, you would see David Balfour +there! But you shall have your way of it. I will ask at +you one service, and then set you free. My clerks are over-driven; +be so good as copy me these few pages,” says he, +visibly swithering among some huge rolls of manuscripts, +“and when that is done, I shall bid you God-speed! I would +never charge myself with Mr. David’s conscience; and if you +could cast some part of it (as you went by) in a moss-hag, +you would find yourself to ride much easier without it.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not just entirely in the same direction though, +my lord!” says I.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page178"></a>178</span></p> + +<p>“And you shall have the last word too!” cries he gaily.</p> + +<p>Indeed he had some cause for gaiety, having now found +the means to gain his purpose. To lessen the weight of the +memorial, or to have a readier answer at his hand, he desired +I should appear publicly in the character of his intimate. +But if I were to appear with the same publicity as a visitor +to Catriona in her prison the world would scarce stint to +draw conclusions, and the true nature of James More’s +escape must become evident to all. This was the little +problem I had set him of a sudden, and to which he had so +briskly found an answer. I was to be tethered in Glasgow +by that job of copying, which in mere outward decency I +could not well refuse; and during these hours of my employment +Catriona was to be privately got rid of. I think +shame to write of this man that loaded me with so many +goodnesses. He was kind to me as any father, yet I ever +thought him as false as a cracked bell.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_14" href="#FnAnchor_14"><span class="fn">14</span></a> A ball placed upon a little mound for convenience of striking.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_15" href="#FnAnchor_15"><span class="fn">15</span></a> Patched shoes.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_16" href="#FnAnchor_16"><span class="fn">16</span></a> Shoemaker.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page179"></a>179</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XIX</h3> + +<h5>I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> copying was a weary business, the more so as I perceived +very early there was no sort of urgency in the matters +treated, and began very early to consider my employment a +pretext. I had no sooner finished than I got to horse, used +what remained of daylight to the best purpose, and being at +last fairly benighted, slept in a house by Almond Waterside. +I was in the saddle again before the day, and the +Edinburgh booths were just opening when I clattered in by +the West Bow, and drew up a smoking horse at my Lord +Advocate’s door. I had a written word for Doig, my lord’s +private hand that was thought to be in all his secrets—a +worthy, little plain man, all fat and snuff and self-sufficiency. +Him I found already at his desk, and already bedabbled with +maccabaw, in the same anteroom where I rencountered with +James More. He read the note scrupulously through like a +chapter in his Bible.</p> + +<p>“H’m,” says he; “ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. +Balfour. The bird’s flown—we hae letten her out.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Drummond is set free?” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Achy!” said he. “What would we keep her for, ye +ken? To hae made a steer about the bairn would hae +pleased naebody.”</p> + +<p>“And where’ll she be now?” says I.</p> + +<p>“Gude kens!” says Doig, with a shrug.</p> + +<p>“She’ll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I’m thinking,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“That’ll be it,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll gang there straight,” says I.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page180"></a>180</span></p> + +<p>“But ye’ll be for a bite or ye go?” said he.</p> + +<p>“Neither bite nor sup,” said I. “I had a good waucht +of milk in by Ratho.”</p> + +<p>“Aweel, aweel,” says Doig. “But ye’ll can leave your +horse here and your bags, for it seems we’re to have your +up-put.”</p> + +<p>“Na, na,” said I. “Tamson’s mear<a name="FnAnchor_17" href="#Footnote_17"><span class="sp">17</span></a> would never be +the thing for me this day of all days.”</p> + +<p>Doig speaking somewhat broad, I had been led by imitation +into an accent much more countrified than I was usually +careful to affect—a good deal broader indeed than I have +written it down; and I was the more ashamed when another +voice joined in behind me with a scrap of a ballad:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“Gae saddle me the bonny black,</p> + <p class="i2">Gae saddle sune, and mak’ him ready,</p> +<p class="i05">For I will down the Gatehope-slack,</p> + <p class="i2">An’ a’ to see my bonny leddy.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The young lady, when I turned to her, stood in a morning +gown, and her hands muffled in the same, as if to hold me +at a distance. Yet I could not but think there was kindness +in the eye with which she saw me.</p> + +<p>“My best respects to you, Mistress Grant,” said I, +bowing.</p> + +<p>“The like to yourself, Mr. David,” she replied, with a +deep curtsy. “And I beg to remind you of an old musty +saw, that meat and mass never hindered man. The mass I +cannot afford you, for we are all good Protestants. But the +meat I press on your attention. And I would not wonder +but I could find something for your private ear that would +be worth the stopping for.”</p> + +<p>“Mistress Grant,” said I, “I believe I am already your +debtor for some merry words—and I think they were kind +too—on a piece of unsigned paper.”</p> + +<p>“Unsigned paper?” says she, and made a droll face, +which was likewise wondrous beautiful, as of one trying to +remember.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181"></a>181</span></p> + +<p>“Or else I am the more deceived,” I went on. “But +to be sure, we shall have the time to speak of these, since +your father is so good as to make me for a while your inmate; +and the <i>gomeril</i> begs you at this time only for the +favour of his liberty.”</p> + +<p>“You give yourself hard names,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Doig and I would be blithe to take harder at your +clever pen,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Once more I have to admire the discretion of all menfolk,” +she replied. “But if you will not eat, off with you at +once; you will be back the sooner, for you go on a fool’s +errand. Off with you, Mr. David,” she continued, opening +the door.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + +<p>“He has lowpen on his bonny grey,</p> + <p class="i2">He rade the richt gate and the ready;</p> +<p class="i05">I trow he would neither stint nor stay,</p> + <p class="i2">For he was seeking his bonny leddy.”</p> + +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>I did not wait to be twice bidden, and did justice to Miss +Grant’s citation on the way to Dean.</p> + +<p>Old Lady Allardyce walked there alone in the garden, +in her hat and mutch, and having a silver-mounted staff of +some black wood to lean upon. As I alighted from my +horse, and drew near to her with <i>congees</i>, I could see the +blood come in her face, and her head fling into the air like +what I had conceived of empresses.</p> + +<p>“What brings you to my poor door?” she cried, speaking +high through her nose. “I cannot bar it. The males +of my house are dead and buried; I have neither son nor +husband to stand in the gate for me; any beggar can pluck +me by the baird<a name="FnAnchor_18" href="#Footnote_18"><span class="sp">18</span></a>—and a baird there is, and that’s the worst +of it yet!” she added, partly to herself.</p> + +<p>I was extremely put out at this reception, and the last +remark, which seemed like a daft wife’s, left me near-hand +speechless.</p> + +<p>“I see I have fallen under your displeasure, ma’am,” +said I. “Yet I will still be so bold as to ask after Mistress +Drummond.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page182"></a>182</span></p> + +<p>She considered me with a burning eye, her lips pressed +close together into twenty creases, her hand shaking on her +staff. “This cowes all!” she cried. “Ye come to me to +speir for her? Would God I knew!”</p> + +<p>“She is not here?” I cried.</p> + +<p>She threw up her chin and made a step and a cry at me, +so that I fell back incontinent.</p> + +<p>“Out upon your leeing throat!” she cried. “What! +ye come and speir at me! She’s in jyle, whaur ye took her +to—that’s all there is to it. And of a’ the beings ever I +beheld in breeks, to think it should be you! Ye timmer +scoun’rel, if I had a male left to my name I would have your +jaicket dustit till ye raired.”</p> + +<p>I thought it not good to delay longer in that place, +because I remarked her passion to be rising. As I turned to +the horse-post she even followed me; and I make no shame +to confess that I rode away with the one stirrup on and +scrambling for the other.</p> + +<p>As I knew no other quarter where I could push my inquiries, +there was nothing left me but to return to the +Advocate’s. I was well received by the four ladies, who +were now in company together, and must give the news of +Prestongrange and what word went in the west country, at +the most inordinate length and with great weariness to +myself; while all the time that young lady, with whom I so +much desired to be alone again, observed me quizzically, +and seemed to find pleasure in the sight of my impatience. +At last, after I had endured a meal with them, and was come +very near the point of appealing for an interview before her +aunt, she went and stood by the music-case, and picking +out a tune, sang to it on a high key—“He that will not +when he may, When he will he shall have nay.” But this +was the end of her rigours, and presently, after making some +excuse of which I have no mind, she carried me away in +private to her father’s library. I should not fail to say that +she was dressed to the nines, and appeared extraordinary +handsome.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page183"></a>183</span></p> + +<p>“Now, Mr. David, sit ye down here, and let us have a +two-handed crack,” said she. “For I have much to tell +you, and it appears besides that I have been grossly unjust +to your good taste.”</p> + +<p>“In what manner, Mistress Grant?” I asked. “I trust +I have never seemed to fail in due respect.”</p> + +<p>“I will be your surety, Mr. David,” said she. “Your +respect, whether to yourself or your poor neighbours, has +been always and most fortunately beyond imitation. But +that is by the question.—You got a note from me?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“I was so bold as to suppose so upon inference,” said I, +“and it was kindly thought upon.”</p> + +<p>“It must have prodigiously surprised you,” said she. +“But let us begin with the beginning. You have not +perhaps forgot a day when you were so kind as to escort +three very tedious misses to Hope Park? I have the less +cause to forget it myself, because you were so particular +obliging as to introduce me to some of the principles of +the Latin grammar, a thing which wrote itself profoundly +on my gratitude.”</p> + +<p>“I fear I was sadly pedantical,” said I, overcome with +confusion at the memory. “You are only to consider I am +quite unused with the society of ladies.”</p> + +<p>“I will say the less about the grammar then,” she replied. +“But how came you to desert your charge? ‘He +has thrown her out, overboard, his ain, dear Annie!’” she +hummed; “and his ain dear Annie and her two sisters had +to taigle home by theirselves like a string of green geese! It +seems you returned to my papa’s, where you showed yourself +excessively martial, and then on to realms unknown, +with an eye (it appears) to the Bass Rock; solan geese being +perhaps more to your mind than bonny lasses.”</p> + +<p>Through all this raillery there was something indulgent +in the lady’s eye which made me suppose there might be +better coming.</p> + +<p>“You take a pleasure to torment me,” said I, “and I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page184"></a>184</span> +make a very feckless plaything; but let me ask you to be +more merciful. At this time there is but the one thing that +I care to hear of, and that will be news of Catriona.”</p> + +<p>“Do you call her by that name to her face, Mr. Balfour?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“In troth, and I am not very sure,” I stammered.</p> + +<p>“I would not do so in any case to strangers,” said Miss +Grant.—“And why are you so much immersed in the affairs +of this young lady?”</p> + +<p>“I heard she was in prison,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, and now you hear that she is out of it,” she replied, +“and what more would you have? She has no need +of any further champion.”</p> + +<p>“I may have the greater need of her, ma’am,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Come, this is better!” says Miss Grant. “But look +me fairly in the face; am I not bonnier than she?”</p> + +<p>“I would be the last to be denying it,” said I. “There +is not your marrow in all Scotland.”</p> + +<p>“Well, here you have the pick of the two at your hand, +and must needs speak of the other,” said she. “This is +never the way to please the ladies, Mr. Balfour.”</p> + +<p>“But, mistress,” said I, “there are surely other things +besides mere beauty.”</p> + +<p>“By which I am to understand that I am no better than +I should be, perhaps?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“By which you will please understand that I am like the +cock in the midden in the fable-book,” said I. “I see the +braw jewel—and I like fine to see it too—but I have more +need of the pickle corn.”</p> + +<p>“Bravissimo!” she cried. “There is a word well said +at last, and I will reward you for it with my story. That +same night of your desertion I came late from a friend’s +house—where I was excessively admired, whatever you may +think of it—and what should I hear but that a lass in a +tartan screen desired to speak with me? She had been there +an hour or better, said the servant-lass, and she grat in to +herself as she sat waiting. I went to her direct; she rose as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185"></a>185</span> +I came in, and I knew her at a look. (’<i>Grey Eyes</i>!’ says I +to myself, but was more wise than to let on.) <i>You will be +Miss Grant at last</i>? she says, rising and looking at me hard +and pitiful. <i>Ay, it was true he said, you are bonny, at all +events</i>.—<i>The way God made me, my dear</i>, I said, <i>but I would +be geyan obliged if ye could tell me what brought you here at such +a time of the night</i>.—<i>Lady</i>, she said, <i>we are kinsfolk, we are both +come of the blood of the sons of Alpin</i>.—<i>My dear</i>, I replied, <i>I +think no more of Alpin or his sons than what I do of a kale-stock. +You have a better argument in these tears upon your +bonny face</i>. And at that I was so weak-minded as to kiss +her, which is what you would like to do dearly, and I wager +will never find the courage of. I say it was weak-minded of +me, for I knew no more of her than the outside; but it was +the wisest stroke I could have hit upon. She is a very +staunch, brave nature, but I think she has been little used +with tenderness; and at that caress (though to say the +truth, it was but lightly given) her heart went out to me. I +will never betray the secrets of my sex, Mr. Davie; I will +never tell you the way she turned me round her thumb, because +it is the same she will use to twist yourself. Ay, it is a +fine lass! She is as clean as hill well-water.”</p> + +<p>“She is e’en ’t!” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, she told me her concerns,” pursued Miss +Grant, “and in what a swither she was in about her papa, +and what a taking about yourself, with very little cause, and +in what a perplexity she had found herself after you was +gone away. <i>And then I minded at long last</i>, says she, <i>that +we were kinswomen, and that Mr. David should have given +you the name of the bonniest of the bonny, and I was thinking +to myself, ‘If she is so bonny she will be good, at all events’; +and I took up my foot-soles out of that</i>. That was when I +forgave yourself, Mr. Davie. When you was in my society, +you seemed upon hot iron: by all marks, if ever I saw a +young man that wanted to be gone, it was yourself, and I +and my two sisters were the ladies you were so desirous to +be gone from; and now it appeared you had given me some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186"></a>186</span> +notice in the bygoing, and was so kind as to comment on +my attractions! From that hour you may date our friendship, +and I began to think with tenderness upon the Latin +grammar.”</p> + +<p>“You will have many hours to rally me in,” said I; +“and I think besides you do yourself injustice. I think it +was Catriona turned your heart in my direction. She is too +simple to perceive as you do the stiffness of her friend.”</p> + +<p>“I would not like to wager upon that, Mr. David,” said +she. “The lasses have clear eyes. But at least she is your +friend entirely, as I was to see. I carried her in to his lordship, +my papa; and his Advocacy, being in a favourable +stage of claret, was so good as to receive the pair of us. <i>Here +is Grey Eyes that you have been deaved with these days past</i>, +said I; <i>she is come to prove that we spoke true, and I lay the +prettiest lass in the three Lothians at your feet</i>—making a +papistical reservation of myself. She suited her action to +my words: down she went upon her knees to him—I would +not like to swear but he saw two of her, which doubtless +made her appeal the more irresistible, for you are all a pack +of Mahomedans—told him what had passed that night, +and how she had withheld her father’s man from following +of you, and what a case she was in about her father, and +what a flutter for yourself; and begged with weeping for the +lives of both of you (neither of which was in the slightest +danger), till I vow I was proud of my sex because it was done +so pretty, and ashamed for it because of the smallness of the +occasion. She had not gone far, I assure you, before the +Advocate was wholly sober, to see his inmost politics ravelled +out by a young lass and discovered to the most unruly of his +daughters. But we took him in hand, the pair of us, and +brought that matter straight. Properly managed—and +that means managed by me—there is no one to compare +with my papa.”</p> + +<p>“He has been a good man to me,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, he was a good man to Katrine, and I was there +to see to it,” said she.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page187"></a>187</span></p> + +<p>“And she pled for me!” says I.</p> + +<p>“She did that, and very movingly,” said Miss Grant. +“I would not like to tell you what she said—I find you vain +enough already.”</p> + +<p>“God reward her for it!” cried I.</p> + +<p>“With Mr. David Balfour, I suppose?” says she.</p> + +<p>“You do me too much injustice at the last!” I cried. +“I would tremble to think of her in such hard hands. Do +you think I would presume, because she begged my life? +She would do that for a new-whelped puppy! I have had +more than that to set me up, if you but kenned. She +kissed that hand of mine. Ay, but she did. And why? +because she thought I was playing a brave part, and might +be going to my death. It was not for my sake—but I need +not be telling that to you, that cannot look at me without +laughter. It was for the love of what she thought was +bravery. I believe there is none but me and poor Prince +Charlie had that honour done them. Was this not to make +a god of me? and do you not think my heart would quake +when I remember it?”</p> + +<p>“I do laugh at you a good deal, and a good deal more +than is quite civil,” said she; “but I will tell you one thing: +if you speak to her like that, you have some glimmerings of a +chance.”</p> + +<p>“Me?” I cried, “I would never dare. I can speak to +you, Miss Grant, because it’s a matter of indifference what +ye think of me. But her? no fear!” said I.</p> + +<p>“I think you have the largest feet in all broad Scotland,” +says she.</p> + +<p>“Troth, they are no’ very small,” said I, looking down.</p> + +<p>“Ah, poor Catriona!” cries Miss Grant.</p> + +<p>And I could but stare upon her; for though I now see +very well what she was driving at (and perhaps some justification +for the same), I was never swift at the uptake in +such flimsy talk.</p> + +<p>“Ah well, Mr. David,” she said, “it goes sore against +my conscience, but I see I shall have to be your speaking-board. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188"></a>188</span> +She shall know you came to her straight upon the +news of her imprisonment; she shall know you would not +pause to eat; and of our conversation she shall hear just so +much as I think convenient for a maid of her age and inexperience. +Believe me, you will be in that way much better +served than you could serve yourself, for I will keep the big +feet out of the platter.”</p> + +<p>“You know where she is, then?” I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“That I do, Mr. David, and will never tell,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Why that?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “I am a good friend, as you will soon +discover; and the chief of those that I am friend to is my +papa. I assure you, you will never heat nor melt me out of +that, so you may spare me your sheep’s eyes; and adieu to +your David-Balfourship for the now.”</p> + +<p>“But there is yet one thing more,” I cried. “There is +one thing that must be stopped, being mere ruin to herself, +and to me too.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “be brief; I have spent half the day +on you already.”</p> + +<p>“My Lady Allardyce believes,” I began—“she supposes—she +thinks that I abducted her.”</p> + +<p>The colour came into Miss Grant’s face, so that at first I +was quite abashed to find her ear so delicate, till I bethought +me she was struggling rather with mirth, a notion in which +I was altogether confirmed by the shaking of her voice as she +replied—</p> + +<p>“I will take up the defence of your reputation,” said +she. “You may leave it in my hands.”</p> + +<p>And with that she withdrew out of the library.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_17" href="#FnAnchor_17"><span class="fn">17</span></a> Tamson’s mare—to go afoot.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_18" href="#FnAnchor_18"><span class="fn">18</span></a> Beard.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page189"></a>189</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XX</h3> + +<h5>I CONTINUE TO MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">For</span> about exactly two months I remained a guest in Prestongrange’s +family, where I bettered my acquaintance with +the Bench, the Bar, and the flower of Edinburgh company. +You are not to suppose my education was neglected; on the +contrary, I was kept extremely busy. I studied the French, +so as to be more prepared to go to Leyden; I set myself to +the fencing, and wrought hard, sometimes three hours in the +day, with notable advancement; at the suggestion of my +cousin Pilrig, who was an apt musician, I was put to a singing-class; +and by the orders of my Miss Grant, to one for the +dancing, at which I must say I proved far from ornamental. +However, all were good enough to say it gave me an address +a little more genteel; and there is no question but I learned +to manage my coat-skirts and sword with more dexterity, +and to stand in a room as though the same belonged to me. +My clothes themselves were all earnestly re-ordered; and +the most trifling circumstance, such as where I should tie my +hair, or the colour of my ribbon, debated among the three +misses like a thing of weight. One way with another, no +doubt I was a good deal improved to look at, and acquired a +bit of a modish air that would have surprised the good folks +at Essendean.</p> + +<p>The two younger misses were very willing to discuss a +point of my habiliment, because that was in the line of their +chief thoughts. I cannot say that they appeared any other +way conscious of my presence; and though always more +than civil, with a kind of heartless cordiality, could not +hide how much I wearied them. As for the aunt, she was a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190"></a>190</span> +wonderful still woman; and I think she gave me much the +same attention as she gave the rest of the family, which was +little enough. The eldest daughter and the Advocate himself +were thus my principal friends, and our familiarity was +much increased by a pleasure that we took in common. +Before the court met we spent a day or two at the house of +Grange, living very nobly with an open table, and here it was +that we three began to ride out together in the fields, a +practice afterwards maintained in Edinburgh, so far as the +Advocate’s continual affairs permitted. When we were put +in a good frame by the briskness of the exercise, the difficulties +of the way, or the accidents of bad weather, my shyness +wore entirely off; we forgot that we were strangers, +and speech not being required, it flowed the more naturally +on. Then it was that they had my story from me, bit by +bit, from the time that I left Essendean, with my voyage +and battle in the <i>Covenant</i>, wanderings in the heather, etc.; +and from the interest they found in my adventures sprung +the circumstance of a jaunt we made a little later on, on a +day when the courts were not sitting, and of which I will tell +a trifle more at length.</p> + +<p>We took horse early, and passed first by the house of +Shaws, where it stood smokeless in a great field of white +frost, for it was yet early in the day. Here Prestongrange +alighted down, gave me his horse, and proceeded alone to +visit my uncle. My heart, I remember, swelled up bitter +within me at the sight of that bare house and the thought of +the old miser sitting chittering within in the cold kitchen.</p> + +<p>“There is my home,” said I; “and my family.”</p> + +<p>“Poor David Balfour!” said Miss Grant.</p> + +<p>What passed during the visit I have never heard; but it +would doubtless not be very agreeable to Ebenezer, for when +the Advocate came forth again his face was dark.</p> + +<p>“I think you will soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie,” +says he, turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup.</p> + +<p>“I will never pretend sorrow,” said I; and, to say the +truth, during his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191"></a>191</span> +the place in fancy with plantations, parterres, and +a terrace—much as I have since carried out in fact.</p> + +<p>Thence we pushed to the Queen’s Ferry, where Rankeillor +gave us a good welcome, being indeed out of the +body to receive so great a visitor. Here the Advocate was +so unaffectedly good as to go quite fully over my affairs, +sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in his study, and +expressing (I was told) a great esteem for myself and concern +for my fortunes. To while this time, Miss Grant and I and +young Rankeillor took boat and passed the Hope to Limekilns. +Rankeillor made himself very ridiculous (and, I +thought, offensive) with his admiration for the young lady, +and to my wonder (only it is so common a weakness of her +sex) she seemed, if anything, to be a little gratified. One use +it had: for when we were come to the other side, she laid her +commands on him to mind the boat, while she and I passed a +little farther to the alehouse. This was her own thought, +for she had been taken with my account of Alison Hastie, +and desired to see the lass herself. We found her once more +alone—indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the +fields—and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the +beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.</p> + +<p>“Is this all the welcome I am to get?” said I, holding +out my hand. “And have you no more memory of old +friends?”</p> + +<p>“Keep me! wha’s this of it?” she cried, and then, +“God’s truth, it’s the tautit<a name="FnAnchor_19" href="#Footnote_19"><span class="sp">19</span></a> laddie!”</p> + +<p>“The very same,” says I.</p> + +<p>“Mony’s the time I’ve thocht upon you and your freen, +and blithe am I to see you in your braws,”<a name="FnAnchor_20" href="#Footnote_20"><span class="sp">20</span></a> she cried; +“though I kennt ye were come to your ain folk by the grand +present that ye sent me, and that I thank ye for with a’ my +heart.”</p> + +<p>“There,” said Miss Grant to me, “run out by with ye, +like a good bairn, I didna come here to stand and baud a +candle; it’s her and me that are to crack.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page192"></a>192</span></p> + +<p>I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when +she came forth I observed two things—that her eyes were +reddened, and a silver brooch was gone out of her bosom. +This very much affected me.</p> + +<p>“I never saw you so well adorned,” said I.</p> + +<p>“O, Davie man, dinna be a pompous gowk!” said she, +and was more than usually sharp to me the remainder of the +day.</p> + +<p>About candlelight we came home from this excursion.</p> + +<p>For a good while I heard nothing further of Catriona—my +Miss Grant remaining quite impenetrable, and stopping +my mouth with pleasantries. At last, one day that she +returned from walking, and found me alone in the parlour +over my French, I thought there was something unusual in +her looks; the colour heightened, the eyes sparkling high, +and a bit of a smile continually bitten in as she regarded me. +She seemed indeed like the very spirit of mischief, and, walking +briskly in the room, had soon involved me in a kind of +quarrel over nothing and (at the least) with nothing intended +on my side. I was like Christian in the slough—the more I +tried to clamber out upon the side, the deeper I became involved; +until at last I heard her declare, with a great deal +of passion, that she would take that answer at the hands of +none, and I must down upon my knees for pardon.</p> + +<p>The causelessness of all this fuff stirred my own bile. “I +have said nothing you can properly object to,” said I, “and +as for my knees, that is an attitude I keep for God.”</p> + +<p>“And as a goddess I am to be served!” she cried, shaking +her brown locks at me and with a bright colour. “Every +man that comes within waft of my petticoats shall use +me so!”</p> + +<p>“I will go so far as ask your pardon for the fashion’s sake, +although I vow I know not why,” I replied. “But for these +play-acting postures, you can go to others.”</p> + +<p>“O Davie!” she said. “Not if I was to beg +you?”</p> + +<p>I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193"></a>193</span> +the same as to say a child, and that upon a point entirely +formal.</p> + +<p>“I think it a bairnly thing,” I said, “not worthy in +you to ask, or me to render. Yet I will not refuse you, +neither,” said I; “and the stain, if there be any, rests with +yourself.” And at that I kneeled fairly down.</p> + +<p>“There!” she cried. “There is the proper station, +there is where I have been manœuvring to bring you.” And +then, suddenly, “Kep,”<a name="FnAnchor_21" href="#Footnote_21"><span class="sp">21</span></a> said she, flung me a folded billet, +and ran from the apartment laughing.</p> + +<p>The billet had neither place nor date. “Dear Mr. +David,” it began, “I get your news continually by my +cousin, Miss Grant, and it is a pleisand hearing. I am very +well, in a good place, among good folk, but necessitated to be +quite private, though I am hoping that at long last we may +meet again. All your friendships have been told me by my +loving cousin, who loves us both. She bids me to send you +this writing, and oversees the same. I will be asking you to +do all her commands, and rest your affectionate friend, +Catriona Macgregor-Drummond. <i>P.S.</i>—Will you not see +my cousin, Allardyce?”</p> + +<p>I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the +soldiers say) that I should have done as I was here bidden +and gone forthright to the house by Dean. But the old lady +was now entirely changed, and supple as a glove. By what +means Miss Grant had brought this round I could never +guess; I am sure, at least, she dared not to appear openly in +the affair, for her papa was compromised in it pretty deep. +It was he, indeed, who had persuaded Catriona to leave, or +rather, not to return to, her cousin’s, placing her instead +with a family of Gregorys—decent people, quite at the +Advocate’s disposition, and in whom she might have the +more confidence because they were of her own clan and +family. These kept her private till all was ripe, heated and +helped her to attempt her father’s rescue, and after she was +discharged from prison received her again into the same +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194"></a>194</span> +secrecy. Thus Prestongrange obtained and used his instrument; +nor did there leak out the smallest word of his acquaintance +with the daughter of James More. There was +some whispering, of course, upon the escape of that discredited +person; but the Government replied by a show of +rigour, one of the cell-porters was flogged, the lieutenant of +the guard (my poor friend, Duncansby) was broken of his +rank, and as for Catriona, all men were well enough pleased +that her fault should be passed by in silence.</p> + +<p>I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer. +“No,” she would say, when I persisted, “I am going to keep +the big feet out of the platter.” This was the more hard to +bear, as I was aware she saw my little friend many times in +the week, and carried her my news whenever (as she said) I +“had behaved myself.” At last she treated me to what she +called an indulgence, and I thought rather more of a banter. +She was certainly a strong, almost a violent, friend to all +she liked, chief among whom was a certain frail old gentlewoman, +very blind and very witty, who dwelt in the top of a +tall land on a strait close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, +and thronged all day with visitors. Miss Grant was very +fond to carry me there and put me to entertain her friend +with the narrative of my misfortunes; and Miss Tibbie +Ramsay (that was her name) was particular kind, and told +me a great deal that was worth knowledge of old folks +and past affairs in Scotland. I should say that from her +chamber-window, and not three feet away, such is the straitness +of that close, it was possible to look into a barred loophole +lighting the stairway of the opposite house.</p> + +<p>Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one day +alone with Miss Ramsay. I mind I thought that lady inattentive +and like one pre-occupied. It was besides very +uncomfortable, for the window, contrary to custom, was left +open, and the day was cold. All at once the voice of Miss +Grant sounded in my ears as from a distance.</p> + +<p>“Here, Shaws!” she cried, “keek out of the window and +see what I have broughten you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page195"></a>195</span></p> + +<p>I think it was the prettiest sight that ever I beheld. The +well of the close was all in clear shadow where a man could +see distinctly, the walls very black and dingy; and there +from the barred loophole I saw two faces smiling across at +me—Miss Grant’s and Catriona’s.</p> + +<p>“There!” says Miss Grant, “I wanted her to see you in +your braws, like the lass of Limekilns. I wanted her to see +what I could make of you, when I buckled to the job in +earnest!”</p> + +<p>It came in my mind she had been more than common +particular that day upon my dress: and I think that some +of the same care had been bestowed upon Catriona. For so +merry and sensible a lady, Miss Grant was certainly wonderful +taken up with duds.</p> + +<p>“Catriona!” was all I could get out.</p> + +<p>As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved +her hand and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away +again from before the loophole.</p> + +<p>That vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house-door, +where I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss +Ramsay, crying for the key, but might as well have cried +upon the Castle rock. She had passed her word, she said, +and I must be a good lad. It was impossible to burst the +door, even if it had been mannerly; it was impossible I +should leap from the window, being seven stories above +ground. All I could do was to crane over the close and +watch for their reappearance from the stair. It was little +to see, being no more than the tops of their two heads, each +on a ridiculous bobbin of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions. +Nor did Catriona so much as look up for a farewell; being +prevented (as I heard afterwards) by Miss Grant, who told +her folk were never seen to less advantage than from above +downward.</p> + +<p>On the way home, as soon as I was free, I upbraided Miss +Grant for her cruelty.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry you was disappointed,” says she demurely. +“For my part I was very pleased. You looked better than +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page196"></a>196</span> +I dreaded; you looked—if it will not make you vain—a +mighty pretty young man when you appeared in the window. +You are to remember that she could not see your feet,” says +she, with the manner of one reassuring me.</p> + +<p>“O!” cried I, “leave my feet be—they are no bigger +than my neighbours’.”</p> + +<p>“They are even smaller than some,” said she, “but I +speak in parables, like a Hebrew prophet.”</p> + +<p>“I marvel little they were sometimes stoned!” says I. +“But, you miserable girl, how could you do it? Why +should you care to tantalise me with a moment?”</p> + +<p>“Love is like folk,” says she; “it needs some kind of +vivers.”<a name="FnAnchor_22" href="#Footnote_22"><span class="sp">22</span></a></p> + +<p>“O, Barbara, let me see her properly!” I pleaded. +“You can—you see her when you please; let me have half +an hour.”</p> + +<p>“Who is it that is managing this love-affair? You? +Or me?” she asked, and, as I continued to press her with +my instances, fell back upon a deadly expedient: that of +imitating the tones of my voice when I called on Catriona by +name; with which, indeed, she held me in subjection for +some days to follow.</p> + +<p>There was never the least word heard of the memorial, +or none by me. Prestongrange and his Grace the Lord +President may have heard of it (for what I know) on the +deafest sides of their heads; they kept it to themselves at +least—the public was none the wiser; and in course of time, +on November 8th, and in the midst of a prodigious storm of +wind and rain, poor James of the Glens was duly hanged at +Lettermore by Balachulish.</p> + +<p>So there was the final upshot of my politics! Innocent +men have perished before James, and are like to keep on +perishing (in spite of all our wisdom) till the end of time. +And till the end of time young folk (who are not yet used +with the duplicity of life and men) will struggle as I did, and +make heroical resolves, and take long risks; and the course +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page197"></a>197</span> +of events will push them upon the one side and go on like +a marching army. James was hanged; and here was I, +dwelling in the house of Prestongrange, and grateful to him +for his fatherly attention. He was hanged; and behold! +when I met Mr. Simon in the causeway, I was fain to pull off +my beaver to him like a good little boy before his dominie. +He had been hanged by fraud and violence, and the world +wagged along, and there was not a pennyweight of difference; +and the villains of that horrid plot were decent, kind, +respectable fathers of families, who went to kirk and took +the sacrament!</p> + +<p>But I had had my view of that detestable business they +call politics—I had seen it from behind, when it is all bones +and blackness; and I was cured for life of any temptations +to take part in it again. A plain, quiet, private path was that +which I was ambitious to walk in, where I might keep my +head out of the way of dangers and my conscience out of the +road of temptation. For, upon a retrospect, it appeared I +had not done so grandly, after all; but, with the greatest +possible amount of big speech and preparation, had accomplished +nothing.</p> + +<p>The 25th of the same month a ship was advertised to sail +from Leith; and I was suddenly recommended to make up +my mails for Leyden. To Prestongrange I could, of course, +say nothing; for I had already been a long while sorning on +his house and table. But with his daughter I was more +open, bewailing my fate that I should be sent out of +the country, and assuring her, unless she should bring +me to farewell with Catriona, I would refuse at the last +hour.</p> + +<p>“Have I not given you my advice?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I know you have,” said I, “and I know how much I +am beholden to you already, and that I am bidden to obey +your orders. But you must confess you are something too +merry a lass at times to lippen to<a name="FnAnchor_23" href="#Footnote_23"><span class="sp">23</span></a> entirely.”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you, then,” said she. “Be you on board by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page198"></a>198</span> +nine o’clock forenoon; the ship does not sail before one; +keep your boat alongside; and if you are not pleased with +my farewells when I shall send them, you can come ashore +again and seek Katrine for yourself.”</p> + +<p>Since I could make no more of her, I was fain to be content +with this.</p> + +<p>The day came round at last when she and I were to separate. +We had been extremely intimate and familiar; I +was much in her debt; and what way we were to part was a +thing that put me from my sleep, like the vails I was to give +to the domestic servants. I knew she considered me too +backward, and rather desired to rise in her opinion on that +head. Besides which, after so much affection shown and (I +believe) felt upon both sides, it would have looked cold-like +to be anyways stiff. Accordingly, I got my courage up and +my words ready, and the last chance we were like to be +alone, asked pretty boldly to be allowed to salute her in +farewell.</p> + +<p>“You forget yourself strangely, Mr. Balfour,” said she. +“I cannot call to mind that I have given you any right to +presume on our acquaintancy.”</p> + +<p>I stood before her like a stopped clock, and knew not +what to think, far less to say, when of a sudden she cast her +arms about my neck and kissed me with the best will in the +world.</p> + +<p>“You inimitable bairn!” she cried. “Did you think +that I would let us part like strangers? Because I can never +keep my gravity at you five minutes on end, you must not +dream I do not love you very well: I am all love and +laughter, every time I cast an eye on you! And now I will +give you an advice to conclude your education, which you +will have need of before it’s very long. Never <i>ask</i> women-folk. +They are bound to answer ‘No’; God never made +the lass that could resist the temptation. It’s supposed by +divines to be the curse of Eve: because she did not say it +when the devil offered her the apple, her daughters can say +nothing else.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page199"></a>199</span></p> + +<p>“Since I am so soon to lose my bonny professor,” I +began.</p> + +<p>“This is gallant, indeed,” says she, curtsying.</p> + +<p>“—I would put the one question,” I went on: “May I +ask a lass to marry me?”</p> + +<p>“You think you could not marry her without?” she +asked. “Or else get her to offer?”</p> + +<p>“You see you cannot be serious,” said I.</p> + +<p>“I shall be very serious in one thing, David,” said she: +“I shall always be your friend.”</p> + +<p>As I got to my horse the next morning, the four ladies +were all at the same window whence we had once looked +down on Catriona, and all cried farewell and waved their +pocket-napkins as I rode away. One out of the four I knew +was truly sorry; and at the thought of that, and how I had +come to the door three months ago for the first time, sorrow +and gratitude made a confusion in my mind.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_19" href="#FnAnchor_19"><span class="fn">19</span></a> Ragged.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_20" href="#FnAnchor_20"><span class="fn">20</span></a> Fine things.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_21" href="#FnAnchor_21"><span class="fn">21</span></a> Catch.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_22" href="#FnAnchor_22"><span class="fn">22</span></a> Victuals.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_23" href="#FnAnchor_23"><span class="fn">23</span></a> Trust.</p> +</div> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page200"></a>200</span></p> +<div class="pt2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page201"></a>201</span></p> + +<hr class="full" /> +<h2>PART II</h2> + +<h2>FATHER AND DAUGHTER</h2> +<hr class="full" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page202"></a>202</span></p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page203"></a>203</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXI</h3> + +<h5>THE VOYAGE INTO HOLLAND</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> ship lay at a single anchor, well outside the pier of +Leith, so that all we passengers must come to it by the means +of skiffs. This was very little troublesome, for the reason +that the day was a flat calm, very frosty and cloudy, and +with a low shifting fog upon the water. The body of the +vessel was thus quite hid as I drew near, but the tall spars +of her stood high and bright in a sunshine like the flickering +of a fire. She proved to be a very roomy, commodious +merchant, but somewhat blunt in the bows, and loaden extraordinary +deep with salt, salted salmon, and fine white +linen stockings for the Dutch. Upon my coming on board, +the captain welcomed me—one Sang (out of Lesmahago, I +believe), a very hearty, friendly tarpaulin of a man, but at +the moment in rather of a bustle. There had no other of the +passengers yet appeared, so that I was left to walk about +upon the deck, viewing the prospect and wondering a good +deal what these farewells should be which I was promised.</p> + +<p>All Edinburgh and the Pentland Hills glinted above me +in a kind of smuisty brightness, now and again overcome +with blots of cloud; of Leith there was no more than the +tops of chimneys visible, and on the face of the water, where +the haar<a name="FnAnchor_24" href="#Footnote_24"><span class="sp">24</span></a> lay, nothing at all. Out of this I was presently +aware of a sound of oars pulling, and a little after (as if out +of the smoke of a fire) a boat issued. There sat a grave man +in the stern-sheets, well muffled from the cold, and by his +side a tall, pretty, tender figure of a maid that brought my +heart to a stand. I had scarce the time to catch my breath +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204"></a>204</span> +in, and be ready to meet her, as she stepped upon the deck, +smiling, and making my best bow, which was now vastly +finer than some months before, when first I made it to her +ladyship. No doubt we were both a good deal changed: +she seemed to have shot up taller, like a young, comely tree. +She had now a kind of pretty backwardness that became her +well, as of one that regarded herself more highly, and was +fairly woman; and for another thing, the hand of the same +magician had been at work upon the pair of us, and Miss +Grant had made us both <i>braw</i>, if she could make but the one +<i>bonny</i>.</p> + +<p>The same cry, in words not very different, came from +both of us, that the other was come in compliment to say +farewell, and then we perceived in a flash we were to ship +together.</p> + +<p>“O, why will not Baby have been telling me!” she cried; +and then remembered a letter she had been given, on the condition +of not opening it till she was well on board. Within +was an enclosure for myself, and ran thus:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“<span class="sc">Dear Davie</span>,—What do you think of my farewell? and what +do you say to your fellow-passenger? Did you kiss, or did you ask? +I was about to have signed here, but that would leave the purport +of my question doubtful; and in my own case <i>I ken the answer</i>. So +fill up here with good advice. Do not be too blate,<a name="FnAnchor_25" href="#Footnote_25"><span class="sp">25</span></a> and for God’s +sake do not try to be too forward; nothing sets you worse.—I am</p> + +<p style="padding-left: 5em;">“Your affectionate friend and governess,</p> + + <p class="rt">“<span class="sc">Barbara Grant</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>I wrote a word of answer and compliment on a leaf out +of my pocket-book, put it in with another scratch from +Catriona, sealed the whole with my new signet of the Balfour +arms, and despatched it by the hand of Prestongrange’s +servant, that still waited in my boat.</p> + +<p>Then we had time to look upon each other more at leisure, +which we had not done for a piece of a minute before (upon +a common impulse) we shook hands again.</p> + +<p>“Catriona!” said I. It seemed that was the first and +last word of my eloquence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page205"></a>205</span></p> + +<p>“You will be glad to see me again?” says she.</p> + +<p>“And I think that is an idle word,” said I. “We are too +deep friends to make speech upon such trifles.”</p> + +<p>“Is she not the girl of all the world?” she cried again. +“I was never knowing such a girl, so honest and so beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“And yet she cared no more for Alpin than what she did +for a kale-stock,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, she will say so indeed!” cries Catriona. “Yet +it was for the name and the gentle kind blood that she took +me up and was so good to me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I will tell you why it was,” said I. “There are +all sorts of people’s faces in this world. There is Barbara’s +face, that every one must look at and admire, and think her +a fine, brave, merry girl. And then there is your face, which +is quite different—I never knew how different till to-day. +You cannot see yourself, and that is why you do not understand +but it was for the love of your face that she took you +up and was so good to you. And everybody in the world +would do the same.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody?” says she.</p> + +<p>“Every living soul!” said I.</p> + +<p>“Ah, then, that will be why the soldiers at the Castle +took me up!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Barbara has been teaching you to catch me,” said I.</p> + +<p>“She will have taught me more than that, at all events. +She will have taught me a great deal about Mr. David—-all +the ill of him, and a little that was not so ill either, now and +then,” she said, smiling. “She will have told me all there +was of Mr. David, only just that he would sail upon this very +same ship. And why it is you go?”</p> + +<p>I told her.</p> + +<p>“Ah, well,” said she, “we will be some days in company, +and then (I suppose) good-bye for altogether! I go +to meet my father at a place of the name of Helvoetsluys, +and from there to France, to be exiles by the side of our +chieftain.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page206"></a>206</span></p> + +<p>I could say no more than just “O!” the name of James +More always drying up my very voice.</p> + +<p>She was quick to perceive it, and to guess some portion +of my thought.</p> + +<p>“There is one thing I must be saying first of all, Mr. +David,” said she. “I think two of my kinsfolk have not +behaved to you altogether very well. And the one of them +two is James More, my father, and the other is the Laird of +Prestongrange. Prestongrange will have spoken by himself, +or his daughter in the place of him. But for James +More, my father, I have this much to say: he lay shackled +in a prison; he is a plain honest soldier and a plain Highland +gentleman; what they would be after he would never +be guessing; but if he had understood it was to be some +prejudice to a young gentleman like yourself, he would have +died first. And for the sake of all your friendships, I will be +asking you to pardon my father and family for that same +mistake.”</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I, “what that mistake was I do not +care to know. I know but the one thing—that you went to +Prestongrange and begged my life upon your knees. O, I +ken well it was for your father that you went, but when you +were there you pleaded for me also. It is a thing I cannot +speak of. There are two things I cannot think of in to +myself: and the one is your good words when you called +yourself my little friend, and the other that you pleaded for +my life. Let us never speak more, we two, of pardon or +offence.”</p> + +<p>We stood after that silent, Catriona looking on the deck +and I on her; and before there was more speech, a little wind +having sprung up in the nor’-west, they began to shake out +the sails and heave in upon the anchor.</p> + +<p>There were six passengers besides our two selves, which +made of it a full cabin. Three were solid merchants out of +Leith, Kirkcaldy, and Dundee, all engaged in the same adventure +into High Germany. One was a Hollander returning; +the rest worthy merchants’ wives, to the charge of one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207"></a>207</span> +of whom Catriona was recommended. Mrs. Gebbie (for +that was her name) was by great good fortune heavily incommoded +by the sea, and lay day and night on the broad +of her back. We were besides the only creatures at all +young on board the <i>Rose</i>, except a white-faced boy that did +my old duty to attend upon the table; and it came about +that Catriona and I were left almost entirely to ourselves. +We had the next seats together at the table, where I waited +on her with extraordinary pleasure. On deck, I made her a +soft place with my cloak; and the weather being singularly +fine for that season, with bright frosty days and nights, a +steady, gentle wind, and scarce a sheet started all the way +through the North Sea, we sat there (only now and again +walking to and fro for warmth) from the first blink of the +sun till eight or nine at night under the clear stars. The +merchants or Captain Sang would sometimes glance and +smile upon us, or pass a merry word or two and give us the +go-by again; but the most part of the time they were deep +in herring and chintzes and linen, or in computations of the +slowness of the passage, and left us to our own concerns, +which were very little important to any but ourselves.</p> + +<p>At the first we had a great deal to say, and thought ourselves +pretty witty; and I was at a little pains to be the +<i>beau</i>, and she (I believe) to play the young lady of experience. +But soon we grew plainer with each other. I laid +aside my high, clipped English (what little there was of it) +and forgot to make my Edinburgh bows and scrapes; she, +upon her side, fell into a sort of kind familiarity; and we +dwelt together like those of the same household, only (upon +my side) with a more deep emotion. About the same time, +the bottom seemed to fall out of our conversation, and +neither one of us the less pleased. Whiles she would tell me +old wives’ tales, of which she had a wonderful variety, many +of them from my friend red-headed Neil. She told them very +pretty, and they were pretty enough childish tales; but the +pleasure to myself was in the sound of her voice, and the +thought that she was telling and I was listening. Whiles, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208"></a>208</span> +again, we would sit entirely silent, not communicating even +with a look, and tasting pleasure enough in the sweetness of +that neighbourhood. I speak here only for myself. Of +what was in the maid’s mind I am not very sure that ever I +asked myself; and what was in my own I was afraid to consider. +I need make no secret of it now, either to myself +or to the reader: I was fallen totally in love. She came +between me and the sun. She had grown suddenly taller, as +I say, but with a wholesome growth; she seemed all health, +and lightness, and brave spirits; and I thought she walked +like a young deer, and stood like a birch upon the mountains. +It was enough for me to sit near by her on the deck; +and I declare I scarce spent two thoughts upon the future, +and was so well content with what I then enjoyed that I +was never at the pains to imagine any further step; unless +perhaps that I would be sometimes tempted to take her hand +in mine and hold it there. But I was too like a miser of +what joys I had, and would venture nothing on a hazard.</p> + +<p>What we spoke was usually of ourselves or of each +other, so that if any one had been at so much pains as overhear +us, he must have supposed us the most egotistical +persons in the world. It befell one day when we were at +this practice, that we came on a discourse of friends and +friendship, and I think now that we were sailing near the +wind. We said what a fine thing friendship was, and how +little we had guessed of it, and how it made life a new thing, +and a thousand covered things of the same kind that will +have been said, since the foundation of the world, by young +folk in the same predicament. Then we remarked upon the +strangeness of that circumstance, that friends came together +in the beginning as if they were there for the first time, and +yet each had been alive a good while, losing time with other +people.</p> + +<p>“It is not much that I have done,” said she, “and I +could be telling you the five-fifths of it in two-three words. +It is only a girl I am, and what can befall a girl, at all events? +But I went with the clan in the year ’Forty-five. The men +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209"></a>209</span> +marched with swords and firelocks, and some of them in +brigades in the same set of tartan; they were not backward +at the marching, I can tell you. And there were gentlemen +from the Low Country, with their tenants mounted and +trumpets to sound, and there was a grand skirling of war-pipes. +I rode on a little Highland horse on the right hand +of my father, James More, and of Glengyle himself. And +here is one fine thing that I remember, that Glengyle kissed +me in the face, because (says he) ‘my kinswoman, you are +the only lady of the clan that has come out,’ and me a little +maid of maybe twelve years old! I saw Prince Charlie too, +and the blue eyes of him; he was pretty indeed! I had his +hand to kiss in the front of the army. O, well, these were +the good days, but it is all like a dream that I have seen and +then awakened. It went what way you very well know; +and these were the worst days of all, when the red-coat +soldiers were out, and my father and my uncles lay in the +hill, and I was to be carrying them their meat in the middle +night, or at the short side of day when the cocks crow. Yes, +I have walked in the night, many’s the time, and my heart +great in me for terror of the darkness. It is a strange thing +I will never have been meddled with a bogle; but they say +a maid goes safe. Next there was my uncle’s marriage, +and that was a dreadful affair beyond all. Jean Kay was +that woman’s name; and she had me in the room with her +that night at Inversnaid, the night we took her from her +friends in the old, ancient manner. She would and she +wouldn’t; she was for marrying Rob the one minute, and +the next she would be for none of him. I will never have +seen such a feckless creature of a woman; surely all there +was of her would tell her ay or no. Well, she was a widow, +and I can never be thinking a widow a good woman.”</p> + +<p>“Catriona!” says I, “how do you make out that?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” said she; “I am only telling you the +seeming in my heart. And then to marry a new man! Fy! +But that was her; and she was married again upon my +uncle Robin, and went with him a while to kirk and market; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210"></a>210</span> +and then wearied, or else her friends got claught of her and +talked her round, or maybe she turned ashamed; at the +least of it, she ran away, and went back to her own folk, and +said we had held her in the lake, and I will never tell you all +what. I have never thought much of any females since that +day. And so, in the end, my father, James More, came to +be cast in prison, and you know the rest of it as well as me.”</p> + +<p>“And through all you had no friends?” said I.</p> + +<p>“No,” said she; “I have been pretty chief with two-three +lasses on the braes, but not to call it friends.”</p> + +<p>“Well, mine is a plain tale,” said I. “I never had a +friend to my name till I met in with you.”</p> + +<p>“And that brave Mr. Stewart?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“O, yes, I was forgetting him,” I said. “But he is a +man, and that is very different.”</p> + +<p>“I would think so,” said she. “O, yes, it is quite +different.”</p> + +<p>“And then there was one other,” said I. “I once +thought I had a friend, but it proved a disappointment.”</p> + +<p>She asked me who she was.</p> + +<p>“It was a he, then,” said I. “We were the two best lads +at my father’s school, and we thought we loved each other +dearly. Well, the time came when he went to Glasgow, to +a merchant’s house, that was his second cousin once removed; +and wrote me two-three times by the carrier; and +then he found new friends, and I might write till I was tired, +he took no notice. Eh, Catriona, it took me a long while to +forgive the world. There is not anything more bitter than +to lose a fancied friend.”</p> + +<p>Then she began to question me close upon his looks and +character, for we were each a great deal concerned in all that +touched the other; till at last, in a very evil hour, I minded +of his letters and went and fetched the bundle from the cabin.</p> + +<p>“Here are his letters,” said I, “and all the letters that +ever I got. That will be the last I’ll can tell of myself; you +know the lave<a name="FnAnchor_26" href="#Footnote_26"><span class="sp">26</span></a> as well as I do.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page211"></a>211</span></p> + +<p>“Will you let me read them, then?” says she.</p> + +<p>I told her, <i>if she would be at the pains</i>; and she bade me +go away and she would read them from the one end to the +other. Now, in this bundle that I gave her there were +packed together not only all the letters of my false friend, +but one or two of Mr. Campbell’s when he was in town at the +Assembly, and to make a complete roll of all that ever was +written to me, Catriona’s little word, and the two I had received +from Miss Grant, one when I was on the Bass, and one +on board that ship. But of these last I had no particular +mind at the moment.</p> + +<p>I was in that state of subjection to the thought of my +friend that it mattered not what I did, nor scarce whether I +was in her presence or out of it; I had caught her like some +kind of a noble fever that lived continually in my bosom, by +night and by day, and whether I was waking or asleep. So +it befell that after I was come into the fore-part of the +ship, where the broad bows splashed into the billows, I was +in no such hurry to return, as you might fancy; rather +prolonged my absence like a variety in pleasure. I do not +think I am by nature much of an Epicurean; and there +had come till then so small a share of pleasure in my way +that I might be excused, perhaps, to dwell on it unduly.</p> + +<p>When I returned to her again, I had a faint, painful +impression as of a buckle slipped, so coldly she returned the +packet.</p> + +<p>“You have read them?” said I; and I thought my voice +sounded not wholly natural, for I was turning in my mind +for what could ail her.</p> + +<p>“Did you mean me to read all?” she asked.</p> + +<p>I told her “Yes,” with a drooping voice.</p> + +<p>“The last of them as well?” said she.</p> + +<p>I knew where we were now; yet I would not lie to her +either. “I gave them all without afterthought,” I said, +“as I supposed that you would read them. I see no harm +in any.”</p> + +<p>“I will be differently made,” said she. “I thank God +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page212"></a>212</span> +I am differently made. It was not a fit letter to be shown +me. It was not fit to be written.”</p> + +<p>“I think you are speaking of your own friend, Barbara +Grant?” said I.</p> + +<p>“There will not be anything as bitter as to lose a fancied +friend,” said she, quoting my own expression.</p> + +<p>“I think it is sometimes the friendship that was fancied!” +I cried. “What kind of justice do you call this, to blame +me for some words that a tomfool of a madcap lass has +written down upon a piece of paper? You know yourself +with what respect I have behaved—and would do always.”</p> + +<p>“Yet you would show me that same letter!” says she. +“I want no such friends. I can be doing very well, Mr. +Balfour, without her—or you.”</p> + +<p>“This is your fine gratitude!” says I.</p> + +<p>“I am very much obliged to you,” said she. “I will +be asking you to take away your—letters.” She seemed to +choke upon the word, so that it sounded like an oath.</p> + +<p>“You shall never ask twice,” said I; picked up that +bundle, walked a little way forward and cast them as far as +possible into the sea. For a very little more I could have +cast myself after them.</p> + +<p>The rest of the day I walked up and down raging. There +were few names so ill but what I gave her them in my own +mind before the sun went down. All that I had ever heard +of Highland pride seemed quite outdone; that a girl (scarce +grown) should resent so trifling an allusion, and that from +her next friend, that she had near wearied me with praising +of! I had bitter, sharp, hard thoughts of her, like an angry +boy’s. If I had kissed her indeed (I thought), perhaps she +would have taken it pretty well; and only because it had +been written down, and with a spice of jocularity, up she +must fuff in this ridiculous passion. It seemed to me there +was a want of penetration in the female sex, to make angels +weep over the case of the poor men.</p> + +<p>We were side by side again at supper, and what a change +was there! She was like curdled milk to me; her face was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213"></a>213</span> +like a wooden doll’s; I could have indifferently smitten her +or grovelled at her feet, but she gave me not the least occasion +to do either. No sooner the meal done than she betook +herself to attend on Mrs. Gebbie, which I think she had a +little neglected heretofore. But she was to make up for lost +time, and in what remained of the passage was extraordinary +assiduous with the old lady, and on deck began to make a +great deal more than I thought wise of Captain Sang. Not +but what the captain seemed a worthy, fatherly man; but +I hated to behold her in the least familiarity with any one +except myself.</p> + +<p>Altogether, she was so quick to avoid me, and so constant +to keep herself surrounded with others, that I must watch +a long while before I could find my opportunity; and after +it was found, I made not much of it, as you are now to hear.</p> + +<p>“I have no guess how I have offended,” said I; “it +should scarce be beyond pardon, then. O, try if you can +pardon me.”</p> + +<p>“I have no pardon to give,” said she; and the words +seemed to come out of her throat like marbles. “I will be +very much obliged for all your friendships.” And she made +me an eighth part of a curtsy.</p> + +<p>But I had schooled myself beforehand to say more, and +I was going to say it too.</p> + +<p>“There is one thing,” said I. “If I have shocked your +particularity by the showing of that letter, it cannot touch +Miss Grant. She wrote not to you, but to a poor, common, +ordinary lad, who might have had more sense than show it. +If you are to blame me——”</p> + +<p>“I will advise you to say no more about that girl, at all +events!” said Catriona. “It is her I will never look the +road of, not if she lay dying.” She turned away from me, +and suddenly back. “Will you swear you will have no +more to deal with her?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, and I will never be so unjust then,” said I; +“nor yet so ungrateful.” + +And now it was I that turned away.</p> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_24" href="#FnAnchor_24"><span class="fn">24</span></a> Sea-fog.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_25" href="#FnAnchor_25"><span class="fn">25</span></a> Bashful.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_26" href="#FnAnchor_26"><span class="fn">26</span></a> Rest.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page214"></a>214</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXII</h3> + +<h5>HELVOETSLUYS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> weather in the end considerably worsened; the wind +sang in the shrouds, the sea swelled higher, and the ship +began to labour and cry out among the billows. The song +of the leadsman in the chains was now scarce ceasing, for +we thrid all the way among shoals. About nine in the +morning, in a burst of wintry sun between two squalls of hail, +I had my first look of Holland—a line of windmills birling +in the breeze. It was besides my first knowledge of these +daft-like contrivances, which gave me a near sense of foreign +travel and a new world and life. We came to an anchor +about half-past eleven, outside the harbour of Helvoetsluys, +in a place where the sea sometimes broke and the ship +pitched outrageously. You may be sure we were all on +deck, save Mrs. Gebbie, some of us in cloaks, others mantled +in the ship’s tarpaulins, all clinging on by ropes, and jesting +the most like old sailor-folk that we could imitate.</p> + +<p>Presently a boat, that was backed like a partan-crab, +came gingerly alongside, and the skipper of it hailed our +master in the Dutch. Thence Captain Sang turned, very +troubled-like, to Catriona; and, the rest of us crowding +about, the nature of the difficulty was made plain to all. +The <i>Rose</i> was bound to the port of Rotterdam, whither the +other passengers were in a great impatience to arrive, in +view of a conveyance due to leave that very evening in the +direction of the Upper Germany. This, with the present +half-gale of wind, the captain (if no time were lost) declared +himself still capable to save. Now James More had trysted +in Helvoet with his daughter, and the captain had engaged +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215"></a>215</span> +to call before the port and place her (according to the +custom) in a shore boat. There was the boat, to be sure, +and here was Catriona ready: but both our master and the +patroon of the boat scrupled at the risk, and the first was in +no humour to delay.</p> + +<p>“Your father,” said he, “would be geyan little pleased +if we was to break a leg to ye, Miss Drummond, let-a-be +drowning of you. Take my way of it,” says he, “and come +on-by with the rest of us here to Rotterdam. Ye can get a +passage down the Maes in a sailing scoot as far as to the +Brill, and thence on again, by a place in a rattel-waggon, +back to Helvoet.”</p> + +<p>But Catriona would hear of no change. She looked +white-like as she beheld the bursting of the sprays, the green +seas that sometimes poured upon the forecastle, and the +perpetual bounding and swooping of the boat among the +billows; but she stood firmly by her father’s orders. “My +father, James More, will have arranged it so,” was her first +word and her last. I thought it very idle, and indeed wanton, +in the girl to be so literal and stand opposite to so much +kind advice; but the fact is she had a very good reason, if +she would have told us. Sailing scoots and rattel-waggons +are excellent things; only the use of them must first be paid +for, and all she was possessed of in the world was just two +shillings and a penny-halfpenny sterling. So it fell out that +captain and passengers, not knowing of her destitution—and +she being too proud to tell them—spoke in vain.</p> + +<p>“But you ken nae French and nae Dutch neither,” said +one.</p> + +<p>“It is very true,” says she, “but since the year ’Forty-six +there are so many, of the honest Scots abroad that I will +be doing very well, I thank you.”</p> + +<p>There was a pretty country simplicity in this that made +some laugh, others looked the more sorry, and Mr. Gebbie +fell outright in a passion. I believe he knew it was his duty +(his wife having accepted charge of the girl) to have gone +ashore with her and seen her safe: nothing would have induced +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216"></a>216</span> +him to have done so, since it must have involved the +loss of his conveyance; and I think he made it up to his +conscience by the loudness of his voice. At least he broke +out upon Captain Sang, raging and saying the thing was a +disgrace; that it was mere death to try to leave the ship, +and at any event we could not cast down an innocent maid +in a boatful of nasty Holland fishers, and leave her to her +fate. I was thinking something of the same; took the mate +upon one side, arranged with him to send on my chests by +track-scoot to an address I had in Leyden, and stood up and +signalled to the fishers.</p> + +<p>“I will go ashore with the young lady, Captain Sang,” +said I. “It is all one what way I go to Leyden”; and +leaped at the same time into the boat, which I managed not +so elegantly but what I fell with two of the fishers in the +bilge.</p> + +<p>From the boat the business appeared yet more precarious +than from the ship, she stood so high over us, swung +down so swift, and menaced us so perpetually with her +plunging and passaging upon the anchor cable. I began to +think I had made a fool’s bargain, that it was merely impossible +Catriona should be got on board to me, and that I +stood to be set ashore at Helvoet all by myself and with no +hope of any reward but the pleasure of embracing James +More, if I should want to. But this was to reckon without +the lass’s courage. She had seen me leap with very little +appearance (however much reality) of hesitation; to be sure, +she was not to be beat by her discarded friend. Up she +stood on the bulwarks and held by a stay, the wind blowing +in her petticoats, which made the enterprise more dangerous, +and gave us rather more of a view of her stockings than +would be thought genteel in cities. There was no minute +lost, and scarce time given for any to interfere, if they had +wished the same. I stood up on the other side and spread my +arms; the ship swung down on us, the patroon humoured +his boat nearer in than was perhaps wholly safe, and +Catriona leaped into the air. I was so happy as to catch +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217"></a>217</span> +her, and the fishers readily supporting us, escaped a fall. +She held to me a moment very tight, breathing quick and +deep; thence (she still clinging to me with both hands) +we were passed aft to our places by the steersman; +and, Captain Sang and all the crew and passengers +cheering and crying farewell, the boat was put about +for shore.</p> + +<p>As soon as Catriona came a little to herself she unhanded +me suddenly, but said no word. No more did I; and indeed +the whistling of the wind and the breaching of the sprays +made it no time for speech; and our crew not only toiled +excessively but made extremely little way, so that the <i>Rose</i> +had got her anchor and was off again before we had approached +the harbour mouth.</p> + +<p>We were no sooner in smooth water than the patroon, +according to their beastly Hollands custom, stopped his +boat and required of us our fares. Two guilders was the +man’s demand—between three and four shillings English +money—for each passenger. But at this Catriona began to +cry out with a vast deal of agitation. She had asked of +Captain Sang, she said, and the fare was but an English +shilling. “Do you think I will have come on board and not +ask first?” cries she. The patroon scolded back upon her +in a lingo where the oaths were English and the rest right +Hollands; till at last (seeing her near tears) I privately +slipped in the rogue’s hand six shillings, whereupon he was +obliging enough to receive from her the other shilling without +more complaint. No doubt I was a good deal nettled +and ashamed. I like to see folk thrifty, but not with so +much passion; and I daresay it would be rather coldly that +I asked her, as the boat moved on again for shore, where it +was that she was trysted with her father.</p> + +<p>“He is to be inquired of at the house of one Sprott, an +honest Scots merchant,” says she; and then with the same +breath, “I am wishing to thank you very much—you are a +brave friend to me.”</p> + +<p>“It will be time enough when I get you to your father,” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218"></a>218</span> +said I, little thinking that I spoke so true. “I can tell him +a fine tale of a loyal daughter.”</p> + +<p>“O, I do not think I will be a loyal girl, at all events,” +she cried, with a great deal of painfulness in the expression. +“I do not think my heart is true.”</p> + +<p>“Yet there are very few that would have made that +leap, and all to obey a father’s orders,” I observed.</p> + +<p>“I cannot have you to be thinking of me so,” she cried +again. “When you had done that same, how would I stop +behind? And at all events that was not all the reasons.” +Whereupon, with a burning face, she told me the plain +truth upon her poverty.</p> + +<p>“Good guide us!” cried I, “what kind of daft-like proceeding +is this, to let yourself be launched on the continent +of Europe with an empty purse; I count it hardly decent—scant +decent!” I cried.</p> + +<p>“You forget James More, my father, is a poor gentleman,” +said she. “He is a hunted exile.”</p> + +<p>“But I think not all your friends are hunted exiles,” I +exclaimed. “And was this fair to them that care for you? +Was it fair to me? was it fair to Miss Grant, that counselled +you to go, and would be driven fair horn-mad if she +could hear of it? Was it even fair to these Gregory folk +that you were living with, and used you lovingly? It’s a +blessing you have fallen in my hands! Suppose your father +hindered by an accident, what would become of you here, +and you your lee-lone in a strange place? The thought of +the thing frightens me,” I said.</p> + +<p>“I will have lied to all of them,” she replied. “I will +have told them all that I had plenty. I told <i>her</i> too. I +could not be lowering James More to them.”</p> + +<p>I found out later on that she must have lowered him in +the very dust, for the lie was originally the father’s, not the +daughter’s, and she thus obliged to persevere in it for the +man’s reputation. But at the time I was ignorant of this, and +the mere thought of her destitution and the perils in which +she must have fallen, had ruffled me almost beyond reason.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page219"></a>219</span></p> + +<p>“Well, well, well,” said I, “you will have to learn more +sense.”</p> + +<p>I left her mails for the moment in an inn upon the shore, +where I got a direction for Sprott’s house in my new French, +and we walked there—it was some little way—beholding +the place with wonder as we went. Indeed, there was much +for Scots folk to admire: canals and trees being intermingled +with the houses; the houses, each within itself, of a brave red +brick, the colour of a rose, with steps and benches of blue +marble at the cheek of every door, and the whole town so +clean you might have dined upon the causeway. Sprott +was within, upon his ledgers, in a low parlour, very neat and +clean, and set out with china and pictures and a globe of the +earth in a brass frame. He was a big-chafted, ruddy, lusty +man, with a crooked hard look to him; and he made us not +that much civility as offer us a seat.</p> + +<p>“Is James More Macgregor now in Helvoet, sir?” says I.</p> + +<p>“I ken nobody by such a name,” says he, impatient-like.</p> + +<p>“Since you are so particular,” says I, “I will amend +my question, and ask you where we are to find in Helvoet +one James Drummond, <i>alias</i> Macgregor, <i>alias</i> James More, +late tenant in Inveronachile?”</p> + +<p>“Sir,” says he, “he may be in Hell for what I ken, and +for my part I wish he was.”</p> + +<p>“The young lady is that gentleman’s daughter, sir,” +said I, “before whom, I think you will agree with me, it is +not very becoming to discuss his character.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to make either with him, or her, or +you!” cries he in his gross voice.</p> + +<p>“Under your favour, Mr. Sprott,” said I, “this young +lady is come from Scotland seeking him, and, by whatever +mistake, was given the name of your house for a direction. +An error it seems to have been, but I think this places both +you and me—who am but her fellow-traveller by accident—under +a strong obligation to help our countrywoman.”</p> + +<p>“Will you ding me daft?” he cries. “I tell ye I ken +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220"></a>220</span> +naething and care less either for him or his breed. I tell ye +the man owes me money.”</p> + +<p>“That may very well be, sir,” said I, who was now +rather more angry than himself. “At least, I owe you +nothing; the young lady is under my protection; and I am +neither at all used with these manners, nor in the least content +with them.”</p> + +<p>As I said this, and without particularly thinking what I +did, I drew a step or two nearer to his table; thus striking, +by mere good fortune, on the only argument that could at all +affect the man. The blood left his lusty countenance.</p> + +<p>“For the Lord’s sake dinna be hasty, sir!” he cried. +“I am truly wishfu’ no’ to be offensive. But ye ken, sir, I’m +like a wheen guid-natured, honest, canty auld fallows—my +bark is waur nor my bite. To hear me, ye micht whiles +fancy I was a wee thing dour; but na, na! it’s a kind auld +fallow at heart, Sandie Sprott! And ye could never imagine +the fyke and fash this man has been to me.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, sir,” said I. “Then I will make that much +freedom with your kindness as trouble you for your last +news of Mr. Drummond.”</p> + +<p>“You’re welcome, sir!” said he. “As for the young +leddy (my respec’s to her!), he’ll just have clean forgotten +her. I ken the man, ye see; I have lost siller by him ere +now. He thinks of naebody but just himsel’; clan, king, +or dauchter, if he can get his wameful, he would give them a’ +the go-by! ay, or his correspondent either. For there is a +sense in whilk I may be nearly almost said to be his correspondent. +The fact is, we are employed thegither in a business +affair, and I think it’s like to turn out a dear affair for +Sandie Sprott. The man’s as guid’s my pairtner, and I give +ye my mere word I ken naething by where he is. He micht +be coming here to Helvoet; he micht come here the morn, +he michtna come for a twalmonth; I would wonder at naething—or +just at the ae thing, and that’s if he was to pay me +my siller. Ye see what way I stand with it; and it’s clear +I’m no’ very likely to meddle up with the young leddy, as ye +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221"></a>221</span> +ca’ her. She canna stop here, that’s ae thing certain sure. +Dod, sir, I’m a lone man! If I was to tak’ her in, it’s highly +possible the hellicat would try and gar me marry her when +he turned up.”</p> + +<p>“Enough of this talk,” said I. “I will take the young +lady among better friends. Give me pen, ink, and paper, +and I will leave here for James More the address of my correspondent +in Leyden. He can inquire from me where he is +to seek his daughter.”</p> + +<p>This word I wrote and sealed; which while I was doing, +Sprott of his own motion made a welcome offer, to charge +himself with Miss Drummond’s mails, and even send a +porter for them to the inn. I advanced him to that effect a +dollar or two to be a cover, and he gave me an acknowledgment +in writing of the sum.</p> + +<p>Whereupon (I giving my arm to Catriona) we left the +house of this unpalatable rascal. She had said no word +throughout, leaving me to judge and speak in her place; I, +upon my side, had been careful not to embarrass her by a +glance; and even now, although my heart still glowed inside +of me with shame and anger, I made it my affair to seem +quite easy.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said I, “let us get back to yon same inn where +they can speak the French, have a piece of dinner, and inquire +for conveyances to Rotterdam. I will never be easy +till I have you safe again in the hands of Mrs. Gebbie.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose it will have to be,” said Catriona, “though, +whoever will be pleased, I do not think it will be her. And +I will remind you this once again, that I have but one shilling +and three bawbees.”</p> + +<p>“And just this once again,” said I, “I will remind you +it was a blessing that I came alongst with you.”</p> + +<p>“What else would I be thinking all this time?” says she, +and I thought weighed a little on my arm. “It is you that +are the good friend to me.”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page222"></a>222</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXIII</h3> + +<h5>TRAVELS IN HOLLAND</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> rattel-waggon, which is a kind of a long waggon set with +benches, carried us in four hours of travel to the great city +of Rotterdam. It was long past dark by then, but the streets +pretty brightly lighted and thronged with wild-like, outlandish +characters—bearded Hebrews, black men, and the +hordes of courtesans, most indecently adorned with finery, +and stopping seamen by their very sleeves; the clash of talk +about us made our heads to whirl; and, what was the most +unexpected of all, we appeared to be no more struck with +all these foreigners than they with us. I made the best face +I could, for the lass’s sake and my own credit; but the truth +is, I felt like a lost sheep, and my heart beat in my bosom +with anxiety. Once or twice I inquired after the harbour or +the berth of the ship <i>Rose</i>; but either fell on some who +spoke only Hollands, or my own French failed me. Trying +a street at a venture, I came upon a lane of lighted houses, +the doors and windows thronged with wauf-like painted +women; these jostled and mocked upon us as we passed, and +I was thankful we had nothing of their language. A little +after we issued forth upon an open place along the harbour.</p> + +<p>“We shall be doing now,” cries I, as soon as I spied +masts. “Let us walk here by the harbour. We are sure to +meet some that has the English, and at the best of it we may +light upon that very ship.”</p> + +<p>We did the next best, as happened; for, about nine of the +evening, whom should we walk into the arms of but Captain +Sang? He told us they had made their run in the most incredible +brief time, the wind holding strong till they reached +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223"></a>223</span> +port; by which means his passengers were all gone already +on their further travels. It was impossible to chase after +the Gebbies into the High Germany, and we had no other +acquaintance to fall back upon but Captain Sang himself. +It was the more gratifying to find the man friendly and wishful +to assist. He made it a small affair to find some good +plain family of merchants, where Catriona might harbour +till the <i>Rose</i> was loaden; declared he would then blithely +carry her back to Leith for nothing and see her safe in the +hands of Mr. Gregory; and in the meanwhile carried us to a +late ordinary for the meal we stood in need of. He seemed +extremely friendly, as I say, but, what surprised me a good +deal, rather boisterous in the bargain; and the cause of this +was soon to appear. For at the ordinary, calling for Rhenish +wine and drinking of it deep, he soon became unutterably +tipsy. In this case, as too common with all men, but especially +with those of his rough trade, what little sense or manners +he possessed deserted him; and he behaved himself so +scandalous to the young lady, jesting most ill-favouredly at +the figure she had made on the ship’s rail, that I had no +resource but carry her suddenly away.</p> + +<p>She came out of that ordinary clinging to me close. +“Take me away, David,” she said. “<i>You</i> keep me. I +am not afraid with you.”</p> + +<p>“And have no cause, my little friend!” cried I, and +could have found it in my heart to weep.</p> + +<p>“Where will you be taking me?” she said again. +“Don’t leave me, at all events—never leave me.”</p> + +<p>“Where am I taking you indeed?” says I, stopping, +for I had been staving on ahead in mere blindness. “I +must stop and think. But I’ll not leave you, Catriona; the +Lord do so to me, and more also, if I should fail or fash you.”</p> + +<p>She crept closer in to me by way of a reply.</p> + +<p>“Here,” I said, “is the stillest place that we have hit on +yet in this busy byke of a city. Let us sit down here under +yon tree and consider of our course.”</p> + +<p>That tree (which I am little like to forget) stood hard by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224"></a>224</span> +the harbour-side. It was a black night, but lights were in +the houses, and nearer hand in the quiet ships; there was a +shining of the city on the one hand, and a buzz hung over it +of many thousands walking and talking; on the other, it was +dark, and the water bubbled on the sides. I spread my +cloak upon a builder’s stone, and made her sit there; she +would have kept her hold upon me, for she still shook with +the late affronts; but I wanted to think clear, disengaged +myself, and paced to and fro before her, in the manner of +what we call a smuggler’s walk, belabouring my brains for +any remedy. By the course of these scattering thoughts I +was brought suddenly face to face with a remembrance that, +in the heat and haste of our departure, I had left Captain +Sang to pay the ordinary. At this I began to laugh out +loud, for I thought the man well served; and at the same +time, by an instinctive movement, carried my hand to the +pocket where my money was. I suppose it was in the lane +where the women jostled us; but there is only the one thing +certain, that my purse was gone.</p> + +<p>“You will have thought of something good,” said she, +observing me to pause.</p> + +<p>At the pinch we were in, my mind became suddenly clear +as a perspective-glass, and I saw there was no choice of +methods. I had not one doit of coin, but in my pocket-book +I had still my letter on the Leyden merchant; and there was +now but the one way to get to Leyden, and that was to walk +on our two feet.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I, “I know you’re brave, and I believe +you’re strong—do you think you could walk thirty miles on +a plain road?” We found it, I believe, scarce the two-thirds +of that, but such was my notion of the distance.</p> + +<p>“David,” she said, “if you will just keep near, I will go +anywhere and do anything. The courage of my heart, it is +all broken. Do not be leaving me in this horrible country +by myself, and I will do all else.”</p> + +<p>“Can you start now and march all night?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I will do all that you can ask of me,” she said, “and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page225"></a>225</span> +never ask you why. I have been a bad, ungrateful girl to +you; and do what you please with me now! And I think +Miss Barbara Grant is the best lady in the world,” she added, +“and I do not see what she would deny you for at all +events.”</p> + +<p>This was Greek and Hebrew to me; but I had other +matters to consider, and the first of these was to get clear of +that city on the Leyden road. It proved a cruel problem; +and it may have been one or two at night ere we had solved +it. Once beyond the houses, there was neither moon nor +stars to guide us; only the whiteness of the way in the midst, +and a blackness of an alley on both hands. The walking +was besides made most extraordinary difficult by a plain +black frost that fell suddenly in the small hours and turned +that highway into one long slide.</p> + +<p>“Well, Catriona,” said I, “here we are, like the king’s +sons and the old wives’ daughters in your daft-like Highland +tales. Soon we’ll be going over the ‘<i>seven Bens, the +seven glens, and the seven mountain moors</i>’”—which was a +common byword or overcome in those tales of hers that had +stuck in my memory.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” says she, “but here are no glens or mountains! +Though I will never be denying but what the trees and some +of the plain places hereabouts are very pretty. But our +country is the best yet.”</p> + +<p>“I wish we could say as much for our own folk,” says I, +recalling Sprott and Sang, and perhaps James More himself.</p> + +<p>“I will never complain of the country of my friend,” +said she, and spoke it out with an accent so particular that +I seemed to see the look upon her face.</p> + +<p>I caught in my breath sharp and came near falling (for +my pains) on the black ice.</p> + +<p>“I do not know what <i>you</i> think, Catriona,” said I, when +I was a little recovered, “but this has been the best day yet! +I think shame to say it, when you have met in with such +misfortunes and disfavours; but for me, it has been the +best day yet.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page226"></a>226</span></p> + +<p>“It was a good day when you showed me so much love,” +said she.</p> + +<p>“And yet I think shame to be happy too,” I went on, +“and you here on the road in the black night.”</p> + +<p>“Where in the great world would I be else?” she cried. +“I am thinking I am safest where I am with you.”</p> + +<p>“I am quite forgiven, then?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Will you not forgive me that time so much as not to +take it in your mouth again?” she cried. “There is nothing +in this heart to you but thanks. But I will be honest too,” +she added, with a kind of suddenness, “and I’ll never can +forgive that girl.”</p> + +<p>“Is this Miss Grant again?” said I. “You said yourself +she was the best lady in the world.”</p> + +<p>“So she will be, indeed!” says Catriona. “But I will +never forgive her for all that. I will never, never forgive +her, and let me hear tell of her no more.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “this beats all that ever came to my +knowledge; and I wonder that you can indulge yourself in +such bairnly whims. Here is a young lady that was the +best friend in the world to the both of us, that learned us +how to dress ourselves, and in a great manner how to behave, +as any one can see that knew us both before and after.”</p> + +<p>But Catriona stopped square in the midst of the highway.</p> + +<p>“It is this way of it,” said she. “Either you will go on +to speak of her, and I will go back to yon town, and let come +of it what God pleases! Or else you will do me that politeness +to talk of other things.”</p> + +<p>I was the most nonplussed person in this world; but I +bethought me that she depended altogether on my help, +that she was of the frail sex, and not so much beyond a child, +and it was for me to be wise for the pair of us.</p> + +<p>“My dear girl,” said I, “I can make neither head nor +tails of this; but God forbid that I should do anything to set +you on the jee. As for talking of Miss Grant, I have no such +a mind to it, and I believe it was yourself began it. My +only design (if I took you up at all) was for your own improvement, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page227"></a>227</span> +for I hate the very look of injustice. Not that +I do not wish you to have a good pride and a nice female +delicacy; they become you well; but here you show them +to excess.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, have you done?” said she.</p> + +<p>“I have done,” said I.</p> + +<p>“A very good thing,” said she, and we went on again, +but now in silence.</p> + +<p>It was an eerie employment to walk in the gross night, +beholding only shadows, and hearing nought but our own +steps. At first, I believe our hearts burned against each +other with a deal of enmity; but the darkness and the +cold, and the silence, which only the cocks sometimes interrupted, +or sometimes the farmyard dogs, had pretty soon +brought down our pride to the dust; and for my own particular, +I would have jumped at any decent opening for speech.</p> + +<p>Before the day peeped, came on a warmish rain, and +the frost was all wiped away from among our feet. I took +my cloak to her and sought to hap her in the same; she bade +me, rather impatiently, to keep it.</p> + +<p>“Indeed and I will do no such thing,” said I. “Here +am I, a great, ugly lad that has seen all kinds of weather, +and here are you, a tender, pretty maid! My dear, you +would not put me to a shame?”</p> + +<p>Without more words she let me cover her; which as I +was doing in the darkness, I let my hand rest a moment on +her shoulder, almost like an embrace.</p> + +<p>“You must try to be more patient of your friend,” said I.</p> + +<p>I thought she seemed to lean the least thing in the world +against my bosom, or perhaps it was but fancy.</p> + +<p>“There will be no end to your goodness,” said she.</p> + +<p>And we went on again in silence; but now all was +changed; and the happiness that was in my heart was like +a fire in a great chimney.</p> + +<p>The rain passed ere day; it was but a sloppy morning as +we came into the town of Delft. The red-gabled houses made +a handsome show on either hand of a canal; the servant +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page228"></a>228</span> +lasses were out slaistering and scrubbing at the very stones +upon the public highway; smoke rose from a hundred +kitchens; and it came in upon me strongly it was time to +break our fasts.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I. “I believe you have yet a shilling +and three bawbees?”</p> + +<p>“Are you wanting it?” said she, and passed me her +purse. “I am wishing it was five pounds! What will you +want it for?”</p> + +<p>“And what have we been walking for all night, like a +pair of waif Egyptians?” says I. “Just because I was +robbed of my purse and all I possessed in that unchancy +town of Rotterdam. I will tell you of it now, because I +think the worst is over, but we have still a good tramp before +us till we get to where my money is, and if you would not +buy me a piece of bread, I were like to go fasting.”</p> + +<p>She looked at me with open eyes. By the light of the +new day she was all black and pale for weariness, so that +my heart smote me for her. But as for her, she broke out +laughing.</p> + +<p>“My torture! are we beggars then?” she cried. “You +too? O, I could have wished for this same thing! And I +am glad to buy your breakfast to you. But it would be +pleisand if I would have had to dance to get a meal to you! +For I believe they are not very well acquainted with our +manner of dancing over here, and might be paying for the +curiosity of that sight.”</p> + +<p>I could have kissed her for that word, not with a lover’s +mind, but in a heat of admiration. For it always warms a +man to see a woman brave.</p> + +<p>We got a drink of milk from a country wife but new come +to the town, and, in a baker’s, a piece of excellent, hot, sweet-smelling +bread, which we ate upon the road as we went on. +That road from Delft to the Hague is just five miles of a fine +avenue shaded with trees, a canal on the one hand, on the +other excellent pastures of cattle. It was pleasant here +indeed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page229"></a>229</span></p> + +<p>“And now, Davie,” said she, “what will you do with me +at all events?”</p> + +<p>“It is what we have to speak of,” said I, “and the +sooner yet the better. I can come by money in Leyden; +that will be all well. But the trouble is how to dispose of +you until your father come. I thought last night you seemed +a little sweer to part from me!”</p> + +<p>“It will be more than seeming then,” said she.</p> + +<p>“You are a very young maid,” said I, “and I am but a +very young callant. This is a great piece of difficulty. +What way are we to manage? Unless, indeed, you could +pass to be my sister?”</p> + +<p>“And what for no?” said she, “if you would let me!”</p> + +<p>“I wish you were so, indeed!” I cried. “I would be a +fine man if I had such a sister. But the rub is that you are +Catriona Drummond.”</p> + +<p>“And now I will be Catrine Balfour,” she said. “And +who is to ken? They are all strange folk here.”</p> + +<p>“If you think that it would do,” says I. “I own it +troubles me. I would like it very ill, if I advised you at all +wrong.”</p> + +<p>“David, I have no friend here but you,” she said.</p> + +<p>“The mere truth is, I am too young to be your friend,” +said I. “I am too young to advise you, or you to be advised. +I see not what else we are to do, and yet I ought to +warn you.”</p> + +<p>“I will have no choice left,” said she. “My father +James More has not used me very well, and it is not the first +time. I am cast upon your hands like a sack of barley-meal, +and have nothing else to think of but your pleasure. +If you will have me, good and well. If you will not”—she +turned and touched her hand upon my arm—“David, I am +afraid,” said she.</p> + +<p>“No, but I ought to warn you,” I began; and then bethought +me that I was the bearer of the purse, and it would +never do to seem too churlish. “Catriona,” said I, “don’t +misunderstand me: I am just trying to do my duty by you, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page230"></a>230</span> +girl! Here am I, going alone to this strange city, to be a +solitary student there; and here is this chance arisen that +you might dwell with me a bit, and be like my sister: you +can surely understand this much, my dear, that I would just +love to have you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, and here I am,” said she. “So that’s soon +settled.”</p> + +<p>I know I was in duty bounden to have spoke more plain. +I know this was a great blot upon my character, for which I +was lucky that I did not pay more dear. But I minded how +easy her delicacy had been startled with a word of kissing her +in Barbara’s letter; now that she depended on me, how was +I to be more bold? Besides, the truth is, I could see no +other feasible method to dispose of her. And I daresay inclination +pulled me very strong.</p> + +<p>A little beyond the Hague she fell very lame, and made +the rest of the distance heavily enough. Twice she must +rest by the wayside, which she did with pretty apologies, +calling herself a shame to the Highlands and the race she +came of, and nothing but a hindrance to myself. It was her +excuse, she said, that she was not much used with walking +shod. I would have had her strip off her shoes and stockings +and go barefoot. But she pointed out to me that the women +of that country, even in the landward roads, appeared to be +all shod.</p> + +<p>“I must not be disgracing my brother,” said she, and +was very merry with it all, although her face told tales of +her.</p> + +<p>There is a garden in that city we were bound to, sanded +below with clean sand, the trees meeting overhead, some of +them trimmed, some pleached, and the whole place beautified +with alleys and arbours. Here I left Catriona, and went +forward by myself to find my correspondent. There I drew +on my credit, and asked to be recommended to some decent, +retired lodging. My baggage not being yet arrived, I told +him I supposed I should require his caution with the people +of the house; and explained that, my sister being come for a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page231"></a>231</span> +while to keep house with me, I should be wanting two +chambers. This was all very well; but the trouble was that +Mr. Balfour in his letter of recommendation had condescended +on a great deal of particulars, and never a word of +any sister in the case. I could see my Dutchman was extremely +suspicious; and viewing me over the rims of a great +pair of spectacles—he was a poor, frail body, and reminded +me of an infirm rabbit—he began to question me close.</p> + +<p>Here I fell in a panic. Suppose he accept my tale (thinks +I), suppose he invite my sister to his house, and that I bring +her. I shall have a fine ravelled pirn to unwind, and may +end by disgracing both the lassie and myself. Thereupon I +began hastily to expound to him my sister’s character. She +was of a bashful disposition, it appeared, and so extremely +fearful of meeting strangers that I had left her at that +moment sitting in a public place alone. And then, being +launched upon the stream of falsehood, I must do like all +the rest of the world in the same circumstance, and plunge +in deeper than was any service; adding some altogether +needless particulars of Miss Balfour’s ill-health and retirement +during childhood. In the midst of which I awoke to a +sense of my behaviour, and was turned to one blush.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman was not so much deceived but what +he discovered a willingness to be quit of me. But he was +first of all a man of business; and knowing that my money +was good enough, however it might be with my conduct, he +was so far obliging as to send his son to be my guide and +caution in the matter of a lodging. This implied my presenting +of the young man to Catriona. The poor, pretty +child was much recovered with resting, looked and behaved +to perfection, and took my arm and gave me the name of +brother more easily than I could answer her. But there +was one misfortune: thinking to help, she was rather towardly +than otherwise to my Dutchman. And I could not +but reflect that Miss Balfour had rather suddenly outgrown +her bashfulness. And there was another thing, the difference +of our speech. I had the Low-Country tongue and dwelled +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page232"></a>232</span> +upon my words; she had a hill voice, spoke with something +of an English accent, only far more delightful, and was +scarce quite fit to be called a deacon in the craft of talking +English grammar; so that, for a brother and sister, we made +a most uneven pair. But the young Hollander was a heavy +dog, without so much spirit in his belly as to remark her +prettiness, for which I scorned him. And as soon as he had +found a cover to our heads, he left us alone, which was the +greater service of the two.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page233"></a>233</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXIV</h3> + +<h5>FULL STORY OF A COPY OF HEINECCIUS</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">The</span> place found was in the upper part of a house backed on +a canal. We had two rooms, the second entering from the +first; each had a chimney built out into the floor in the +Dutch manner; and being alongside, each had the same +prospect from the window of the top of a tree below us in a +little court, of a piece of the canal, and of houses in the +Hollands architecture and a church spire upon the farther +side. A full set of bells hung in that spire, and made delightful +music; and when there was any sun at all, it shone +direct in our two chambers. From a tavern hard by we +had good meals sent in.</p> + +<p>The first night we were both pretty weary, and she extremely +so. There was little talk between us, and I packed +her off to her bed as soon as she had eaten. The first thing +in the morning I wrote word to Sprott to have her mails +sent on, together with a line to Alan at his chief’s; and had +the same despatched, and her breakfast ready, ere I waked +her. I was a little abashed when she came forth in her one +habit, and the mud of the way upon her stockings. By +what inquiries I had made, it seemed a good few days must +pass before her mails could come to hand in Leyden, and it +was plainly needful she must have a shift of things. She +was unwilling at first that I should go to that expense; but +I reminded her she was now a rich man’s sister, and must +appear suitably in the part, and we had not got to the second +merchant’s before she was entirely charmed into the spirit +of the thing, and her eyes shining. It pleased me to see her +so innocent and thorough in this pleasure. What was more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page234"></a>234</span> +extraordinary was the passion into which I fell on it myself; +being never satisfied that I had bought her enough or fine +enough, and never weary of beholding her in different attires. +Indeed, I began to understand some little of Miss Grant’s +immersion in that interest of clothes; for the truth is, when +you have the ground of a beautiful person to adorn, the +whole business becomes beautiful. The Dutch chintzes I +should say were extraordinary cheap and fine; but I would +be ashamed to set down what I paid for stockings to her. +Altogether I spent so great a sum upon this pleasuring (as I +may call it) that I was ashamed for a great while to spend +more; and, by way of a set-off, I left our chambers pretty +bare. If we had beds, if Catriona was a little braw, and I +had light to see her by, we were richly enough lodged for me.</p> + +<p>By the end of this merchandising I was glad to leave her +at the door with all our purchases, and go for a long walk +alone in which to read myself a lecture. Here had I taken +under my roof, and as good as to my bosom, a young lass extremely +beautiful, and whose innocence was her peril. My +talk with the old Dutchman, and the lies to which I was +constrained, had already given me a sense of how my conduct +must appear to others; and now, after the strong +admiration I had just experienced and the immoderacy with +which I had continued my vain purchases, I began to think +of it myself as very hazarded. I bethought me, if I had a +sister indeed, whether I would so expose her; then, judging +the case too problematical, I varied my question into this, +whether I would so trust Catriona in the hands of any other +Christian being: the answer to which made my face to burn. +The more cause, since I had been entrapped, and had entrapped +the girl into an undue situation, that I should behave +in it with scrupulous nicety. She depended on me +wholly for her bread and shelter; in case I should alarm her +delicacy, she had no retreat. Besides, I was her host and +her protector; and the more irregularly I had fallen in these +positions, the less excuse for me if I should profit by the same +to forward even the most honest suit; for with the opportunities +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page235"></a>235</span> +that I enjoyed, and which no wise parent would have +suffered for a moment, even the most honest suit would be +unfair. I saw I must be extremely hold-off in my relations; +and yet not too much so neither; for if I had no right to +appear at all in the character of a suitor, I must yet appear +continually, and if possible agreeably, in that of host. It was +plain I should require a great deal of tact and conduct, perhaps +more than my years afforded. But I had rushed in +where angels might have feared to tread, and there was no +way out of that position save by behaving right while I was +in it. I made a set of rules for my guidance; prayed for +strength to be enabled to observe them, and as a more +human aid to the same end purchased a study-book in law. +This being all that I could think of, I relaxed from these +grave considerations; whereupon my mind bubbled at once +into an effervescency of pleasing spirits, and it was like one +treading on air that I turned homeward. As I thought +that name of home, and recalled the image of that figure +awaiting me between four walls, my heart beat upon my +bosom.</p> + +<p>My troubles began with my return. She ran to greet me +with an obvious and affecting pleasure. She was clad, +besides, entirely in the new clothes that I had bought for +her; looked in them beyond expression well; and must walk +about and drop me curtsies to display them and to be admired. +I am sure I did it with an ill grace, for I thought to +have choked upon the words.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “if you will not be caring for my pretty +clothes, see what I have done with our two chambers.” +And she showed me the place all very finely swept, and the +fires glowing in the two chimneys.</p> + +<p>I was glad of a chance to seem a little more severe than +I quite felt. “Catriona,” said I, “I am very much displeased +with you, and you must never again lay a hand upon +my room. One of us two must have the rule while we are +here together; it is most fit it should be I, who am both the +man and the elder; and I give you that for my command.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page236"></a>236</span></p> + +<p>She dropped me one of her curtsies, which were extraordinary +taking. “If you will be cross,” said she, “I must +be making pretty manners at you, Davie. I will be very +obedient, as I should be when every stitch upon all there is +of me belongs to you. But you will not be very cross either, +because now I have not anyone else.”</p> + +<p>This struck me hard, and I made haste, in a kind of +penitence, to blot out all the good effect of my last speech. +In this direction progress was more easy, being down hill; +she led me forward, smiling; at the sight of her, in the +brightness of the fire and with her pretty becks and looks, +my heart was altogether melted. We made our meal with +infinite mirth and tenderness; and the two seemed to be +commingled into one, so that our very laughter sounded like +a kindness.</p> + +<p>In the midst of which I awoke to better recollections, +made a lame word of excuse, and set myself boorishly to +my studies. It was a substantial, instructive book that I +had bought, by the late Dr. Heineccius, in which I was to do +a great deal of reading these next days, and often very glad +that I had no one to question me of what I read. Methought +she bit her lip at me a little, and that cut me. +Indeed, it left her wholly solitary, the more as she was very +little of a reader, and had never a book. But what was I +to do?</p> + +<p>So the rest of the evening flowed by almost without +speech.</p> + +<p>I could have beat myself. I could not lie in my bed that +night for rage and repentance, but walked to and fro on my +bare feet till I was nearly perished, for the chimney was +gone out and the frost keen. The thought of her in the +next room, the thought that she might even hear me as +I walked, the remembrance of my churlishness and that I +must continue to practise the same ungrateful course or be +dishonoured, put me beside my reason. I stood like a man +between Scylla and Charybdis: <i>What must she think of me?</i> +was my one thought that softened me continually into weakness. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page237"></a>237</span> +<i>What is to become of us?</i> the other which steeled me +again to resolution. This was my first night of wakefulness +and divided counsels, of which I was now to pass many, +pacing like a madman, sometimes weeping like a childish +boy, sometimes praying (I would fain hope) like a Christian.</p> + +<p>But prayer is not very difficult, and the hitch comes in +practice. In her presence, and above all if I allowed any +beginning of familiarity, I found I had very little command +of what should follow. But to sit all day in the same room +with her, and feign to be engaged upon Heineccius, surpassed +my strength. So that I fell instead upon the expedient +of absenting myself so much as I was able; taking +out classes and sitting there regularly, often with small +attention, the test of which I found the other day in a notebook +of that period, where I had left off to follow an edifying +lecture, and actually scribbled in my book some very ill +verses, though the Latinity is rather better than I thought I +could ever have compassed. The evil of this course was unhappily +near as great as its advantage. I had the less time +of trial, but I believe, while that time lasted, I was tried the +more extremely. For she being so much left to solitude, she +came to greet my return with an increasing fervour that came +nigh to overmaster me. These friendly offers I must barbarously +cast back; and my rejection sometimes wounded +her so cruelly that I must unbend and seek to make it up to +her in kindness. So that our time passed in ups and downs, +tiffs and disappointments, upon the which I could almost +say (if it may be said with reverence) that I was crucified.</p> + +<p>The base of my trouble was Catriona’s extraordinary +innocence, at which I was not so much surprised as filled +with pity and admiration. She seemed to have no thought +of our position, no sense of my struggles; welcomed any +mark of my weakness with responsive joy; and, when I was +drove again to my retrenchments, did not always dissemble +her chagrin. There were times when I have thought to +myself, “If she were over head in love, and set her cap to +catch me, she would scarce behave much otherwise”; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page238"></a>238</span> +then I would fall again into wonder at the simplicity of +woman, from whom I felt (in these moments) that I was not +worthy to be descended.</p> + +<p>There was one point in particular on which our warfare +turned, and of all things, this was the question of her clothes. +My baggage had soon followed me from Rotterdam, and hers +from Helvoet. She had now, as it were, two wardrobes; +and it grew to be understood between us (I could never tell +how) that when she was friendly she would wear my clothes, +and when otherwise her own. It was meant for a buffet, +and (as it were) the renunciation of her gratitude; and I felt +it so in my bosom, but was generally more wise than to +appear to have observed the circumstance.</p> + +<p>Once, indeed, I was betrayed into a childishness greater +than her own; it fell in this way. On my return from +classes, thinking upon her devoutly with a great deal of +love and a good deal of annoyance in the bargain, the annoyance +began to fade away out of my mind; and spying in a +window one of those forced flowers, of which the Hollanders +are so skilled in the artifice, I gave way to an impulse and +bought it for Catriona. I do not know the name of that +flower, but it was of the pink colour, and I thought she +would admire the same, and carried it home to her with a +wonderful soft heart. I had left her in my clothes, and +when I returned to find her all changed, and a face to +match, I cast but the one look at her from head to foot, +ground my teeth together, flung the window open, and my +flower into the court, and then (between rage and prudence) +myself out of that room again, of which I slammed the door +as I went out.</p> + +<p>On the steep stair I came near falling, and this brought +me to myself, so that I began at once to see the folly of my +conduct. I went, not into the street as I had purposed, +but to the house court, which was always a solitary place, +and where I saw my flower (that had cost me vastly more +than it was worth) hanging in the leafless tree. I stood +by the side of the canal, and looked upon the ice. Country-people +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page239"></a>239</span> +went by on their skates, and I envied them. I could +see no way out of the pickle I was in: no way so much as +to return to the room I had just left. No doubt was in my +mind but I had now betrayed the secret of my feelings; +and, to make things worse, I had shown at the same time +(and that with wretched boyishness) incivility to my helpless +guest.</p> + +<p>I suppose she must have seen me from the open window. +It did not seem to me that I had stood there very long +before I heard the crunching of footsteps on the frozen +snow, and turning somewhat angrily (for I was in no spirit +to be interrupted) saw Catriona drawing near. She was +all changed again, to the clocked stockings.</p> + +<p>“Are we not to have our walk to-day?” she said.</p> + +<p>I was looking at her in a maze. “Where is your +brooch?” says I.</p> + +<p>She carried her hand to her bosom and coloured high. +“I will have forgotten it,” said she. “I will run upstairs +for it quick, and then surely we’ll can have our walk?”</p> + +<p>There was a note of pleading in that last that staggered +me; I had neither words nor voice to utter them; I could +do no more than nod by way of answer; and the moment +she had left me, climbed into the tree and recovered my +flower, which on her return I offered her.</p> + +<p>“I bought it for you, Catriona,” said I.</p> + +<p>She fixed it in the midst of her bosom with the brooch, +I could have thought tenderly.</p> + +<p>“It is none the better of my handling,” said I again, +and blushed.</p> + +<p>“I will be liking it none the worse, you may be sure, +of that,” said she.</p> + +<p>We did not speak so much that day; she seemed a +thought on the reserve, though not unkindly. As for me, +all the time of our walking, and after we came home, and +I had seen her put my flower into a pot of water, I was +thinking to myself what puzzles women were. I was thinking, +the one moment, it was the most stupid thing on earth +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page240"></a>240</span> +she should not have perceived my love; and the next, that +she had certainly perceived it long ago, and (being a wise +girl, with the fine female instinct of propriety) concealed +her knowledge.</p> + +<p>We had our walk daily. Out in the streets I felt more +safe; I relaxed a little in my guardedness; and for one +thing, there was no Heineccius. This made these periods +not only a relief to myself, but a particular pleasure to my +poor child. When I came back about the hour appointed, +I would generally find her ready dressed and glowing with +anticipation. She would prolong their duration to the +extreme, seeming to dread (as I did myself) the hour of +the return; and there is scarce a field or waterside near +Leyden, scarce a street or lane there, where we have not +lingered. Outside of these, I bade her confine herself entirely +to our lodgings; this in the fear of her encountering +any acquaintance, which would have rendered our position +very difficult. From the same apprehension I would never +suffer her to attend church, nor even go myself; but made +some kind of shift to hold worship privately in our own +chamber—I hope with an honest, but I am quite sure with +a very much divided mind. Indeed, there was scarce anything +that more affected me than thus to kneel down alone +with her before God like man and wife.</p> + +<p>One day it was snowing downright hard. I had thought +it not possible that we should venture forth, and was surprised +to find her waiting for me ready dressed.</p> + +<p>“I will not be doing without my walk,” she cried. +“You are never a good boy, Davie, in the house; I will +never be caring for you only in the open air. I think we +two will better turn Egyptian and dwell by the roadside.”</p> + +<p>That was the best walk yet of all of them; she clung +near to me in the falling snow; it beat about and melted +on us, and the drops stood upon her bright cheeks like tears +and ran into her smiling mouth. Strength seemed to come +upon me with the sight like a giant’s; I thought I could +have caught her up and run with her into the uttermost +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page241"></a>241</span> +places in the earth; and we spoke together all that time +beyond belief for freedom and sweetness.</p> + +<p>It was the dark night when we came to the house-door. +She pressed my arm upon her bosom. “Thank you kindly +for these same good hours,” said she, on a deep note of her +voice.</p> + +<p>The concern in which I fell instantly on this address +put me with the same swiftness on my guard; and we were +no sooner in the chamber, and the light made, than she +beheld the old, dour, stubborn countenance of the student +of Heineccius. Doubtless she was more than usually hurt; +and I know for myself I found it more than usually difficult +to maintain my strangeness. Even at the meal I durst +scarce unbuckle and scarce lift my eyes to her; and it was +no sooner over than I fell again to my civilian, with more +seeming abstraction and less understanding than before. +Methought, as I read, I could hear my heart strike like an +eight-day clock. Hard as I feigned to study, there was still +some of my eyesight that spilled beyond the book upon +Catriona. She sat on the floor by the side of my great +mail, and the chimney lighted her up, and shone and blinked +upon her, and made her glow and darken through a wonder +of fine hues. Now she would be gazing in the fire, and then +again at me: and at that I would be plunged in a terror +of myself, and turn the pages of Heineccius like a man looking +for the text in church.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she called out aloud. “O, why does not +my father come?” she cried, and fell at once into a storm +of tears.</p> + +<p>I leapt up, flung Heineccius fairly in the fire, ran to her +side, and cast an arm round her sobbing body.</p> + +<p>She put me from her sharply. “You do not love your +friend,” says she. “I could be so happy too, if you would +let me!” And then, “O, what will I have done that you +should hate me so?”</p> + +<p>“Hate you!” cries I, and held her firm. “You blind +lass, can you not see a little in my wretched heart? Do +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242"></a>242</span> +you think when I sit there, reading in that fool-book that +I have just burned, and be damned to it, I take ever the +least thought of any stricken thing but just yourself? +Night after night I could have grat to see you sitting there +your lone. And what was I to do? You are here under +my honour; would you punish me for that? Is it for that +that you would spurn a loving servant?”</p> + +<p>At the word, with a small, sudden motion, she clung +near to me. I raised her face to mine, I kissed it, and +she bowed her brow upon my bosom, clasping me tight. +I sat in a mere whirl, like a man drunken. Then I +heard her voice sound very small and muffled in my +clothes.</p> + +<p>“Did you kiss her truly?” she asked.</p> + +<p>There went through me so great a heave of surprise that +I was all shook with it.</p> + +<p>“Miss Grant!” I cried, all in a disorder. “Yes, I +asked her to kiss me good-bye, the which she did.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well!” said she, “you have kissed me too, at all +events.”</p> + +<p>At the strangeness and sweetness of that word I saw +where we had fallen; rose, and set her on her feet.</p> + +<p>“This will never do,” said I. “This will never, never +do. O, Catrine, Catrine!” Then there came a pause +in which I was debarred from any speaking. And then, +“Go away to your bed,” said I. “Go away to your bed +and leave me.”</p> + +<p>She turned to obey me like a little child, and the next +I knew of it had stopped in the very doorway.</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Davie!” said she.</p> + +<p>“And O, good-night, my love!” I cried, with a great +outbreak of my soul, and caught her to me again, so that +it seemed I must have broken her. The next moment I +had thrust her from the room, shut-to the door even with +violence, and stood alone.</p> + +<p>The milk was spilt now, the word was out and the truth +told. I had crept like an untrusty man into the poor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243"></a>243</span> +maid’s affections; she was in my hand like any frail, innocent +thing to make or mar; and what weapon of defence +was left me? It seemed like a symbol that Heineccius, +my old protection, was now burned. I repented, yet could +not find it in my heart to blame myself for that great failure. +It seemed not possible to have resisted the boldness of her +innocence or that last temptation of her weeping. And +all that I had to excuse me did but make my sin appear the +greater—it was upon a nature so defenceless, and with +such advantages of the position, that I seemed to have +practised.</p> + +<p>What was to become of us now? It seemed we could +no longer dwell in the one place. But where was I to go? +or where she? Without either choice or fault of ours, life +had conspired to wall us together in that narrow place. I +had a wild thought of marrying out of hand; and the next +moment put it from me with revolt. She was a child, she +could not tell her own heart; I had surprised her weakness, +I must never go on to build on that surprisal; I must keep +her not only clear of reproach, but free as she had come +to me.</p> + +<p>Down I sat before the fire, and reflected, and repented, +and beat my brains in vain for any means of escape. About +two of the morning, there were three red embers left, and +the house and all the city was asleep, when I was aware of +a small sound of weeping in the next room. She thought +that I slept, the poor soul; she regretted her weakness—and +what perhaps (God help her!) she called her forwardness—and +in the dead of the night solaced herself with tears. +Tender and bitter feelings, love and penitence and pity, +struggled in my soul; it seemed I was under bond to heal +that weeping.</p> + +<p>“O, try to forgive me!” I cried out, “try, try to forgive +me. Let us forget it all, let us try if we’ll no’ can +forget it.”</p> + +<p>There came no answer, but the sobbing ceased. I +stood a long while with my hands still clasped as I had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page244"></a>244</span> +spoken; then the cold of the night laid hold upon me with +a shudder, and I think my reason reawakened.</p> + +<p>“You can make no hand of this, Davie,” thinks I. +“To bed with you, like a wise lad, and try if you can sleep. +To-morrow you may see your way.”</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page245"></a>245</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXV</h3> + +<h5>THE RETURN OF JAMES MORE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I was</span> called on the morrow out of a late and troubled +slumber by a knocking on my door, ran to open it, and had +almost swooned with the contrariety of my feelings, mostly +painful; for on the threshold, in a rough wrap-rascal and +an extraordinary big laced hat, there stood James More.</p> + +<p>I ought to have been glad perhaps without admixture, +for there was a sense in which the man came like an answer +to prayer. I had been saying till my head was weary that +Catriona and I must separate, and looking till my head +ached for any possible means of separation. Here were +the means come to me upon two legs, and joy was the hind-most +of my thoughts. It is to be considered, however, +that even if the weight of the future were lifted off me by +the man’s arrival, the present heaved up the more black +and menacing; so that, as I first stood before him in my +shirt and breeches, I believe I took a leaping step backward +like a person shot.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said he, “I have found you, Mr. Balfour,” and +offered me his large, fine hand, the which (recovering at +the same time my post in the doorway, as if with some +thought of resistance) I took him by doubtfully. “It is +a remarkable circumstance how our affairs appear to intermingle,” +he continued. “I am owing you an apology for +an unfortunate intrusion upon yours, which I suffered +myself to be entrapped into by my confidence in that false-face, +Prestongrange; I think shame to own to you that I +was ever trusting to a lawyer.” He shrugged his shoulders +with a very French air. “But indeed the man is very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246"></a>246</span> +plausible,” says he. “And now it seems that you have +busied yourself handsomely in the matter of my daughter, +for whose direction I was remitted to yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I think, sir,” said I, with a very painful air, “that it +will be necessary we two should have an explanation.”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing amiss?” he asked. “My agent, +Mr. Sprott—”</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake moderate your voice!” I cried. “She +must not hear till we have had an explanation.”</p> + +<p>“She is in this place?” cries he.</p> + +<p>“That is her chamber-door,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You are here with her alone?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“And who else would I have got to stay with us?” +cries I.</p> + +<p>I will do him the justice to admit that he turned pale.</p> + +<p>“This is very unusual,” said he. “This is a very unusual +circumstance. You are right, we must hold an explanation.”</p> + +<p>So saying, he passed me by, and I must own the tall +old rogue appeared at that moment extraordinary dignified. +He had now, for the first time, the view of my chamber, +which I scanned (I may say) with his eyes. A bit of morning +sun glinted in by the window-pane, and showed it off; +my bed, my mails, and washing-dish, with some disorder +of my clothes, and the unlighted chimney, made the only +plenishing; no mistake but it looked bare and cold, and the +most unsuitable, beggarly place conceivable to harbour a +young lady. At the same time came in on my mind the +recollection of the clothes that I had bought for her; and +I thought this contrast of poverty and prodigality bore an +ill appearance.</p> + +<p>He looked all about the chamber for a seat, and finding +nothing else to his purpose except my bed, took a place upon +the side of it; where, after I had closed the door, I could +not very well avoid joining him. For however this extraordinary +interview might end, it must pass, if possible, +without waking Catriona; and the one thing needful was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247"></a>247</span> +that we should sit close and talk low. But I can scarce +picture what a pair we made; he in his great-coat, which +the coldness of my chamber made extremely suitable; I +shivering in my shirt and breeks; he with very much the +air of a judge; and I (whatever I looked) with very much +the feelings of a man who has heard the last trumpet.</p> + +<p>“Well?” says he.</p> + +<p>And “Well,” I began, but found myself unable to go +further.</p> + +<p>“You tell me she is here?” said he again, but now with +a spice of impatience that seemed to brace me up.</p> + +<p>“She is in this house,” said I, “and I knew the circumstance +would be called unusual. But you are to consider +how very unusual the whole business was from the beginning. +Here is a young lady landed on the coast of Europe +with two shillings and a penny-halfpenny. She is directed +to yon man Sprott in Helvoet. I hear you call him your +agent. All I can say is he could do nothing but damn and +swear at the mere mention of your name, and I must fee +him out of my own pocket even to receive the custody of +her effects. You speak of unusual circumstances, Mr. +Drummond, if that be the name you prefer. Here was a +circumstance, if you like, to which it was barbarity to have +exposed her.”</p> + +<p>“But this is what I cannot understand the least,” said +James. “My daughter was placed into the charge of some +responsible persons, whose names I have forgot.”</p> + +<p>“Gebbie was the name,” said I; “and there is no +doubt that Mr. Gebbie should have gone ashore with her +at Helvoet. But he did not, Mr. Drummond; and I think +you might praise God that I was there to offer in his +place.”</p> + +<p>“I shall have a word to say to Mr. Gebbie before long,” +said he. “As for yourself, I think it might have occurred +that you were somewhat young for such a post.”</p> + +<p>“But the choice was not between me and somebody +else, it was between me and nobody,” I cried. “Nobody +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248"></a>248</span> +offered in my place, and I must say I think you show a very +small degree of gratitude to me that did.”</p> + +<p>“I shall wait until I understand my obligation a little +more in the particular,” says he.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, and I think it stares you in the face, then,” +said I. “Your child was deserted, she was clean flung +away in the midst of Europe, with scarce two shillings, +and not two words of any language spoken there: I must +say, a bonny business! I brought her to this place. I gave +her the name and the tenderness due to a sister. All this +has not gone without expense, but that I scarce need to +hint at. They were services due to the young lady’s character +which I respect; and I think it would be a bonny +business too, if I was to be singing her praises to her father.”</p> + +<p>“You are a young man,” he began.</p> + +<p>“So I hear you tell me,” said I, with a good deal of heat.</p> + +<p>“You are a very young man,” he repeated, “or you +would have understood the significancy of the step.”</p> + +<p>“I think you speak very much at your ease,” cried I. +“What else was I to do? It is a fact I might have hired +some decent, poor woman to be a third to us, and I declare +I never thought of it until this moment! But where was +I to find her, that am a foreigner myself? And let me +point out to your observation, Mr. Drummond, that it +would have cost me money out of my pocket. For here is +just what it comes to, that I had to pay through the nose +for your neglect; and there is only the one story to it, just +that you were so unloving and so careless as to have lost +your daughter.”</p> + +<p>“He that lives in a glass house should not be casting +stones,” says he; “and we will finish inquiring into the +behaviour of Miss Drummond before we go on to sit in +judgment on her father.”</p> + +<p>“But I will be entrapped into no such attitude,” said +I. “The character of Miss Drummond is far above inquiry, +as her father ought to know. So is mine, and I am +telling you that. There are but the two ways of it open. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249"></a>249</span> +The one is to express your thanks to me as one gentleman +to another, and to say no more. The other (if you are so +difficult as to be still dissatisfied) is to pay me that which +I have expended and be done.”</p> + +<p>He seemed to soothe me with a hand in the air. “There, +there,” said he. “You go too fast, you go too fast, Mr. +Balfour. It is a good thing that I have learned to be more +patient. And I believe you forget that I have yet to see +my daughter.”</p> + +<p>I began to be a little relieved upon this speech and a +change in the man’s manner that I spied in him as soon as +the name of money fell between us.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking it would be more fit—if you will excuse +the plainness of my dressing in your presence—that +I should go forth and leave you to encounter her alone?” +said I.</p> + +<p>“What I would have looked for at your hands!” +says he; and there was no mistake but what he said it +civilly.</p> + +<p>I thought this better and better still, and as I began +to pull on my hose, recalling the man’s impudent mendicancy +at Prestongrange’s, I determined to pursue what +seemed to be my victory.</p> + +<p>“If you have any mind to stay some while in Leyden,” +said I, “this room is very much at your disposal, and I can +easy find another for myself: in which way we shall have +the least amount of flitting possible, there being only one +to change.”</p> + +<p>“Why, sir,” said he, making his bosom big, “I think +no shame of a poverty I have come by in the service of my +king; I make no secret that my affairs are quite involved: +and, for the moment, it would be even impossible for me +to undertake a journey.”</p> + +<p>“Until you have occasion to communicate with your +friends,” said I, “perhaps it might be convenient for you +(as of course it would be honourable to myself) if you were +to regard yourself in the light of my guest?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page250"></a>250</span></p> + +<p>“Sir,” said he, “when an offer is frankly made, I think +I honour myself most to imitate that frankness. Your +hand, Mr. David; you have the character that I respect the +most; you are one of those from whom a gentleman can +take a favour and no more words about it. I am an old +soldier,” he went on, looking rather disgusted-like around +my chamber, “and you need not fear I shall prove burthensome. +I have ate too often at a dyke-side, drank of the +ditch, and had no roof but the rain.”</p> + +<p>“I should be telling you,” said I, “that our breakfasts +are sent customarily in about this time of morning. I propose +I should go now to the tavern, and bid them add a +cover for yourself, and delay the meal the matter of an hour, +which will give you an interval to meet your daughter +in.”</p> + +<p>Methought his nostrils wagged at this. “O, an hour?” +says he. “That is perhaps superfluous. Half an hour, +Mr. David, or say twenty minutes; I shall do very well in +that. And by the way,” he adds, detaining me by the +coat, “what is it you drink in the morning, whether ale +or wine?”</p> + +<p>“To be frank with you, sir,” says I, “I drink nothing +else but spare, cold water.”</p> + +<p>“Tut-tut,” says he, “that is fair destruction to the +stomach, take an old campaigner’s word for it. Our country +spirit at home is perhaps the most entirely wholesome; but +as that is not come-at-able, Rhenish or a white wine of +Burgundy will be next best.”</p> + +<p>“I shall make it my business to see you are supplied,” +said I.</p> + +<p>“Why, very good,” said he, “and we shall make a man +of you yet, Mr. David.”</p> + +<p>By this time I can hardly say that I was minding him +at all, beyond an odd thought of the kind of father-in-law +that he was like to prove; and all my cares centred about +the lass his daughter, to whom I determined to convey +some warning of her visitor. I stepped to the door accordingly, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251"></a>251</span> +and cried through the panels, knocking thereon at +the same time: “Miss Drummond, here is your father come +at last.”</p> + +<p>With that I went forth upon my errand, having (by +two words) extraordinarily damaged my affairs.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page252"></a>252</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXVI</h3> + +<h5>THE THREESOME</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Whether</span> or not I was to be so much blamed, or rather +perhaps pitied, I must leave others to judge. My shrewdness +(of which I have a good deal too) seems not so great +with the ladies. No doubt, at the moment when I awakened +her, I was thinking a good deal of the effect upon James +More; and similarly when I returned and we were all sat +down to breakfast, I continued to behave to the young lady +with deference and distance; as I still think to have been +most wise. Her father had cast doubts upon the innocence +of my friendship; and these, it was my first business to +allay. But there is a kind of an excuse for Catriona also. +We had shared in a scene of some tenderness and passion, +and given and received caresses; I had thrust her from me +with violence; I had called aloud upon her in the night +from the one room to the other: she had passed hours of +wakefulness and weeping; and it is not to be supposed +I had been absent from her pillow thoughts. Upon the +back of this, to be awaked with unaccustomed formality, +under the name of Miss Drummond, and to be thenceforth +used with a great deal of distance and respect, led her entirely +in error on my private sentiments; and she was indeed +so incredibly abused as to imagine me repentant and +trying to draw off!</p> + +<p>The trouble betwixt us seems to have been this: that +whereas I (since I had first set eyes on his great hat) thought +singly of James More, his return and suspicions, she made +so little of these that I may say she scarce remarked them, +and all her troubles and doings regarded what had passed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page253"></a>253</span> +between us in the night before. This is partly to be explained +by the innocence and boldness of her character; +and partly because James More, having sped so ill in his +interview with me, or had his mouth closed by my invitation, +said no word to her upon the subject. At the breakfast, +accordingly, it soon appeared we were at cross-purposes. +I had looked to find her in clothes of her own: I found her +(as if her father were forgotten) wearing some of the best +that I had bought for her, and which she knew (or thought) +that I admired her in. I had looked to find her imitate +my affectation of distance, and be most precise and formal; +instead, I found her flushed and wild-like, with eyes extraordinary +bright, and a painful and varying expression, +calling me by name with a sort of appeal of tenderness, and +referring and deferring to my thoughts and wishes like an +anxious or a suspected wife.</p> + +<p>But this was not for long. As I beheld her so regardless +of her own interests, which I had jeopardised and was +now endeavouring to recover, I redoubled my own coldness +in the manner of a lesson to the girl. The more she came +forward, the further I drew back; the more she betrayed +the closeness of our intimacy, the more pointedly civil I +became, until even her father (if he had not been so engrossed +with eating) might have observed the opposition. In the +midst of which, of a sudden, she became wholly changed, +and I told myself, with a good deal of relief, that she had +took the hint at last.</p> + +<p>All day I was at my classes or in quest of my new +lodging; and though the hour of our customary walk hung +miserably on my hands, I cannot say but I was happy on +the whole to find my way cleared, the girl again in proper +keeping, the father satisfied, or at least acquiescent, and +myself free to prosecute my love with honour. At supper, +as at all our meals, it was James More that did the talking. +No doubt but he talked well, if any one could have believed +him. But I will speak of him presently more at large. +The meal at an end, he rose, got his great-coat, and looking +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254"></a>254</span> +(as I thought) at me, observed he had affairs abroad. I +took this for a hint that I was to be going also, and got up; +whereupon the girl, who had scarce given me greeting at +my entrance, turned her eyes on me wide open, with a look +that bade me stay. I stood between them like a fish out +of water, turning from one to the other; neither seemed +to observe me, she gazing on the floor, he buttoning +his coat: which vastly swelled my embarrassment. This +appearance of indifference argued, upon her side, a good +deal of anger very near to burst out. Upon his, I thought +it horribly alarming; I made sure there was a tempest +brewing there; and considering that to be the chief peril, +turned towards him and put myself (so to speak) in the +man’s hands.</p> + +<p>“Can I do anything for <i>you</i>, Mr. Drummond?” says I.</p> + +<p>He stifled a yawn, which again I thought to be duplicity. +“Why, Mr. David,” said he, “since you are so obliging as +to propose it, you might show me the way to a certain +tavern” (of which he gave the name) “where I hope to +fall in with some old companions in arms.”</p> + +<p>There was no more to say, and I got my hat and cloak +to bear him company.</p> + +<p>“And as for you,” says he to his daughter, “you had +best go to your bed. I shall be late home, and <i>Early to +bed and early to rise, gars bonny lasses have bright +eyes</i>.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon he kissed her with a good deal of tenderness, +and ushered me before him from the door. This was so +done (I thought on purpose) that it was scarce possible +there should be any parting salutation; but I observed +she did not look at me, and set it down to terror of James +More.</p> + +<p>It was some distance to that tavern. He talked all the +way of matters which did not interest me the smallest, and +at the door dismissed me with empty manners. Thence +I walked to my new lodging, where I had not so much as +a chimney to hold me warm, and no society but my own +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255"></a>255</span> +thoughts. These were still bright enough; I did not so +much as dream that Catriona was turned against me; I +thought we were like folk pledged; I thought we had been +too near and spoke too warmly to be severed, least of all by +what were only steps in a most needful policy. And the +chief of my concern was only the kind of father-in-law that +I was getting, which was not at all the kind I would have +chosen; and the matter of how soon I ought to speak to +him, which was a delicate point on several sides. In the +first place, when I thought how young I was, I blushed all +over, and could almost have found it in my heart to have +desisted; only that if once I let them go from Leyden without +explanation, I might lose her altogether. And in the +second place, there was our very irregular situation to be +kept in view, and the rather scant measure of satisfaction +I had given James More that morning. I concluded, on +the whole, that delay would not hurt anything, yet I could +not delay too long neither; and got to my cold bed with a +full heart.</p> + +<p>The next day, as James More seemed a little on the +complaining hand in the matter of my chamber, I offered +to have in more furniture; and coming in the afternoon, +with porters bringing chairs and tables, found the girl once +more left to herself. She greeted me on my admission +civilly, but withdrew at once to her own room, of which +she shut the door. I made my disposition, and paid and +dismissed the men so that she might hear them go, when I +supposed she would at once come forth again to speak to +me. I waited yet a while, then knocked upon her door.</p> + +<p>“Catriona!” said I.</p> + +<p>The door was opened so quickly, even before I had the +word out, that I thought she must have stood behind it +listening. She remained there in the interval quite still; +but she had a look that I cannot put a name on, as of one +in a bitter trouble.</p> + +<p>“Are we not to have our walk to-day either?” so I +faltered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page256"></a>256</span></p> + +<p>“I am thanking you,” said she. “I will not be caring +much to walk now that my father is come home.”</p> + +<p>“But I think he has gone out himself and left you here +alone,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And do you think that was very kindly said?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“It was not unkindly meant,” I replied.—“What ails +you, Catriona? What have I done to you that you should +turn from me like this?”</p> + +<p>“I do not turn from you at all,” she said, speaking very +carefully. “I will ever be grateful to my friend that was +good to me; I will ever be his friend in all that I am able. +But now that my father James More is come again, there is +a difference to be made, and I think there are some things +said and done that would be better to be forgotten. But +I will ever be your friend in all that I am able, and if that +is not all that ... if it is not so much.... Not that you +will be caring! But I would not have you think of me too +hard. It was true what you said to me, that I was too +young to be advised, and I am hoping you will remember +I was just a child. I would not like to lose your friendship, +at all events.”</p> + +<p>She began this very pale; but before she was done the +blood was in her face like scarlet, so that not her words only, +but her face and the trembling of her very hands, besought +me to be gentle. I saw, for the first time, how very wrong +I had done to place the child in that position, where she had +been entrapped into a moment’s weakness, and now stood +before me like a person shamed.</p> + +<p>“Miss Drummond,” I said, and stuck, and made the +same beginning once again, “I wish you could see into my +heart,” I cried. “You would read there that my respect +is undiminished. If that were possible, I should say it was +increased. This is but the result of the mistake we made; +and had to come; and the less said of it now the better. +Of all of our life here, I promise you it shall never pass my +lips; I would like to promise you too that I would never think +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257"></a>257</span> +of it, but it’s a memory that will be always dear to me. And +as for a friend, you have one here that would die for you.”</p> + +<p>“I am thanking you,” said she.</p> + +<p>We stood a while silent, and my sorrow for myself began +to get the upper hand; for here were all my dreams come +to a sad tumble, and my love lost, and myself alone again +in the world, as at the beginning.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “we shall be friends always, that’s a +certain thing. But this is a kind of a farewell too: it’s a kind +of a farewell after all; I shall always ken Miss Drummond, +but this is a farewell to my Catriona.”</p> + +<p>I looked at her; I could hardly say I saw her, but she +seemed to grow great and brighten in my eyes; and with +that I suppose I must have lost my head, for I called out +her name again and made a step at her with my hands +reached forth.</p> + +<p>She shrank back like a person struck, her face flamed; +but the blood sprang no faster up into her cheeks than +what it flowed back upon my own heart, at sight of it, with +penitence and concern. I found no words to excuse myself, +but bowed before her very deep, and went my ways out +of the house with death in my bosom.</p> + +<p>I think it was about five days that followed without +any change. I saw her scarce ever but at meals, and then +of course in the company of James More. If we were alone, +even for a moment, I made it my devoir to behave the +more distantly and to multiply respectful attentions, having +always in my mind’s eye that picture of the girl shrinking +and flaming in a blush, and in my heart more pity for her +than I could depict in words. I was sorry enough for myself, +I need not dwell on that, having fallen all my length +and more than all my height in a few seconds; but, indeed, +I was near as sorry for the girl, and sorry enough to be scarce +angry with her save by fits and starts. Her plea was good: +she was but a child; she had been placed in an unfair position; +if she had deceived herself and me, it was no more +than was to have been looked for.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page258"></a>258</span></p> + +<p>And, for another thing, she was now very much alone. +Her father, when he was by, was rather a caressing parent; +but he was very easy led away by his affairs and pleasures, +neglected her without compunction or remark, spent his +nights in taverns when he had the money, which was more +often than I could at all account for; and even in the course +of these few days, failed once to come to a meal, which +Catriona and I were at last compelled to partake of without +him. It was the evening meal, and I left immediately that +I had eaten, observing I supposed she would prefer to be +alone; to which she agreed, and (strange as it may seem) I +quite believed her. Indeed, I thought myself but an eyesore +to the girl, and a reminder of a moment’s weakness that +she now abhorred to think of. So she must sit alone in +that room where she and I had been so merry, and in the +blink of that chimney whose light had shone upon our many +difficult and tender moments. There she must sit alone, +and think of herself as of a maid who had most unmaidenly +proffered her affections and had the same rejected. And +in the meanwhile I would be alone in some other place, and +reading myself (whenever I was tempted to be angry) +lessons upon human frailty and female delicacy. And +altogether I suppose there were never two poor fools +made themselves more unhappy in a greater misconception.</p> + +<p>As for James, he paid not so much heed to us, or to anything +in nature but his pocket, and his belly, and his own +prating talk. Before twelve hours were gone he had raised +a small loan of me; before thirty, he had asked for a second, +and been refused. Money and refusal he took with the +same kind of high good-nature. Indeed, he had an outside +air of magnanimity that was very well fitted to impose upon +a daughter; and the light in which he was constantly presented +in his talk, and the man’s fine presence and great +ways, went together pretty harmoniously. So that a man +that had no business with him, and either very little penetration +or a furious deal of prejudice, might almost have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page259"></a>259</span> +been taken in. To me, after my first two interviews, he +was as plain as print; I saw him to be perfectly selfish, with +a perfect innocency in the same; and I would hearken to +his swaggering talk (of arms, and “an old soldier,” and +“a poor Highland gentleman,” and “the strength of my +country and my friends”) as I might to the babbling of a +parrot.</p> + +<p>The odd thing was that I fancy he believed some part +of it himself, or did at times; I think he was so false all +through that he scarce knew when he was lying; and for +one thing, his moments of dejection must have been wholly +genuine. There were times when he would be the most +silent, affectionate, clinging creature possible, holding +Catriona’s hand like a big baby, and begging of me not to +leave if I had any love to him; of which, indeed, I had none, +but all the more to his daughter. He would press, and +indeed beseech us to entertain him with our talk—a thing +very difficult in the state of our relations; and again break +forth in pitiable regrets for his own land and friends, or into +Gaelic singing.</p> + +<p>“This is one of the melancholy airs of my native land,” +he would say. “You may think it strange to see a soldier +weep, and indeed it is to make a near friend of you,” says +he. “But the notes of this singing are in my blood, and +the words come out of my heart. And when I mind upon +my red mountains, and the wild birds calling there, and the +brave streams of water running down, I would scarce think +shame to weep before my enemies.” Then he would sing +again, and translate to me pieces of the song, with a great +deal of boggling and much expressed contempt against the +English language. “It says here,” he would say, “that +the sun is gone down, and the battle is at an end, and the +brave chiefs are defeated. And it tells here how the stars +see them fleeing into strange countries or lying dead on the +red mountain; and they will never more shout the call of +battle or wash their feet in the streams of the valley. But +if you had only some of this language, you would weep also, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page260"></a>260</span> +because the words of it are beyond all expression, and it is +mere mockery to tell you it in English.”</p> + +<p>Well, I thought there was a good deal of mockery in +the business, one way and another; and yet, there was +some feeling too, for which I hated him, I think, the worst +of all. And it used to cut me to the quick to see Catriona +so much concerned for the old rogue, and weeping herself +to see him weep, when I was sure one half of his distress +flowed from his last night’s drinking in some tavern. There +were times when I was tempted to lend him a round sum, +and see the last of him for good; but this would have been +to see the last of Catriona as well, for which I was scarcely +so prepared; and besides, it went against my conscience to +squander my good money on one who was so little of a +husband.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page261"></a>261</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXVII</h3> + +<h5>A TWOSOME</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I believe</span> it was about the fifth day, and I know at least +that James was in one of his fits of gloom, when I received +three letters. The first was from Alan, offering to visit me +in Leyden; the other two were out of Scotland and +prompted by the same affair, which was the death of my +uncle and my own complete accession to my rights. Rankeillor’s +was, of course, wholly in the business view; Miss +Grant’s was like herself, a little more witty than wise, full +of blame to me for not having written (though how was I +to write with such intelligence?), and of rallying talk about +Catriona, which it cut me to the quick to read in her very +presence.</p> + +<p>For it was of course in my own rooms that I found +them, when I came to dinner, so that I was surprised out +of my news in the very first moment of reading it. This +made a welcome diversion for all three of us, nor could +any have foreseen the ill consequences that ensued. It +was accident that brought the three letters the same day, +and that gave them into my hand in the same room with +James More; and of all the events that flowed from that +accident, and which I might have prevented if I had held +my tongue, the truth is that they were preordained before +Agricola came into Scotland or Abraham set out upon his +travels.</p> + +<p>The first that I opened was naturally Alan’s: and what +more natural than that I should comment on his design to +visit me? but I observed James to sit up with an air of +immediate attention.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page262"></a>262</span></p> + +<p>“Is that not Alan Breck that was suspected of the +Appin accident?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>I told him, “Ay,” it was the same; and he withheld +me some time from my other letters, asking of our acquaintance, +of Alan’s manner of life in France, of which I knew +very little, and further of his visit as now proposed.</p> + +<p>“All we forfeited folk hang a little together,” he explained, +“and besides, I know the gentleman: and though +his descent is not the thing, and indeed he has no true right +to use the name of Stewart, he was very much admired in +the day of Drummossie. He did there like a soldier; if +some that need not be named had done as well, the upshot +need not have been so melancholy to remember. There +were two that did their best that day, and it makes a bond +between the pair of us,” says he.</p> + +<p>I could scarce refrain from shooting out my tongue at +him, and could almost have wished that Alan had been +there to have inquired a little further into that mention of +his birth. Though, they tell me, the same was indeed not +wholly regular.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, I had opened Miss Grant’s, and could not +withhold an exclamation.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” I cried, forgetting, the first time since her +father was arrived, to address her by a handle, “I am come +into my kingdom fairly, I am the laird of Shaws indeed—my +uncle is dead at last.”</p> + +<p>She clapped her hands together, leaping from her seat. +The next moment it must have come over both of us at +once what little cause of joy was left to either, and we +stood opposite, staring on each other sadly.</p> + +<p>But James showed himself a ready hypocrite. “My +daughter,” says he, “is this how my cousin learned you to +behave? Mr. David has lost a near friend, and we should +first condole with him on his bereavement.”</p> + +<p>“Troth, sir,” said I, turning to him in a kind of anger, +“I can make no such faces. His death is as blithe news +as ever I got.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page263"></a>263</span></p> + +<p>“It’s a good soldier’s philosophy,” says James. “’Tis +the way of flesh, we must all go, all go. And if the gentleman +was so far from your favour, why, very well! But we +may at least congratulate you on your accession to your +estates.”</p> + +<p>“Nor can I say that either,” I replied, with the same +heat. “It is a good estate; what matters that to a lone +man that has enough already? I had a good revenue +before in my frugality; and but for the man’s death—which +gratifies me, shame to me that must confess it!—I see not +how any one is to be bettered by this change.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” said he, “you are more affected than +you let on, or you would never make yourself out so lonely. +Here are three letters; that means three that wish you +well; and I could name two more here in this very chamber. +I have known you not so very long, but Catriona, when +we are alone, is never done with the singing of your praises.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, a little wild at that; and he slid +off at once into another matter, the extent of my estate, +which (during the most of the dinner time) he continued +to dwell upon with interest. But it was to no purpose he +dissembled; he had touched the matter with too gross a +hand: and I knew what to expect. Dinner was scarce ate +when he plainly discovered his designs. He reminded +Catriona of an errand, and bid her attend to it. “I do not +see you should be gone beyond the hour,” he added, “and +friend David will be good enough to bear me company till +you return.” She made haste to obey him without words. +I do not know if she understood,—I believe not; but I was +completely satisfied, and sat strengthening my mind for +what should follow.</p> + +<p>The door had scarce closed behind her departure, when +the man leaned back in his chair and addressed me with +a good affectation of easiness. Only the one thing betrayed +him, and that was his face, which suddenly shone all over +with fine points of sweat.</p> + +<p>“I am rather glad to have a word alone with you,” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page264"></a>264</span> +says he, “because in our first interview there was some +expressions you misapprehended, and I have long meant +to set you right upon. My daughter stands beyond doubt. +So do you, and I would make that good with my sword +against all gainsayers. But, my dear David, this world +is a censorious place—as who should know it better than +myself, who have lived ever since the days of my late departed +father, God sain him! in a perfect spate of calumnies? +We have to face to that; you and me have to consider of +that; we have to consider of that.” And he wagged his +head like a minister in a pulpit.</p> + +<p>“To what effect, Mr. Drummond?” said I. “I would +be obliged to you if you would approach your point.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, ay,” says he, laughing, “like your character +indeed! and what I most admire in it. But the point, my +worthy fellow, is sometimes in a kittle bit.” He filled a +glass of wine. “Though between you and me, that are +such fast friends, it need not bother us long. The point, +I need scarcely tell you, is my daughter. And the first +thing is that I have no thought in my mind of blaming you. +In the unfortunate circumstances, what could you do else? +’Deed, and I cannot tell.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you for that,” said I, pretty close upon my +guard.</p> + +<p>“I have besides studied your character,” he went on; +“your talents are fair; you seem to have a moderate competence, +which does no harm; and, one thing with another, +I am very happy to have to announce to you that I have +decided on the latter of the two ways open.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I am dull,” said I. “What ways are +these?”</p> + +<p>He bent his brows upon me formidably and uncrossed +his legs. “Why, sir,” says he, “I think I need scarce +describe them to a gentleman of your condition: either +that I should cut your throat or that you should marry my +daughter.”</p> + +<p>“You are pleased to be quite plain at last,” said I.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page265"></a>265</span></p> + +<p>“And I believe I have been plain from the beginning!” +cries he robustiously. “I am a careful parent, Mr. Balfour; +but, I thank God, a patient and deleeberate man. There +is many a father, sir, that would have hirsled you at once +either to the altar or the field. My esteem for your character——”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Drummond,” I interrupted, “if you have any +esteem for me at all, I will beg of you to moderate your +voice. It is quite needless to rowt at a gentleman in the +same chamber with yourself, and lending you his best +attention.”</p> + +<p>“Why, very true,” says he, with an immediate change. +“And you must excuse the agitations of a parent.”</p> + +<p>“I understand you then,” I continued—“for I will +take no note of your other alternative, which perhaps it +was a pity you let fall—I understand you rather to offer +me encouragement in case I should desire to apply for your +daughter’s hand?”</p> + +<p>“It is not possible to express my meaning better,” said +he, “and I see we shall do well together.”</p> + +<p>“That remains to be yet seen,” said I. “But so much +I need make no secret of, that I bear the lady you refer +to the most tender affection, and I could not fancy, even in +a dream, a better fortune than to get her.”</p> + +<p>“I was sure of it, I felt certain of you, David,” he cried, +and reached out his hand to me.</p> + +<p>I put it by. “You go too fast, Mr. Drummond,” said +I. “There are conditions to be made; and there is a +difficulty in the path, which I see not entirely how we shall +come over. I have told you that, upon my side, there is +no objection to the marriage, but I have good reason to +believe there will be much on the young lady’s.”</p> + +<p>“This is all beside the mark,” says he. “I will engage +for her acceptance.”</p> + +<p>“I think you forget, Mr. Drummond,” said I, “that, +even in dealing with myself, you have been betrayed into +two-three unpalatable expressions. I will have none such +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page266"></a>266</span> +employed to the young lady. I am here to speak and think +for the two of us; and I give you to understand that I +would no more let a wife be forced upon myself than what +I would let a husband be forced on the young lady.”</p> + +<p>He sat and glowered at me like one in doubt and a good +deal of temper.</p> + +<p>“So that this is to be the way of it,” I concluded. “I +will marry Miss Drummond, and that blithely, if she is +entirely willing. But if there be the least unwillingness, +as I have reason to fear—marry her will I never.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” said he, “this is a small affair. As soon +as she returns I will sound her a bit, and hope to reassure +you——”</p> + +<p>But I cut in again. “Not a finger of you, Mr. Drummond, +or I cry off, and you can seek a husband to your +daughter somewhere else,” said I. “It is I that am to be +the only dealer and the only judge. I shall satisfy myself +exactly; and none else shall anyways meddle—you the +least of all.”</p> + +<p>“Upon my word, sir!” he exclaimed, “and who are +you to be the judge?”</p> + +<p>“The bridegroom, I believe,” said I.</p> + +<p>“This is to quibble,” he cried. “You turn your back +upon the facts. The girl, my daughter, has no choice left +to exercise. Her character is gone.”</p> + +<p>“And I ask your pardon,” said I, “but while this matter +lies between her and you and me, that is not so.”</p> + +<p>“What security have I?” he cried. “Am I to let my +daughter’s reputation depend upon a chance?”</p> + +<p>“You should have thought of all this long ago,” said I, +“before you were so misguided as to lose her; and not afterwards, +when it is quite too late. I refuse to regard myself +as any way accountable for your neglect, and I will be brow-beat +by no man living. My mind is quite made up, and, +come what may, I will not depart from it a hair’s-breadth. +You and me are to sit here in company till her return; upon +which, without either word or look from you, she and I are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page267"></a>267</span> +to go forth again to hold our talk. If she can satisfy me +that she is willing to this step, I will then make it; and if she +cannot, I will not.”</p> + +<p>He leaped out of his seat like a man stung. “I can spy +your manœuvre,” he cried; “you would work upon her to +refuse!”</p> + +<p>“Maybe ay, and maybe no,” said I. “That is the way +it is to be, whatever.”</p> + +<p>“And if I refuse?” cries he.</p> + +<p>“Then, Mr. Drummond, it will have to come to the +throat-cutting,” said I.</p> + +<p>What with the size of the man, his great length of arm, +in which he came near rivalling his father, and his reputed +skill at weapons, I did not use this word without some +trepidation, to say nothing at all of the circumstance that +he was Catriona’s father. But I might have spared myself +alarms. From the poorness of my lodging—he does not seem +to have remarked his daughter’s dresses, which were indeed +all equally new to him,—and from the fact that I had shown +myself averse to lend, he had embraced a strong idea of my +poverty. The sudden news of my estate convinced him of his +error, and he had made but the one bound of it on this +fresh venture, to which he was now so wedded, that I believe +he would have suffered anything rather than fall to the +alternative of fighting.</p> + +<p>A little while longer he continued to dispute with me, +until I hit upon a word that silenced him.</p> + +<p>“If I find you so averse to let me see the lady by herself,” +said I, “I must suppose you have very good grounds to +think me in the right about her unwillingness.”</p> + +<p>He gabbled some kind of an excuse.</p> + +<p>“But all this is very exhausting to both of our tempers,” +I added, “and I think we would do better to preserve a +judicious silence.” + +The which we did until the girl returned, and I must +suppose would have cut a very ridiculous figure had there +been any there to view us.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page268"></a>268</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXVIII</h3> + +<h5>IN WHICH I AM LEFT ALONE</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">I opened</span> the door to Catriona and stopped her on the +threshold.</p> + +<p>“Your father wishes us to take our walk,” said I.</p> + +<p>She looked at James More, who nodded, and at that, like +a trained soldier, she turned to go with me.</p> + +<p>We took one of our old ways, where we had gone often +together, and been more happy than I can tell of in the past. +I came a half a step behind, so that I could watch her unobserved. +The knocking of her little shoes upon the way +sounded extraordinary pretty and sad; and I thought it a +strange moment that I should be so near both ends of it at +once, and walk in the midst between two destinies, and could +not tell whether I was hearing these steps for the last time, +or whether the sound of them was to go in and out with me +till death should part us.</p> + +<p>She avoided even to look at me, only walked before her, +like one who had a guess of what was coming. I saw I must +speak soon before my courage was run out, but where to +begin I knew not. In this painful situation, when the girl +was as good as forced into my arms, and had already besought +my forbearance, any excess of pressure must have +seemed indecent; yet to avoid it wholly would have a very +cold-like appearance. Between these extremes I stood helpless, +and could have bit my fingers; so that, when at last I +managed to speak at all, it may be said I spoke at random.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said I, “I am in a very painful situation; +or rather, so we are both; and I would be a good deal +obliged to you if you would promise to let me speak +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269"></a>269</span> +through first of all, and not to interrupt till I have +done.”</p> + +<p>She promised me that simply.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “this that I have got to say is very +difficult, and I know very well I have no right to be saying it. +After what passed between the two of us last Friday, I have +no manner of right. We have got so ravelled up (and all +by my fault) that I know very well the least I could do is +just to hold my tongue, which was what I intended fully, +and there was nothing further from my thoughts than to +have troubled you again. But, my dear, it has become +merely necessary, and no way by it. You see, this estate of +mine has fallen in, which makes of me rather a better match; +and the—the business would not have quite the same +ridiculous-like appearance that it would before. Besides +which, it’s supposed that our affairs have got so much +ravelled up (as I was saying) that it would be better to let +them be the way they are. In my view, this part of the +thing is vastly exaggerate, and if I were you I would not +ware two thoughts on it. Only it’s right I should mention +the same, because there’s no doubt it has some influence +on James More. Then I think we were none so unhappy +when we dwelt together in this town before. I think we +did pretty well together. If you would look back, my +dear——”</p> + +<p>“I will look neither back nor forward,” she interrupted. +“Tell me the one thing: this is my father’s doing?”</p> + +<p>“He approves of it,” said I. “He approved that I +should ask your hand in marriage,” and was going on again +with somewhat more of an appeal upon her feelings; but she +marked me not, and struck into the midst.</p> + +<p>“He told you to!” she cried. “It is no sense denying +it, you said yourself that there was nothing further from +your thoughts. He told you to.”</p> + +<p>“He spoke of it the first, if that is what you mean,” I +began.</p> + +<p>She was walking ever the faster, and looking fair in front +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page270"></a>270</span> +of her; but at this she made a little noise in her head, and I +thought she would have run.</p> + +<p>“Without which,” I went on, “after what you said last +Friday, I would never have been so troublesome as make the +offer. But when he as good as asked me, what was I to +do?”</p> + +<p>She stopped and turned round upon me.</p> + +<p>“Well, it is refused, at all events,” she cried, “and there +will be an end of that.”</p> + +<p>And she began again to walk forward.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I could expect no better,” said I, “but I +think you might try to be a little kind to me for the last end +of it. I see not why you should be harsh. I have loved you +very well, Catriona—no harm that I should call you so for +the last time. I have done the best that I could manage, I +am trying the same still, and only vexed that I can do no +better. It is a strange thing to me that you can take any +pleasure to be hard to me.”</p> + +<p>“I am not thinking of you,” she said, “I am thinking +of that man, my father.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and that way too!” said I. “I can be of use +to you that way too; I will have to be. It is very needful, +my dear, that we should consult about your father; for the +way this talk has gone, an angry man will be James More.”</p> + +<p>She stopped again. “It is because I am disgraced?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“That is what he is thinking,” I replied, “but I have +told you already to make naught of it.”</p> + +<p>“It will be all one to me,” she cried. “I prefer to be +disgraced!”</p> + +<p>I did not know very well what to answer, and stood +silent.</p> + +<p>There seemed to be something working in her bosom +after that last cry; presently she broke out, “And what is +the meaning of all this? Why is all this shame loundered +on my head? How could you dare it, David Balfour?”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” said I, “what else was I to do?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page271"></a>271</span></p> + +<p>“I am not your dear,” she said, “and I defy you to be +calling me these words.”</p> + +<p>“I am not thinking of my words,” said I. “My heart +bleeds for you, Miss Drummond. Whatever I may say, be +sure you have my pity in your difficult position. But there +is just the one thing that I wish you would bear in view, if it +was only long enough to discuss it quietly; for there is +going to be a collieshangie when we two get home. Take +my word for it, it will need the two of us to make this matter +end in peace.”</p> + +<p>“Ay,” said she. There sprang a patch of red in either +of her cheeks. “Was he for fighting you?” said she.</p> + +<p>“Well, he was that,” said I.</p> + +<p>She gave a dreadful kind of laugh. “At all events, it is +complete!” she cried. And then turning on me: “My +father and I are a fine pair,” said she, “but I am thanking +the good God there will be somebody worse than what we +are. I am thanking the good God that He has let me see +you so. There will never be the girl made that would not +scorn you.”</p> + +<p>I had borne a good deal pretty patiently, but this was +over the mark.</p> + +<p>“You have no right to speak to me like that,” said I. +“What have I done but to be good to you, or try to be? +And here is my repayment! O, it is too much.”</p> + +<p>She kept looking at me with a hateful smile. +“Coward!” said she.</p> + +<p>“The word in your throat and in your father’s!” I cried. +“I have dared him this day already in your interest. I will +dare him again, the nasty pole-cat; little I care which of us +should fall! Come,” said I, “back to the house with us; +let us be done with it, let me be done with the whole Hieland +crew of you! You will see what you think when I am +dead.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head at me with that same smile I could +have struck her for.</p> + +<p>“O, smile away!” I cried. “I have seen your bonny +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page272"></a>272</span> +father smile on the wrong side this day. Not that I mean +he was afraid, of course,” I added hastily, “but he preferred +the other way of it.”</p> + +<p>“What is this?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“When I offered to draw with him,” said I.</p> + +<p>“You offered to draw upon James More?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“And I did so,” said I, “and found him backward +enough, or how would we be here?”</p> + +<p>“There is a meaning upon this,” said she. “What is it +you are meaning?”</p> + +<p>“He was to make you take me,” I replied, “and I +would not have it. I said you should be free, and I must +speak with you alone; little I supposed it would be such a +speaking! <i>And what if I refuse?</i> says he.—<i>Then it must +come to the throat-cutting</i>, says I, <i>for I will no more have a +husband forced on that young lady than what I would have +a wife forced upon myself</i>. These were my words, they were a +friend’s words; bonnily have I been paid for them! Now +you have refused me of your own clear free will, and there +lives no father in the Highlands, or out of them, that can +force on this marriage. I will see that your wishes are respected; +I will make the same my business, as I have all +through. But I think you might have that decency as to +affect some gratitude. ’Deed, and I thought you knew me +better! I have not behaved quite well to you, but that was +weakness. And to think me a coward, and such a coward as +that—O my lass, there was a stab for the last of it!”</p> + +<p>“Davie, how would I guess?” she cried. “O, this is a +dreadful business! Me and mine”—she gave a kind of +wretched cry at the word,—“me and mine are not fit to +speak to you. O, I could be kneeling down to you in the +street, I could be kissing your hands for your forgiveness!”</p> + +<p>“I will keep the kisses I have got from you already,” +cried I. “I will keep the ones I wanted and that were something +worth; I will not be kissed in penitence.”</p> + +<p>“What can you be thinking of this miserable girl?” +says she.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page273"></a>273</span></p> + +<p>“What I am trying to tell you all this while!” said I, +“that you had best leave me alone, whom you can make no +more unhappy if you tried, and turn your attention to +James More, your father, with whom you are like to have a +queer pirn to wind.”</p> + +<p>“O, that I must be going out into the world alone with +such a man!” she cried, and seemed to catch herself in with +a great effort. “But trouble yourself no more for that,” +said she. “He does not know what kind of nature is in my +heart. He will pay me dear for this day of it; dear, dear +will he pay.”</p> + +<p>She turned, and began to go home, and I to accompany +her. At which she stopped.</p> + +<p>“I will be going alone,” she said. “It is alone I must +be seeing him.”</p> + +<p>Some little while I raged about the streets, and told +myself I was the worst-used lad in Christendom. Anger +choked me; it was all very well for me to breathe deep; it +seemed there was not air enough about Leyden to supply +me, and I thought I would have burst like a man at the +bottom of the sea. I stopped and laughed at myself at +a street-corner a minute together, laughing out loud, so +that a passenger looked at me, which brought me to +myself.</p> + +<p>“Well,” I thought, “I have been a gull and a ninny and +a soft Tommy long enough. Time it was done. Here is a +good lesson to have nothing to do with that accursed sex, +that was the ruin of the man in the beginning, and will be so +to the end. God knows I was happy enough before ever I +saw her; God knows I can be happy enough again when +I have seen the last of her.”</p> + +<p>That seemed to me the chief affair: to see them go. I +dwelled upon the idea fiercely; and presently slipped on, +in a kind of malevolence, to consider how very poorly they +were like to fare when David Balfour was no longer by to +be their milk-cow; at which, to my own very great surprise, +the disposition of my mind turned bottom up. I was still +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page274"></a>274</span> +angry; I still hated her; and yet I thought I owed it to +myself that she should suffer nothing.</p> + +<p>This carried me home again at once, where I found the +mails drawn out and ready fastened by the door, and the +father and daughter with every mark upon them of a recent +disagreement. Catriona was like a wooden doll; James +More breathed hard, his face was dotted with white spots, +and his nose upon one side. As soon as I came in, the girl +looked at him with a steady, clear, dark look that might very +well have been followed by a blow. It was a hint that was +more contemptuous than a command, and I was surprised +to see James More accept it. It was plain he had had +a master talking-to; and I could see there must be more +of the devil in the girl than I had guessed, and more good-humour +about the man than I had given him the credit of.</p> + +<p>He began, at least, calling me Mr. Balfour, and plainly +speaking from a lesson; but he got not very far, for at the +first pompous swell of his voice Catriona cut in.</p> + +<p>“I will tell you what James More is meaning,” said she. +“He means we have come to you, beggar-folk, and have not +behaved to you very well, and we are ashamed of our ingratitude +and ill-behaviour. Now we are wanting to go +away and be forgotten; and my father will have guided his +gear so ill, that we cannot even do that unless you will give +us some more alms. For that is what we are, at all events, +beggar-folk and sorners.”</p> + +<p>“By your leave, Miss Drummond,” said I, “I must +speak to your father by myself.”</p> + +<p>She went into her own room and shut the door, without +a word or a look.</p> + +<p>“You must excuse her, Mr. Balfour,” says James More. +“She has no delicacy.”</p> + +<p>“I am not here to discuss that with you,” said I, “but +to be quit of you. And to that end I must talk of your +position. Now, Mr. Drummond, I have kept the run +of your affairs more closely than you bargained for. I +know you had money of your own when you were borrowing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275"></a>275</span> +mine. I know you have had more since you were here in +Leyden, though you concealed it even from your daughter.”</p> + +<p>“I bid you beware. I will stand no more baiting,” he +broke out. “I am sick of her and you. What kind of a +damned trade is this to be a parent! I have had expressions +used to me——” There he broke off. “Sir, this is the +heart of a soldier and a parent,” he went on again, laying his +hand on his bosom, “outraged in both characters—and I +bid you beware.”</p> + +<p>“If you would have let me finish,” says I, “you would +have found I spoke for your advantage.”</p> + +<p>“My dear friend,” he cried, “I know I might have relied +upon the generosity of your character.”</p> + +<p>“Man! will you let me speak?” said I. “The fact is +that I cannot win to find out if you are rich or poor. But it +is my idea that your means, as they are mysterious in their +source, so they are something insufficient in amount; and I +do not choose your daughter to be lacking. If I durst speak +to herself, you may be certain I would never dream of trusting +it to you; because I know you like the back of my hand, +and all your blustering talk is that much wind to me. However, +I believe in your way you do still care something for +your daughter after all; and I must just be doing with that +ground of confidence, such as it is.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon I arranged with him that he was to communicate +with me, as to his whereabouts and Catriona’s +welfare, in consideration of which I was to serve him a small +stipend.</p> + +<p>He heard the business out with a great deal of eagerness; +and when it was done, “My dear fellow, my dear son,” he +cried out, “this is more like yourself than any of it yet! I +will serve you with a soldier’s faithfulness——”</p> + +<p>“Let me hear no more of it!” says I. “You have got +me to that pitch that the bare name of soldier rises on my +stomach. Our traffic is settled; I am now going forth and +will return in one half-hour, when I expect to find my +chambers purged of you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page276"></a>276</span></p> + +<p>I gave them good measure of time; it was my one fear +that I might see Catriona again, because tears and weakness +were ready in my heart, and I cherished my anger like a +piece of dignity. Perhaps an hour went by; the sun had +gone down, a little wisp of a new moon was following it +across a scarlet sunset; already there were stars in the east, +and in my chambers, when at last I entered them, the night +lay blue. I lit a taper and reviewed the rooms; in the first +there remained nothing so much as to awake a memory of +those who were gone; but in the second, in a corner of the +floor, I spied a little heap that brought my heart into my +mouth. She had left behind at her departure all that ever +she had of me. It was the blow that I felt sorest, perhaps +because it was the last; and I fell upon that pile of clothing +and behaved myself more foolish than I care to tell of.</p> + +<p>Late in the night, in a strict frost, and my teeth chattering, +I came again by some portion of my manhood and considered +with myself. The sight of these poor frocks and +ribbons, and her shifts, and the clocked stockings, was not +to be endured; and if I were to recover any constancy of +mind, I saw I must be rid of them ere the morning. It was +my first thought to have made a fire and burned them; but +my disposition has always been opposed to wastery, for one +thing; and for another, to have burned these things that she +had worn so close upon her body seemed in the nature of a +cruelty. There was a corner cupboard in that chamber; +there I determined to bestow them. The which I did, and +made it a long business, folding them with very little skill +indeed, but the more care; and sometimes dropping them +with my tears. All the heart was gone out of me, I was +weary as though I had run miles, and sore like one beaten; +when, as I was folding a kerchief that she wore often at her +neck, I observed there was a corner neatly cut from it. It +was a kerchief of a very pretty hue, on which I had frequently +remarked; and once that she had it on I remembered +telling her (by way of a banter) that she wore my +colours. There came a glow of hope and like a tide of sweetness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page277"></a>277</span> +in my bosom; and the next moment I was plunged +back in a fresh despair. For there was the corner crumpled +in a knot, and cast down by itself in another part of the +floor.</p> + +<p>But when I argued with myself I grew more hopeful. +She had cut that corner off in some childish freak that +was manifestly tender; that she had cast it away again was +little to be wondered at; and I was inclined to dwell more +upon the first than upon the second, and to be more pleased +that she had ever conceived the idea of that keepsake, than +concerned because she had flung it from her in an hour of +natural resentment.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page278"></a>278</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXIX</h3> + +<h5>WE MEET IN DUNKIRK</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Altogether</span>, then, I was scarce so miserable the next days +but what I had many hopeful and happy snatches; threw +myself with a good deal of constancy upon my studies; and +made out to endure the time till Alan should arrive, or I +might hear word of Catriona by the means of James More. +I had altogether three letters in the time of our separation. +One was to announce their arrival in the town of Dunkirk in +France, from which place James shortly after started alone +upon a private mission. This was to England and to see +Lord Holderness; and it has always been a bitter thought +that my good money helped to pay the charges of the same. +But he has need of a long spoon who sups with the deil, or +James More either. During this absence, the time was to +fall due for another letter; and as the letter was the condition +of his stipend, he had been so careful as to prepare it +beforehand and leave it with Catriona to be despatched. +The fact of our correspondence aroused her suspicions, and +he was no sooner gone than she had burst the seal. What I +received began accordingly in the writing of James More:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“<span class="sc">My dear Sir</span>,—Your esteemed favour came to hand duly, and +I have to acknowledge the enclosure according to agreement. It +shall be all faithfully expended on my daughter, who is well, and +desires to be remembered to her dear friend, I find her in rather +a melancholy disposition, but trust in the mercy of God to see her +re-established. Our manner of life is very much alone, but we +solace ourselves with the melancholy tunes of our native mountains, +and by walking upon the margin of the sea that lies next to Scotland. +It was better days with me when I lay with five wounds upon my +body on the field of Gladsmuir. I have found employment here +in the <i>haras</i> of a French nobleman, where my experience is valued. +But, my dear Sir, the wages are so exceedingly unsuitable that I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page279"></a>279</span> +would be ashamed to mention them, which makes your remittances +the more necessary to my daughter’s comfort, though I daresay the +sight of old friends would be still better.</p> + +<p style="padding-left: 13em;">“My dear Sir,</p> +<p style="padding-left: 7em;">“Your affectionate, obedient servant,</p> +<p class="rt">“<span class="sc">James Macgregor Drummond</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p class="noind">Below it began again in the hand of Catriona:—</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>“Do not be believing him, it is all lies together.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right; padding-right: 5em;">“C. M. D.”</p> +</div> + +<p>Not only did she add this postscript, but I think she must +have come near suppressing the letter; for it came long after +date, and was closely followed by the third. In the time +betwixt them Alan had arrived, and made another life to +me with his merry conversation; I had been presented to +his cousin of the Scots-Dutch, a man that drank more than +I could have thought possible, and was not otherwise of +interest; I had been entertained to many jovial dinners, and +given some myself, all with no great change upon my sorrow; +and we two (by which I mean Alan and myself, and not at +all the cousin) had discussed a good deal the nature of my +relations with James More and his daughter. I was naturally +diffident to give particulars; and this disposition was +not anyway lessened by the nature of Alan’s commentary +upon those I gave.</p> + +<p>“I canna make head nor tail of it,” he would say, “but +it sticks in my mind ye’ve made a gowk of yourself. There’s +few people that has had more experience than Alan Breck; +and I can never call to mind to have heard tell of a lassie like +this one of yours. The way that you tell it, the thing’s fair +impossible. Ye must have made a terrible hash of the +business, David.”</p> + +<p>“There are whiles that I am of the same mind,” said I.</p> + +<p>“The strange thing is that ye seem to have a kind of a +fancy for her too!” said Alan.</p> + +<p>“The biggest kind, Alan,” said I, “and I think I’ll take +it to my grave with me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ye beat me, whatever!” he would conclude.</p> + +<p>I showed him the letter with Catriona’s postscript. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page280"></a>280</span> +“And here again!” he cried. “Impossible to deny a kind +of decency to this Catriona, and sense forbye! As for +James More, the man’s as boss as a drum; he’s just a wame +and a wheen words; though I’ll can never deny that he +fought reasonably well at Gladsmuir, and it’s true what he +says here about the five wounds. But the loss of him is that +the man’s boss.”</p> + +<p>“Ye see, Alan,” said I, “it goes against the grain with +me to leave the maid in such poor hands.”</p> + +<p>“Ye couldna weel find poorer,” he admitted. “But +what are ye to do with it? It’s this way about a man and a +woman, ye see, Davie: the weemen-folk have got no kind of +reason to them. Either they like the man, and then a’ goes +fine; or else they just detest him, and ye may spare your +breath—ye can do naething. There’s just the two sets of +them—them that would sell their coats for ye, and them +that never look the road ye’re on. That’s a’ that there is to +women; and you seem to be such a gomeril that ye canna +tell the tane frae the tither.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and I’m afraid that’s true for me,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And yet there’s naething easier!” cried Alan. “I +could easy learn ye the science of the thing; but ye seem to +me to be born blind, and there’s where the deefficulty comes +in!”</p> + +<p>“And can <i>you</i> no’ help me?” I asked, “you that’s so +clever at the trade?”</p> + +<p>“Ye see, David, I wasna here,” said he. “I’m like +a field officer that has naebody but blind men for scouts and +<i>éclaireurs</i>; and what would he ken? But it sticks in my +mind that ye’ll have made some kind of bauchle; and if I +was you, I would have a try at her again.”</p> + +<p>“Would ye so, man Alan?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I would e’en’t,” says he.</p> + +<p>The third letter came to my hand while we were deep in +some such talk; and it will be seen how pat it fell to the +occasion. James professed to be in some concern upon +his daughter’s health, which I believe was never better; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page281"></a>281</span> +abounded in kind expressions to myself; and finally proposed +that I should visit them at Dunkirk.</p> + +<p>“You will now be enjoying the society of my old comrade, +Mr. Stewart,” he wrote. “Why not accompany him +so far in his return to France? I have something very particular +for Mr. Stewart’s ear; and, at any rate, I would be +pleased to meet in with an old fellow-soldier and one so +mettle as himself. As for you, my dear sir, my daughter +and I would be proud to receive our benefactor, whom we +regard as a brother and a son. The French nobleman has +proved a person of the most filthy avarice of character, and +I have been necessitate to leave the <i>haras</i>. You will find us, +in consequence, a little poorly lodged in the <i>auberge</i> of a man +Bazin on the dunes; but the situation is caller, and I make +no doubt but we might spend some very pleasant days, +when Mr. Stewart and I could recall our services, and you +and my daughter divert yourselves in a manner more befitting +your age. I beg at least that Mr. Stewart would +come here; my business with him opens a very wide door.”</p> + +<p>“What does the man want with me?” cried Alan when +he had read. “What he wants with you is clear enough—it’s +siller. But what can he want with Alan Breck?”</p> + +<p>“O, it’ll be just an excuse,” said I. “He is still after +this marriage, which I wish from my heart that we could +bring about. And he asks you because he thinks I would be +less likely to come wanting you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I wish that I kennt,” says Alan. “Him and me +were never onyways pack; we used to girn at ither like a pair +of pipers. ‘Something for my ear,’ quo’ he! I’ll maybe +have something for his hinder-end before we’re through with +it. Dod, I’m thinking it would be a kind of a divertisement +to gang and see what he’ll be after! Forbye that I could see +your lassie then. What say ye, Davie? Will ye ride with +Alan?”</p> + +<p>You may be sure I was not backward, and, Alan’s furlough +running towards an end, we set forth presently upon +this joint adventure.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page282"></a>282</span></p> + +<p>It was near dark of a January day when we rode at last +into the town of Dunkirk. We left our horses at the post, +and found a guide to Bazin’s inn, which lay beyond the walls. +Night was quite fallen, so that we were the last to leave that +fortress, and heard the doors of it close behind us as we +passed the bridge. On the other side there lay a lighted +suburb, which we thridded for a while, then turned into a +dark lane, and presently found ourselves wading in the night +among deep sand where we could hear a bullering of the sea. +We travelled in this fashion for some while, following our +conductor mostly by the sound of his voice; and I had +begun to think he was perhaps misleading us, when we came +to the top of a small brae, and there appeared out of the +darkness a dim light in a window.</p> + +<p>“<i>Voilà l’auberge à Bazin</i>,” says the guide.</p> + +<p>Alan smacked his lips. “An unco lonely bit,” +said he, and I thought by his tone he was not wholly +pleased.</p> + +<p>A little after, and we stood in the lower story of that +house, which was all in the one apartment, with a stair leading +to the chambers at the side, benches and tables by the +wall, the cooking fire at the one end of it, and shelves of +bottles and the cellar-trap at the other. Here Bazin, who +was an ill-looking, big man, told us the Scottish gentleman +was gone abroad he knew not where, but the young lady +was above, and he would call her down to us.</p> + +<p>I took from my breast that kerchief wanting the corner, +and knotted it about my throat. I could hear my heart go; +and, Alan patting me on the shoulder with some of his laughable +expressions, I could scarce refrain from a sharp word. +But the time was not long to wait. I heard her step pass +overhead, and saw her on the stair. This she descended +very quietly, and greeted me with a pale face and a certain +seeming of earnestness, or uneasiness, in her manner that +extremely dashed me.</p> + +<p>“My father, James More, will be here soon. He will be +very pleased to see you,” she said. And then of a sudden +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page283"></a>283</span> +her face flamed, her eyes lightened, the speech stopped upon +her lips; and I made sure she had observed the kerchief. +It was only for a breath that she was discomposed; but methought +it was with a new animation that she turned to +welcome Alan. “And you will be his friend Alan Breck?” +she cried. “Many is the dozen times I will have heard him +tell of you; and I love you already for all your bravery and +goodness.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” says Alan, holding her hand in his and +viewing her, “and so this is the young lady at the last of it! +David, you’re an awful poor hand of a description.”</p> + +<p>I do not know that ever I heard him speak so straight to +people’s hearts; the sound of his voice was like song.</p> + +<p>“What? will he have been describing me?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Little else of it since I ever came out of France!” says +he, “forbye a bit of a speciment one night in Scotland in a +shaw of wood by Silvermills. But cheer up, my dear! ye’re +bonnier than what he said. And now there’s one thing +sure: you and me are to be a pair of friends. I’m a kind of +a henchman to Davie here; I’m like a tyke at his heels: and +whatever he cares for, I’ve got to care for too—and by the +holy airn! they’ve got to care for me! So now you can see +what way you stand with Alan Breck, and ye’ll find ye’ll +hardly lose on the transaction. He’s no’ very bonny, my +dear, but he’s leal to them he loves.”</p> + +<p>“I thank you with my heart for your good words,” said +she. “I have that honour for a brave, honest man that I +cannot find any to be answering with.”</p> + +<p>Using travellers’ freedom, we spared to wait for James +More, and sat down to meat, we threesome. Alan had +Catriona sit by him and wait upon his wants: he made her +drink first out of his glass, he surrounded her with continual +kind gallantries, and yet never gave me the most small +occasion to be jealous; and he kept the talk so much in his +own hand, and that in so merry a note, that neither she nor +I remembered to be embarrassed. If any had seen us there, +it must have been supposed that Alan was the old friend and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page284"></a>284</span> +I the stranger. Indeed, I had often cause to love and to +admire the man, but I never loved or admired him better +than that night; and I could not help remarking to myself +(what I was sometimes rather in danger of forgetting) that +he had not only much experience of life, but in his own way +a great deal of natural ability besides. As for Catriona, she +seemed quite carried away; her laugh was like a peal of +bells, her face gay as a May morning; and I own, although +I was very well pleased, yet I was a little sad also, and +thought myself a dull, stockish character in comparison of +my friend, and very unfit to come into a young maid’s life, +and perhaps ding down her gaiety.</p> + +<p>But if that was like to be my part, I found at least that +I was not alone in it; for, James More returning suddenly, +the girl was changed into a piece of stone. Through the rest +of that evening, until she made an excuse and slipped to bed, +I kept an eye upon her without cease: and I can bear testimony +that she never smiled, scarce spoke, and looked +mostly on the board in front of her. So that I really marvelled +to see so much devotion (as it used to be) changed into +the very sickness of hate.</p> + +<p>Of James More it is unnecessary to say much; you know +the man already, what there was to know of him; and I am +weary of writing out his lies. Enough that he drank a great +deal, and told us very little that was to any possible purpose. +As for the business with Alan, that was to be reserved for +the morrow and his private hearing.</p> + +<p>It was the more easy to be put off, because Alan and I +were pretty weary with our day’s ride, and sat not very late +after Catriona.</p> + +<p>We were soon alone in a chamber where we were to make +shift with a single bed. Alan looked on me with a queer +smile.</p> + +<p>“Ye muckle ass!” said he.</p> + +<p>“What do ye mean by that?” I cried.</p> + +<p>“Mean? What do I mean? It’s extraordinar, David +man,” says he, “that you should be so mortal stupit.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page285"></a>285</span></p> + +<p>Again I begged him to speak out.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s this of it,” said he. “I told ye there were +the two kinds of women—them that would sell their shifts +for ye, and the others. Just you try for yoursel’, my bonny +man.—But what’s that neepkin at your craig?”</p> + +<p>I told him.</p> + +<p>“I thocht it was something thereabout,” said he. + +Nor would he say another word, though I besieged him +long with importunities.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page286"></a>286</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER XXX</h3> + +<h5>THE LETTER FROM THE SHIP</h5> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">Daylight</span> showed us how solitary the inn stood. It was +plainly hard upon the sea, yet out of all view of it, and beset +on every side with scabbit hills of sand. There was, indeed, +only one thing in the nature of a prospect, where there stood +out over a brae the two sails of a windmill, like an ass’s ears, +but with the ass quite hidden. It was strange (after the +wind rose, for at first it was dead calm) to see the turning +and following of each other of these great sails behind the +hillock. Scarce any road came by there; but a number of +footways travelled among the bents in all directions up to +Mr. Bazin’s door. The truth is, he was a man of many +trades, not any one of them honest, and the position of his +inn was the best of his livelihood. Smugglers frequented +it; political agents and forfeited persons bound across the +water came there to await their passages; and I daresay +there was worse behind, for a whole family might have been +butchered in that house and nobody the wiser.</p> + +<p>I slept little and ill. Long ere it was day, I had slipped +from beside my bedfellow, and was warming myself at the +fire or walking to and fro before the door. Dawn broke +mighty sullen; but a little after sprang up a wind out of the +west, which burst the clouds, let through the sun, and set +the mill to the turning. There was something of spring in +the sunshine, or else it was in my heart; and the appearing +of the great sails one after another from behind the hill +diverted me extremely. At times I could hear a creak of the +machinery; and by half-past eight of the day Catriona +began to sing in the house. At this I would have cast my +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page287"></a>287</span> +hat in the air; and I thought this dreary, desert place was +like a paradise.</p> + +<p>For all which, as the day drew on and nobody came near, +I began to be aware of an uneasiness that I could scarce +explain. It seemed there was trouble afoot; the sails of the +windmill, as they came up and went down over the hill, were +like persons spying; and, outside of all fancy, it was surely +a strange neighbourhood and house for a young lady to be +brought to dwell in.</p> + +<p>At breakfast, which we took late, it was manifest that +James More was in some danger or perplexity; manifest +that Alan was alive to the same, and watched him close; and +this appearance of duplicity upon the one side, and vigilance +upon the other, held me on live coals. The meal was no +sooner over than James seemed to come to a resolve, and +began to make apologies. He had an appointment of a +private nature in the town (it was with the French nobleman, +he told me), and we would please excuse him till about noon. +Meanwhile, he carried his daughter aside to the far end of +the room, where he seemed to speak rather earnestly and +she to listen without much inclination.</p> + +<p>“I am caring less and less about this man James,” said +Alan. “There’s something no’ right with the man James, +and I wouldna wonder but what Alan Breck would give an +eye to him this day. I would like fine to see yon French +nobleman, Davie; and I daresay you could find an employ +to yoursel’, and that would be to speir at the lassie for some +news of your affair. Just tell it to her plainly—tell her +ye’re a muckle ass at the off-set; and then, if I were you, +and ye could do it naitural, I would just mint to her I was +in some kind of a danger; a’ weemen-folk likes that.”</p> + +<p>“I canna lee, Alan, I canna do it naitural,” says I, +mocking him.</p> + +<p>“The more fool you!” says he. “Then ye’ll can tell +her that I recommended it; that’ll set her to the laughing; +and I wouldna wonder but what that was the next best. +But see to the pair of them! If I didna feel just sure of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page288"></a>288</span> +lassie, and that she was awful pleased and chief with Alan, +I would think there was some kind of hocus-pocus about +yon.”</p> + +<p>“And is she so pleased with ye, then, Alan?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“She thinks a heap of me,” says he. “And I’m no’ +like you: I’m one that can tell. That she does—she thinks +a heap of Alan. And troth! I’m thinking a good deal of +him mysel’; and with your permission, Shaws, I’ll be +getting a wee yont amang the bents, so that I can see what +way James goes.”</p> + +<p>One after another went, till I was left alone beside the +breakfast-table; James to Dunkirk, Alan dogging him, +Catriona up the stairs to her own chamber. I could very +well understand how she should avoid to be alone with me; +yet was none the better pleased with it for that, and bent +my mind to entrap her to an interview before the men returned. +Upon the whole, the best appeared to me to do like +Alan. If I was out of view among the sandhills, the fine +morning would decoy her forth; and once I had her in the +open, I could please myself.</p> + +<p>No sooner said than done; nor was I long under the bield +of a hillock before she appeared at the inn-door, looked here +and there, and (seeing nobody) set out by a path that led +directly seaward, and by which I followed her. I was in no +haste to make my presence known; the farther she went I +made sure of the longer hearing to my suit; and the ground +being all sandy it was easy to follow her unheard. The path +rose and came at last to the head of a knowe. Thence I had +a picture for the first time of what a desolate wilderness that +inn stood hidden in; where was no man to be seen, nor any +house of man, except just Bazin’s and the windmill. Only a +little farther on, the sea appeared and two or three ships +upon it, pretty as a drawing. One of these was extremely +close in to be so great a vessel; and I was aware of a shock +of new suspicion, when I recognised the trim of the <i>Seahorse</i>. +What should an English ship be doing so near in to France? +Why was Alan brought into her neighbourhood, and that in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289"></a>289</span> +a place so far from any hope of rescue? and was it by accident, +or by design, that the daughter of James More should +walk that day to the seaside?</p> + +<p>Presently I came forth behind her in the front of the +sandhills and above the beach. It was here long and solitary; +with a man-o’-war’s boat drawn up about the middle of +the prospect, and an officer in charge and pacing the sands +like one who waited. I sat immediately down where the +rough grass a good deal covered me, and looked for what +should follow. Catriona went straight to the boat; the officer +met her with civilities; they had ten words together; I saw +a letter changing hands; and there was Catriona returning. +At the same time, as if this were all her business on the Continent, +the boat shoved off and was headed for the <i>Seahorse</i>. +But I observed the officer to remain behind and disappear +among the bents.</p> + +<p>I liked the business little; and, the more I considered +of it, liked it less. Was it Alan the officer was seeking? or +Catriona? She drew near with her head down, looking constantly +on the sand, and made so tender a picture that I +could not bear to doubt her innocence. The next, she +raised her face and recognised me; seemed to hesitate, and +then came on again, but more slowly, and I thought with a +changed colour. And at that thought, all else that was upon +my bosom—fears, suspicions, the care of my friend’s life—was +clean swallowed up; and I rose to my feet and stood +waiting her in a drunkenness of hope.</p> + +<p>I gave her “good-morning” as she came up, which she +returned with a good deal of composure.</p> + +<p>“Will you forgive my having followed you?” said I.</p> + +<p>“I know you are always meaning kindly,” she replied; +and then, with a little outburst, “but why will you be sending +money to that man? It must not be.”</p> + +<p>“I never sent it for him,” said I, “but for you, as you +know well.”</p> + +<p>“And you have no right to be sending it to either one of +us,” said she. “David, it is not right.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page290"></a>290</span></p> + +<p>“It is not, it is all wrong,” said I; “and I pray God He +will help this dull fellow (if it be at all possible) to make it +better. Catriona, this is no kind of life for you to lead; and +I ask your pardon for the word, but yon man is no fit father +to take care of you.”</p> + +<p>“Do not be speaking of him, even!” was her cry.</p> + +<p>“And I need speak of him no more; it is not of him that +I am thinking—O, be sure of that!” says I. “I think of +the one thing. I have been alone now this long time in +Leyden; and when I was by way of at my studies, still I +was thinking of that. Next Alan came, and I went among +soldier-men to their big dinners; and still I had the same +thought. And it was the same before, when I had her there +beside me. Catriona, do you see this napkin at my throat? +You cut a corner from it once and then cast it from you. +They’re <i>your</i> colours now; I wear them in my heart. My +dear, I cannot be wanting you. O, try to put up with me!”</p> + +<p>I stepped before her so as to intercept her walking on.</p> + +<p>“Try to put up with me,” I was saying, “try and bear +with me a little.”</p> + +<p>Still she had never the word, and a fear began to rise in +me like a fear of death.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” I cried, gazing on her hard, “is it a mistake +again? Am I quite lost?”</p> + +<p>She raised her face to me, breathless.</p> + +<p>“Do you want me, Davie, truly?” said she, and I scarce +could hear her say it.</p> + +<p>“I do that,” said I. “O, sure you know it—I do that.”</p> + +<p>“I have nothing left to give or to keep back,” said she. +“I was all yours from the first day, if you would have had a +gift of me!” she said.</p> + +<p>This was on the summit of a brae; the place was windy +and conspicuous, we were to be seen there even from the +English ship; but I kneeled down before her in the sand, +and embraced her knees, and burst into that storm of weeping +that I thought it must have broken me. All thought was +wholly beaten from my mind by the vehemency of my discomposure. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page291"></a>291</span> +I knew not where I was, I had forgot why I +was happy; only I knew she stooped, and I felt her cherish +me to her face and bosom, and heard her words out of a +whirl.</p> + +<p>“Davie,” she was saying, “O, Davie, is this what you +think of me? Is it so that you were caring for poor me? +O, Davie, Davie!”</p> + +<p>With that she wept also, and our tears were commingled +in a perfect gladness.</p> + +<p>It might have been ten in the day before I came to a +clear sense of what a mercy had befallen me; and sitting +over against her, with her hands in mine, gazed in her face, +and laughed out loud for pleasure like a child, and called +her foolish and kind names. I have never seen the place +that looked so pretty as these bents by Dunkirk; and the +windmill sails, as they bobbed over the knowe, were like +a tune of music.</p> + +<p>I know not how much longer we might have continued +to forget all else besides ourselves, had I not chanced upon +a reference to her father, which brought us to reality.</p> + +<p>“My little friend,” I was calling her again and again, +rejoicing to summon up the past by the sound of it, and to +gaze across on her, and to be a little distant—“My little +friend, now you are mine altogether; mine for good, my +little friend; and that man’s no longer at all.”</p> + +<p>There came a sudden whiteness in her face, she plucked +her hands from mine.</p> + +<p>“Davie, take me away from him!” she cried. “There’s +something wrong; he’s not true. There will be something +wrong; I have a dreadful terror here at my heart. What +will he be wanting at all events with that King’s ship? +What will this word be saying?” And she held the letter +forth. “My mind misgives me, it will be some ill to Alan. +Open it, Davie—open it and see.”</p> + +<p>I took it, and looked at it, and shook my head.</p> + +<p>“No,” said I, “it goes against me, I cannot open a +man’s letter.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page292"></a>292</span></p> + +<p>“Not to save your friend?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“I canna tell,” said I. “I think not. If I was only +sure!”</p> + +<p>“And you have but to break the seal!” said she.</p> + +<p>“I know it,” said I, “but the thing goes against +me.”</p> + +<p>“Give it here,” said she, “and I will open it myself.”</p> + +<p>“Nor you neither,” said I. “You least of all. It +concerns your father, and his honour, dear, which we are +both misdoubting. No question but the place is dangerous-like, +and the English ship being here, and your father having +word from it, and yon officer that stayed ashore! He would +not be alone either; there must be more along with him; +I daresay we are spied upon this minute. Ay, no doubt, +the letter should be opened; but somehow, not by you nor +me.”</p> + +<p>I was about thus far with it, and my spirit very much +overcome with a sense of danger and hidden enemies, when +I spied Alan, come back again from following James, and +walking by himself among the sandhills. He was in his +soldier’s coat, of course, and mighty fine; but I could not +avoid to shudder when I thought how little that jacket +would avail him, if he were once caught and flung in a skiff, +and carried on board of the <i>Seahorse</i>, a deserter, a rebel, +and now a condemned murderer.</p> + +<p>“There,” said I, “there is the man that has the best +right to open it: or not, as he thinks fit.”</p> + +<p>With which I called upon his name, and we both stood +up to be a mark for him.</p> + +<p>“If it is so—if it be more disgrace—will you can bear +it?” she asked, looking upon me with a burning eye.</p> + +<p>“I was asked something of the same question when +I had seen you but the once,” said I. “What do you think +I answered? That if I liked you as I thought I did—and +O, but I like you better!—I would marry you at his gallows’ +foot.”</p> + +<p>The blood rose in her face; she came close up and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293"></a>293</span> +pressed upon me, holding my hand: and it was so that we +awaited Alan.</p> + +<p>He came with one of his queer smiles. “What was +I telling ye, David?” says he.</p> + +<p>“There is a time for all things, Alan,” said I, “and this +time is serious. How have you sped? You can speak +out plain before this friend of ours.”</p> + +<p>“I have been upon a fool’s errand,” said he.</p> + +<p>“I doubt we have done better than you, then,” said I; +“and, at least, here is a great deal of matter that you must +judge of. Do you see that?” I went on, pointing to the +ship. “That is the <i>Seahorse</i>, Captain Palliser.”</p> + +<p>“I should ken her, too,” says Alan. “I had fyke +enough with her when she was stationed in the Forth. But +what ails the man to come so close?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you why he came there first,” said I. “It +was to bring this letter to James More. Why he stops here +now that it’s delivered, what it’s likely to be about, why +there’s an officer hiding in the bents, and whether or not +it’s probable that he’s alone—I would rather you considered +for yourself.”</p> + +<p>“A letter to James More?” said he.</p> + +<p>“The same,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Well, and I can tell ye more than that,” said Alan. +“For last night, when you were fast asleep, I heard the +man colloguing with some one in the French, and then the +door of that inn to be opened and shut.”</p> + +<p>“Alan!” cried I, “you slept all night, and I am here +to prove it.”</p> + +<p>“Ay, but I would never trust Alan whether he was +asleep or waking!” says he. “But the business looks +bad. Let’s see the letter.”</p> + +<p>I gave it him.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” said he, “ye’ll have to excuse me, my +dear; but there’s nothing less than my fine bones upon the +cast of it, and I’ll have to break this seal.”</p> + +<p>“It is my wish,” said Catriona.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page294"></a>294</span></p> + +<p>He opened it, glanced it through, and flung his hand in +the air.</p> + +<p>“The stinking brock!” says he, and crammed the paper +in his pocket. “Here, let’s get our things thegither. This +place is fair death to me.” And he began to walk towards +the inn.</p> + +<p>It was Catriona that spoke first. “He has sold you?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“Sold me, my dear,” said Alan. “But thanks to you +and Davie, I’ll can jink him yet. Just let me win upon my +horse!” he added.</p> + +<p>“Catriona must come with us,” said I. “She can have +no more traffic with that man. She and I are to be +married.” At which she pressed my hand to her +side.</p> + +<p>“Are ye there with it?” says Alan, looking back. “The +best day’s work that ever either of ye did yet! And I’m +bound to say, my dawtie, ye make a real bonny couple.”</p> + +<p>The way that he was following brought us close in by +the windmill, where I was aware of a man in seaman’s +trousers, who seemed to be spying from behind it. Only, +of course, we took him in the rear.</p> + +<p>“See, Alan!” said I.</p> + +<p>“Wheesht!” said he, “this is my affairs.”</p> + +<p>The man was, no doubt, a little deafened by the clattering +of the mill, and we got up close before he noticed. Then +he turned, and we saw he was a big fellow with a mahogany +face.</p> + +<p>“I think, sir,” says Alan, “that you speak the +English?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Non, monsieur</i>,” says he, with an incredible bad +accent.</p> + +<p>“<i>Non, monsieur</i>,” cries Alan, mocking him. “Is that +how they learn you French on the <i>Seahorse</i>? Ye muckle, +gutsey hash, here’s a Scots boot to your English hurdies!”</p> + +<p>And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt +the man a kick that laid him on his nose. Then he stood, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page295"></a>295</span> +with a savage smile, and watched him scramble to his feet +and scamper off into the sandhills.</p> + +<p>“But it’s high time I was clear of these empty bents!” +said Alan; and continued his way at top speed, and we still +following, to the back-door of Bazin’s inn.</p> + +<p>It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came +face to face with James More entering by the other.</p> + +<p>“Here!” said I to Catriona, “quick! upstairs with you +and make your packets; this is no fit scene for you.”</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile James and Alan had met in the midst +of the long room. She passed them close by to reach the +stairs; and after she was some way up I saw her turn and +glance at them again, though without pausing. Indeed, +they were worth looking at. Alan wore as they met one +of his best appearances of courtesy and friendliness, yet with +something eminently warlike, so that James smelled danger +off the man, as folk smell fire in a house, and stood prepared +for accidents.</p> + +<p>Time pressed. Alan’s situation in that solitary place, +and his enemies about him, might have daunted Cæsar. +It made no change in him; and it was in his old spirit of +mockery and daffing that he began the interview.</p> + +<p>“A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond,” said +he. “What’ll yon business of yours be just about?”</p> + +<p>“Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long +story,” says James, “I think it will keep very well till we +have eaten.”</p> + +<p>“I’m none so sure of that,” said Alan. “It sticks in +my mind it’s either now or never; for the fact is me and +Mr. Balfour here have gotten a line, and we’re thinking of +the road.”</p> + +<p>I saw a little surprise in James’s eye; but he held himself +stoutly.</p> + +<p>“I have but the one word to say to cure you of that,” +said he, “and that is the name of my business.”</p> + +<p>“Say it, then,” says Alan. “Hout! wha minds for +Davie?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page296"></a>296</span></p> + +<p>“It is a matter that would make us both rich men,” +said James.</p> + +<p>“Do ye tell me that?” cries Alan.</p> + +<p>“I do, sir,” said James. “The plain fact is that it is +Cluny’s Treasure.”</p> + +<p>“No!” cried Alan. “Have ye got word of it?”</p> + +<p>“I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there,” +said James.</p> + +<p>“This crowns all!” says Alan. “Well, and I’m glad +I came to Dunkirk. And so this was your business, was +it? Halvers, I’m thinking?”</p> + +<p>“That is the business, sir,” says James.</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” says Alan; and then in the same tone of +childlike interest, “it has naething to do with the <i>Seahorse</i>, +then?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“With what?” says James.</p> + +<p>“Or the lad that I have just kicked the bottom of behind +yon windmill?” pursued Alan. “Hut, man! have +done with your lees! I have Palliser’s letter here in my +pouch.—You’re by with it, James More. You can never +show your face again with dacent folk.”</p> + +<p>James was taken all aback with it. He stood a second, +motionless and white, then swelled with the living anger.</p> + +<p>“Do you talk to me, you bastard?” he roared out.</p> + +<p>“Ye glee’d swine!” cried Alan, and hit him a sounding +buffet in the mouth, and the next wink of time their blades +clashed together.</p> + +<p>At the first sound of the bare steel I instinctively leaped +back from the collision. The next I saw, James parried +a thrust so nearly that I thought him killed; and it lowed +up in my mind that this was the girl’s father, and in a +manner almost my own, and I drew and ran in to sever +them.</p> + +<p>“Keep back, Davie! Are ye daft? Damn ye, keep +back!” roared Alan. “Your blood be on your ain heid +then!”</p> + +<p>I beat their blades down twice. I was knocked reeling +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page297"></a>297</span> +against the wall; I was back again betwixt them. They +took no heed of me, thrusting at each other like two furies. +I can never think how I avoided being stabbed myself or +stabbing one of these two Rodomonts, and the whole business +turned about me like a piece of a dream; in the midst +of which I heard a great cry from the stair, and Catriona +sprang before her father. In the same moment the point +of my sword encountered something yielding. It came +back to me reddened. I saw the blood flow on the girl’s +kerchief, and stood sick.</p> + +<p>“Will you be killing him before my eyes, and me his +daughter after all?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“My dear, I have done with him,” said Alan, and went +and sat on a table, with his arms crossed and the sword +naked in his hand.</p> + +<p>A while she stood before the man, panting, with big +eyes, then swung suddenly about and faced him.</p> + +<p>“Begone!” was her word, “take your shame out of +my sight; leave me with clean folk. I am a daughter of +Alpin! Shame of the sons of Alpin, begone!”</p> + +<p>It was said with so much passion as awoke me from +the horror of my own bloodied sword. The two stood +facing, she with the red stain on her kerchief, he white as +a rag. I knew him well enough—I knew it must have +pierced him in the quick place of his soul; but he betook +himself to a bravado air.</p> + +<p>“Why,” says he, sheathing his sword, though still with +a bright eye on Alan, “if this brawl is over I will but get +my portmanteau——”</p> + +<p>“There goes no pockmantie out of this place except +with me!” says Alan.</p> + +<p>“Sir!” cries James.</p> + +<p>“James More,” says Alan, “this lady daughter of yours +is to marry my friend Davie, upon the which account I let +you pack with a hale carcase. But take you my advice of +it and get that carcase out of harm’s way or ower late. +Little as you suppose it, there are leemits to my temper.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page298"></a>298</span></p> + +<p>“Be damned, sir, but my money’s there!” said James.</p> + +<p>“I’m vexed about that too,” says Alan, with his funny +face, “but now, ye see, it’s mine’s.” And then with more +gravity, “Be you advised, James More, you leave this +house.”</p> + +<p>James seemed to cast about for a moment in his mind; +but it’s to be thought he had enough of Alan’s swordsmanship, +for he suddenly put off his hat to us and (with a face +like one of the damned) bade us farewell in a series. With +which he was gone.</p> + +<p>At the same time a spell was lifted from me.</p> + +<p>“Catriona,” I cried, “it was me—it was my sword. +O, are ye much hurt?”</p> + +<p>“I know it, Davie, I am loving you for the pain of it; +it was done defending that bad man, my father. See!” +she said, and showed me a bleeding scratch, “see, you have +made a man of me now. I will carry a wound like an old +soldier.”</p> + +<p>Joy that she should be so little hurt, and the love of her +brave nature, transported me. I embraced her, I kissed +the wound.</p> + +<p>“And am I to be out of the kissing, me that never lost +a chance?” says Alan; and putting me aside and taking +Catriona by either shoulder, “My dear,” he said, “you’re +a true daughter of Alpin. By all accounts, he was a very +fine man, and he may weel be proud of you. If ever I was +to get married, it’s the marrow of you I would be seeking +for a mother to my sons. And I bear a king’s name and +speak the truth.”</p> + +<p>He said it with a serious heat of admiration that was +honey to the girl, and, through her, to me. It seemed to +wipe us clean of all James More’s disgraces. And the next +moment he was just himself again.</p> + +<p>“And now by your leave, my dawties,” said he, “this +is a’ very bonny; but Alan Breck’ll be a wee thing nearer +to the gallows than he’s caring for; and, Dod! I think this +is a grand place to be leaving.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page299"></a>299</span></p> + +<p>The word recalled us to some wisdom. Alan ran upstairs +and returned with our saddle-bags and James More’s +portmanteau; I picked up Catriona’s bundle where she had +dropped it on the stair; and we were setting forth out of +that dangerous house, when Bazin stopped the way with +cries and gesticulations. He had whipped under a table +when the swords were drawn, but now he was as bold as a +lion. There was his bill to be settled, there was a chair +broken, Alan had sat among his dinner things, James More +had fled.</p> + +<p>“Here,” I cried, “pay yourself,” and flung him down +some Lewie d’ors; for I thought it was no time to be +accounting.</p> + +<p>He sprang upon that money, and we passed him by, and +ran forth into the open. Upon three sides of the house +were seamen hasting and closing in; a little nearer to us +James More waved his hat as if to hurry them; and right +behind him, like some foolish person holding up its hands, +were the sails of the windmill turning.</p> + +<p>Alan gave but the one glance, and laid himself down +to run. He carried a great weight in James More’s portmanteau; +but I think he would as soon have lost his life +as cast away that booty which was his revenge; and he +ran so that I was distressed to follow him, and marvelled +and exulted to see the girl bounding at my side.</p> + +<p>As soon as we appeared, they cast off all disguise upon +the other side; and the seamen pursued us with shouts and +view-hullohs. We had a start of some two hundred yards, +and they were but bandy-legged tarpaulins after all, that +could not hope to better us at such an exercise. I suppose +they were armed, but did not care to use their pistols on +French ground. And as soon as I perceived that we not +only held our advantage, but drew a little away, I began +to feel quite easy of the issue. For all which, it was a hot, +brisk bit of work, so long as it lasted; Dunkirk was still +far off; and when we popped over a knowe, and found a +company of the garrison marching on the other side on some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page300"></a>300</span> +manœuvre, I could very well understand the word that +Alan had.</p> + +<p>He stopped running at once; and mopping at his +brow, “They’re a real bonny folk, the French nation,” +says he.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page301"></a>301</span></p> + +<h3>CONCLUSION</h3> + +<p class="noind"><span class="sc">No</span> sooner were we safe within the walls of Dunkirk than +we held a very necessary council of war on our position. +We had taken a daughter from her father at the sword’s +point; any judge would give her back to him at once, and +by all likelihood clap me and Alan into gaol; and though +we had an argument upon our side in Captain Palliser’s +letter, neither Catriona nor I were very keen to be using +it in public. Upon all accounts it seemed the most prudent +to carry the girl to Paris, to the hands of her own chieftain, +Macgregor of Bohaldie, who would be very willing to help +his kinswoman on the one hand, and not at all anxious to +dishonour James upon the other.</p> + +<p>We made but a slow journey of it up, for Catriona was +not so good at the riding as the running, and had scarce +sat in a saddle since the ’Forty-five. But we made it out +at last, reached Paris early of a Sabbath morning, and +made all speed, under Alan’s guidance, to find Bohaldie. +He was finely lodged, and lived in a good style, having a +pension on the Scots Fund, as well as private means; greeted +Catriona like one of his own house, and seemed altogether +very civil and discreet, but not particularly open. We +asked of the news of James More. “Poor James!” said he, +and shook his head and smiled, so that I thought he knew +further than he meant to tell. Then we showed him +Palliser’s letter, and he drew a long face at that.</p> + +<p>“Poor James!” said he again. “Well, there are +worse folk than James More too. But this is dreadful +bad. Tut, tut, he must have forgot himself entirely! This +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page302"></a>302</span> +is a most undesirable letter. But, for all that, gentlemen, +I cannot see what we would want to make it public for. +It’s an ill bird that fouls his own nest, and we are all Scots +folk, and all Hieland.”</p> + +<p>Upon this we were all agreed, save perhaps Alan; and +still more upon the question of our marriage, which Bohaldie +took in his own hands, as though there had been no such +person as James More, and gave Catriona away with very +pretty manners and agreeable compliments in French. It +was not till all was over, and our healths drunk, that he +told us James was in that city, whither he had preceded us +some days, and where he now lay sick, and like to die. I +thought I saw by my wife’s face what way her inclination +pointed.</p> + +<p>“And let us go see him, then,” said I.</p> + +<p>“If it is your pleasure,” said Catriona. These were +early days.</p> + +<p>He was lodged in the same quarter of the city with his +chief, in a great house upon a corner; and we were guided +up to the garret where he lay by the sound of Highland +piping. It seemed he had just borrowed a set of them +from Bohaldie to amuse his sickness; though he was no +such hand as was his brother Rob, he made good music of +the kind; and it was strange to observe the French folk +crowding on the stairs, and some of them laughing. He +lay propped in a pallet. The first look of him I saw he was +upon his last business; and, doubtless, this was a strange +place for him to die in. But even now I find I can scarce +dwell upon his end with patience. Doubtless, Bohaldie +had prepared him; he seemed to know we were married, +complimented us on the event, and gave us a benediction +like a patriarch.</p> + +<p>“I have been never understood,” said he. “I forgive +you both without an afterthought”; after which he spoke +for all the world in his old manner, was so obliging as to +play us a tune or two upon his pipes, and borrowed a small +sum before I left. I could not trace even a hint of shame +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page303"></a>303</span> +in any part of his behaviour; but he was great upon forgiveness; +it seemed always fresh to him. I think he forgave +me every time we met; and when after some four days +he passed away in a kind of odour of affectionate sanctity, +I could have torn my hair out for exasperation. I had him +buried; but what to put upon his tomb was quite beyond +me, till at last I considered the date would look best alone.</p> + +<p>I thought it wiser to resign all thoughts of Leyden, where +we had appeared once as brother and sister, and it would +certainly look strange to return in a new character. Scotland +would be doing for us; and thither, after I had recovered +that which I had left behind, we sailed in a Low +Country ship.</p> + +<p>And now, Miss Barbara Balfour (to set the ladies first), +and Mr. Alan Balfour, younger of Shaws, here is the story +brought fairly to an end. A great many of the folk that +took a part in it you will find (if you think well) that you +have seen and spoken with. Alison Hastie in Limekilns +was the lass that rocked your cradle when you were too +small to know of it, and walked abroad with you in the +policy when you were bigger. That very fine great lady +that is Miss Barbara’s name-mamma is no other than the +same Miss Grant that made so much a fool of David Balfour +in the house of the Lord Advocate. And I wonder whether +you remember a little, lean, lively gentleman in a scratch-wig +and a wraprascal, that came to Shaws very late of a +dark night, and whom ye were awakened out of your beds +and brought down to the dining-hall to be presented to, +by the name of Mr. Jamieson? Or has Alan forgotten what +he did at Mr. Jamieson’s request—a most disloyal act—for +which, by the letter of the law, he might be hanged—no +less than drinking the king’s health <i>across the water</i>? These +were strange doings in a good Whig house! But Mr. +Jamieson is a man privileged, and might set fire to my corn-barn; +and the name they know him by now in France is +the Chevalier Stewart.</p> + +<p>As for Davie and Catriona, I shall watch you pretty +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page304"></a>304</span> +close in the next days, and see if you are so bold as to be +laughing at papa and mamma. It is true we were not so +wise as we might have been, and made a great deal of sorrow +out of nothing; but you will find as you grow up that even +the artful Miss Barbara, and even the valiant Mr. Alan, +will be not so very much wiser than their parents. For the +life of man upon this world of ours is a funny business. +They talk of the angels weeping; but I think they must +more often be holding their sides, as they look on; and there +was one thing I determined to do when I began this long +story, and that was to tell out everything as it befell.</p> + + +<hr class="art" /> + +<h5>END OF VOL. XI</h5> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + +<hr class="full" /> +<p class="center noind sc" style="font-size: 65%;"> +PRINTED BY CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED, LA BELLE SAUVAGE, LONDON, E.C.</p> +<hr class="full" /> +<div class="pt2"> </div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - +Swanston Edition Vol. 11 (of 25), by Robert Louis Stevenson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOUIS *** + +***** This file should be named 30870-h.htm or 30870-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/8/7/30870/ + +Produced by Marius Masi, Jonathan Ingram and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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