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diff --git a/old/ctrna11h.htm b/old/ctrna11h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9b823aa --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ctrna11h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11461 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII"> +<title>Catriona</title> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Catriona, by Robert Louis Stevenson</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Catriona, by Robert Louis Stevenson +(#25 in our series by Robert Louis Stevenson) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Catriona + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + +Release Date: July, 1996 [EBook #589] +[This file was first posted on May 15, 1996] +[Most recently updated: May 20, 2002] + +Edition: 11 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII +</pre> +<p> +<a name="startoftext"></a> +Transcribed from the 1904 Cassell and Company edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CATRIONA<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +DEDICATION.<br> +<br> +<br> +TO CHARLES BAXTER, <i>Writer to the Signet.<br> +<br> +<br> +</i>My Dear Charles,<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +R. L. S.<br> +Vailima, Upolu,<br> +Samoa, 1892.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CATRIONA - Part I - THE LORD ADVOCATE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER I - A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David Balfour, +came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending me with +a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing me from +their doors. Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning, +I was like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to +my last shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on +my own head for a crime with the news of which the country rang. +To-day I was served heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank +porter by me carrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in +the words of the saying) the ball directly at my foot.<br> +<br> +There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail. +The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still to +handle; the second, the place that I was in. The tall, black city, +and the numbers and movement and noise of so many folk, made a new world +for me, after the moorland braes, the sea-sands and the still country-sides +that I had frequented up to then. The throng of the citizens in +particular abashed me. Rankeillor’s son was short and small +in the girth; his clothes scarce held on me; and it was plain I was +ill qualified to strut in the front of a bank-porter. It was plain, +if I did so, I should but set folk laughing, and (what was worse in +my case) set them asking questions. So that I behooved to come +by some clothes of my own, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porter’s +side, and put my hand on his arm as though we were a pair of friends.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Naething kenspeckle,” <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</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 has waired +my siller better-gates than that.” And he proposed I should +buy winter-hosen from a wife in the Cowgate-back, that was a cousin +of his own, and made them “extraordinar endurable.”<br> +<br> +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 a piece of little wisdom, the way I was +now placed, to take such a ferret to my tails. I had three visits +to make, all immediately needful: to my kinsman Mr. Balfour of Pilrig, +to Stewart the Writer that was Appin’s agent, and to William Grant +Esquire of Prestongrange, Lord Advocate of Scotland. Mr. Balfour’s +was a non-committal visit; and besides (Pilrig being in the country) +I made bold to find the way to it myself, with the help of my two legs +and a Scots tongue. But the rest were in a different case. +Not only was the visit to Appin’s agent, in the midst of the cry +about the Appin murder, dangerous in itself, but it was highly inconsistent +with the other. I was like to have a bad enough time of it with +my Lord Advocate Grant, the best of ways; but to go to him hot-foot +from Appin’s agent, was little likely to mend my own affairs, +and might prove the mere ruin of friend Alan’s. The whole +thing, besides, gave me a look of running with the hare and hunting +with the hounds that was little to my fancy. I determined, therefore, +to be done at once with Mr. Stewart and the whole Jacobitical side of +my business, and to profit for that purpose by the guidance of the porter +at my side. But it chanced I had scarce given him the address, +when there came a sprinkle of rain - nothing to hurt, only for my new +clothes - and we took shelter under a pend at the head of a close or +alley.<br> +<br> +Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther in. The +narrow paved way descended swiftly. Prodigious tall houses sprang +upon each side and bulged out, one storey beyond another, as they rose. +At the top only a ribbon of sky showed in. By what I could spy +in the windows, and by the respectable persons that passed out and in, +I saw the houses to be very well occupied; and the whole appearance +of the place interested me like a tale.<br> +<br> +I was still gazing, when there came a sudden brisk tramp of feet in +time and clash of steel behind me. Turning quickly, I was aware +of a party of armed soldiers, and, in their midst, a tall man in a great +coat. He walked with a stoop that was like a piece of courtesy, +genteel and insinuating: he waved his hands plausibly as he went, and +his face was sly and handsome. I thought his eye took me in, but +could not meet it. This procession went by to a door in the close, +which a serving-man in a fine livery set open; and two of the soldier-lads +carried the prisoner within, the rest lingering with their firelocks +by the door.<br> +<br> +There can nothing pass in the streets of a city without some following +of idle folk and children. It was so now; but the more part melted +away incontinent until but three were left. One was a girl; she +was dressed like a lady, and had a screen of the Drummond colours on +her head; but her comrades or (I should say) followers were ragged gillies, +such as I had seen the matches of by the dozen in my Highland journey. +They all spoke together earnestly in Gaelic, the sound of which was +pleasant in my ears for the sake of Alan; and, though the rain was by +again, and my porter plucked at me to be going, I even drew nearer where +they were, to listen. The lady scolded sharply, the others making +apologies and cringeing before her, so that I made sure she was come +of a chief’s house. All the while the three of them sought +in their pockets, and by what I could make out, they had the matter +of half a farthing among the party; which made me smile a little to +see all Highland folk alike for fine obeisances and empty sporrans.<br> +<br> +It chanced the girl turned suddenly about, so that I saw her face for +the first time. There is no greater wonder than the way the face +of a young woman fits in a man’s mind, and stays there, and he +could never tell you why; it just seems it was the thing he wanted. +She had wonderful bright eyes like stars, and I daresay the eyes had +a part in it; but what I remember the most clearly was the way her lips +were a trifle open as she turned. And, whatever was the cause, +I stood there staring like a fool. On her side, as she had not +known there was anyone so near, she looked at me a little longer, and +perhaps with more surprise, than was entirely civil.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +I had often admired a lassie before then, if scarce so sudden and strong; +and it was rather my disposition to withdraw than to come forward, for +I was much in fear of mockery from the womenkind. You would have +thought I had now all the more reason to pursue my common practice, +since I had met this young lady in the city street, seemingly following +a prisoner, and accompanied with two very ragged indecent-like Highlandmen. +But there was here a different ingredient; it was plain the girl thought +I had been prying in her secrets; and with my new clothes and sword, +and at the top of my new fortunes, this was more than I could swallow. +The beggar on horseback could not bear to be thrust down so low, or, +at least of it, not by this young lady.<br> +<br> +I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her the best that +I was able.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She made me a little, distant curtsey. “There is no harm +done,” said she, with a pretty accent, most like the English (but +more agreeable). “A cat may look at a king.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Indeed, it will be a very unusual thing for strangers to be speaking +to each other on the causeway,” she replied. “But +if you are landward <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</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.”<br> +<br> +“It is not yet a week since I passed the line,” said I. +“Less than a week ago I was on the braes of Balwhidder.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan Dhu Maclaren,” +I replied.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ay,” said I, “they are fine people, and the place +is a bonny place.”<br> +<br> +“Where in the great world is such another!” she cries; “I +am loving the smell of that place and the roots that grow there.”<br> +<br> +I was infinitely taken with the spirit of the maid. “I could +be wishing I had brought you a spray of that heather,” says I. +“And, though I did ill to speak with you at the first, now it +seems we have common acquaintance, I make it my petition you will not +forget me. David Balfour is the name I am known by. This +is my lucky day, when I have just come into a landed estate, and am +not very long out of a deadly peril. I wish you would keep my +name in mind for the sake of Balwhidder,” said I, “and I +will yours for the sake of my lucky day.”<br> +<br> +“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="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a> +Catriona Drummond is the one I use.”<br> +<br> +Now indeed I knew where I was standing. In all broad Scotland +there was but the one name proscribed, and that was the name of the +Macgregors. Yet so far from fleeing this undesirable acquaintancy, +I plunged the deeper in.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Did ye so?” cries she. “Ye met Rob?”<br> +<br> +“I passed the night with him,” said I.<br> +<br> +“He is a fowl of the night,” said she.<br> +<br> +“There was a set of pipes there,” I went on, “so you +may judge if the time passed.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Is it so?” cried I. “Are you a daughter of +James More’s?”<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Miss Drummond,” I said, “I told you I was in my lucky +day. Here I am, and a bank-porter at my tail. And remember +I have had the hospitality of your own country of Balwhidder.”<br> +<br> +“It was not one of my people gave it,” said she.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“If it had been a great sum, it might have done you honour,” +said she; “but I will tell you what this is. James More +lies shackled in prison; but this time past they will be bringing him +down here daily to the Advocate’s. . . .”<br> +<br> +“The Advocate’s!” I cried. “Is that . +. . ?”<br> +<br> +“It is the house of the Lord Advocate Grant of Prestongrange,” +said she. “There they bring my father one time and another, +for what purpose I have no thought in my mind; but it seems there is +some hope dawned for him. All this same time they will not let +me be seeing him, nor yet him write; and we wait upon the King’s +street to catch him; and now we give him his snuff as he goes by, and +now something else. And here is this son of trouble, Neil, son +of Duncan, has lost my four-penny piece that was to buy that snuff, +and James More must go wanting, and will think his daughter has forgotten +him.”<br> +<br> +I took sixpence from my pocket, gave it to Neil, and bade him go about +his errand. Then to her, “That sixpence came with me by +Balwhidder,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Ah!” she said, “you are a friend to the Gregara!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“The one cannot be without the other,” said she.<br> +<br> +“I will even try,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And what will you be thinking of myself!” she cried, “to +be holding my hand to the first stranger!”<br> +<br> +“I am thinking nothing but that you are a good daughter,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“I must not be without repaying it,” she said; “where +is it you stop!”<br> +<br> +“To tell the truth, I am stopping nowhere yet,” said I, +“being not full three hours in the city; but if you will give +me your direction, I will he no bold as come seeking my sixpence for +myself.”<br> +<br> +“Will I can trust you for that?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“You need have little fear,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I thoucht ye had been a lad of some kind o’ sense,” +he began, shooting out his lips. “Ye’re no likely +to gang far this gate. A fule and his siller’s shune parted. +Eh, but ye’re a green callant!” he cried, “an’ +a veecious, tae! Cleikin’ up wi’ baubeejoes!”<br> +<br> +“If you dare to speak of the young lady. . . ” I began.<br> +<br> +“Leddy!” he cried. “Haud us and safe us, whatten +leddy? Ca’<i> thon </i>a leddy? The toun’s fu’ +o’ them. Leddies! Man, its weel seen ye’re no +very acquant in Embro!”<br> +<br> +A clap of anger took me.<br> +<br> +“Here,” said I, “lead me where I told you, and keep +your foul mouth shut!”<br> +<br> +He did not wholly obey me, for, though he no more addressed me directly, +he very impudent sang at me as he went in a manner of innuendo, and +with an exceedingly ill voice and ear -<br> +<br> +<br> +“As Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee,<br> +She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee.<br> +And we’re a’ gaun east and wast, we’re a’ gann +ajee,<br> +We’re a’ gaun east and wast courtin’ Mally Lee.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER II - THE HIGHLAND WRITER<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair +ever mason set a hand to; fifteen flights of it, no less; and when I +had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his master +was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my porter packing.<br> +<br> +“Awa’ east and west wi’ ye!” said I, took the +money bag out of his hands, and followed the clerk in.<br> +<br> +The outer room was an office with the clerk’s chair at a table +spread with law papers. In the inner chamber, which opened from +it, a little brisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raised +his eyes on my entrance; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, +as though prepared to show me out and fall again to his studies. +This pleased me little enough; and what pleased me less, I thought the +clerk was in a good posture to overhear what should pass between us.<br> +<br> +I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer.<br> +<br> +“The same,” says he; “and, if the question is equally +fair, who may you be yourself?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man ill-pleased, +sent forth his clerk of an errand, and shut to the house-door behind +him.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Put it in your pocket, sir!” cries he. “Ye +need name no names. The deevil’s buckie, I ken the button +of him! And de’il hae’t! Where is he now!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I needn’t ask your politics,” said he.<br> +<br> +“Ye need not,” said I, smiling, “for I’m as +big a Whig as grows.”<br> +<br> +“Stop a bit, stop a bit,” says Mr. Stewart. “What’s +all this? A Whig? Then why are you here with Alan’s +button? and what kind of a black-foot traffic is this that I find ye +out in, Mr. Whig? Here is a forfeited rebel and an accused murderer, +with two hundred pounds on his life, and ye ask me to meddle in his +business, and then tell me ye’re a Whig! I have no mind +of any such Whigs before, though I’ve kent plenty of them.”<br> +<br> +“He’s a forfeited rebel, the more’s the pity,” +said I, “for the man’s my friend. I can only wish +he had been better guided. And an accused murderer, that he is +too, for his misfortune; but wrongfully accused.”<br> +<br> +“I hear you say so,” said Stewart.<br> +<br> +“More than you are to hear me say so, before long,” said +I. “Alan Breck is innocent, and so is James.”<br> +<br> +“Oh!” says he, “the two cases hang together. +If Alan is out, James can never be in.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this country,” +said I, “but I need not be repeating that.”<br> +<br> +“I am little likely to forget it,” said Stewart.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He noted it.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“How much snuff are we to say?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“I was thinking of two pounds,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Two,” said he.<br> +<br> +“Then there’s the lass Alison Hastie, in Lime Kilns,” +said I. “Her that helped Alan and me across the Forth. +I was thinking if I could get her a good Sunday gown, such as she could +wear with decency in her degree, it would be an ease to my conscience; +for the mere truth is, we owe her our two lives.”<br> +<br> +“I am glad so see you are thrifty, Mr. Balfour,” says he, +making his notes.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He said this with a plain sneer.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ye may set your weary spirit at rest,” said he. “I +will never name your name, sir; and it’s my belief the Advocate +is still so much to be sympathised with that he doesnae ken of your +existence.”<br> +<br> +I saw I had got to the wrong side of the man.<br> +<br> +“There’s a braw day coming for him, then,” said I, +“for he’ll have to learn of it on the deaf side of his head +no later than to-morrow, when I call on him.”<br> +<br> +“When ye <i>call</i> on him!” repeated Mr. Stewart. +“Am I daft, or are you! What takes ye near the Advocate!”<br> +<br> +“O, just to give myself up,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Mr. Balfour,” he cried, “are ye making a mock of +me?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Nor yet me,” says Stewart. “And I give yon +to understand (if that’s to be the word) that I like the looks +of your behaviour less and less. You come here to me with all +sorts of propositions, which will put me in a train of very doubtful +acts and bring me among very undesirable persons this many a day to +come. And then you tell me you’re going straight out of +my office to make your peace with the Advocate! Alan’s button +here or Alan’s button there, the four quarters of Alan wouldnae +bribe me further in.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He was silent for a breathing-space, and then, “My man,” +said he, “you’ll never be allowed to give such evidence.”<br> +<br> +“We’ll have to see about that,” said I; “I’m +stiff-necked when I like.”<br> +<br> +“Ye muckle ass!” cried Stewart, “it’s James +they want; James has got to hang - Alan, too, if they could catch him +- but James whatever! Go near the Advocate with any such business, +and you’ll see! he’ll find a way to muzzle, ye.”<br> +<br> +“I think better of the Advocate than that,” said I.<br> +<br> +“The Advocate be dammed!” cries he. “It’s +the Campbells, man! You’ll have the whole clanjamfry of +them on your back; and so will the Advocate too, poor body! It’s +extraordinar ye cannot see where ye stand! If there’s no +fair way to stop your gab, there’s a foul one gaping. They +can put ye in the dock, do ye no see that?” he cried, and stabbed +me with one finger in the leg.<br> +<br> +“Ay,” said I, “I was told that same no further back +than this morning by another lawyer.”<br> +<br> +“And who was he?” asked Stewart, “He spoke sense at +least.”<br> +<br> +I told I must be excused from naming him, for he was a decent stout +old Whig, and had little mind to be mixed up in such affairs.<br> +<br> +“I think all the world seems to be mixed up in it!” cries +Stewart. “But what said you?”<br> +<br> +“I told him what had passed between Rankeillor and myself before +the house of Shaws.<br> +<br> +“Well, and so ye will hang!” said he. “Ye’ll +hang beside James Stewart. There’s your fortune told.”<br> +<br> +“I hope better of it yet than that,” said I; “but +I could never deny there was a risk.”<br> +<br> +“Risk!” says he, and then sat silent again. “I +ought to thank you for you staunchness to my friends, to whom you show +a very good spirit,” he says, “if you have the strength +to stand by it. But I warn you that you’re wading deep. +I wouldn’t put myself in your place (me that’s a Stewart +born!) for all the Stewarts that ever there were since Noah. Risk? +ay, I take over-many; but to be tried in court before a Campbell jury +and a Campbell judge, and that in a Campbell country and upon a Campbell +quarrel - think what you like of me, Balfour, it’s beyond me.”<br> +<br> +“It’s a different way of thinking, I suppose,” said +I; “I was brought up to this one by my father before me.”<br> +<br> +“Glory to his bones! he has left a decent son to his name,” +says he. “Yet I would not have you judge me over-sorely. +My case is dooms hard. See, sir, ye tell me ye’re a Whig: +I wonder what I am. No Whig to be sure; I couldnae be just that. +But - laigh in your ear, man - I’m maybe no very keen on the other +side.”<br> +<br> +“Is that a fact?” cried I. “It’s what +I would think of a man of your intelligence.”<br> +<br> +“Hut! none of your whillywhas!” <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</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?”<br> +<br> +“Well,” said I, “it’s a fact ye have little +of the wild Highlandman.”<br> +<br> +“Little?” quoth he. “Nothing, man! And +yet I’m Hieland born, and when the clan pipes, who but me has +to dance! The clan and the name, that goes by all. It’s +just what you said yourself; my father learned it to me, and a bonny +trade I have of it. Treason and traitors, and the smuggling of +them out and in; and the French recruiting, weary fall it! and the smuggling +through of the recruits; and their pleas - a sorrow of their pleas! +Here have I been moving one for young Ardsheil, my cousin; claimed the +estate under the marriage contract - a forfeited estate! I told +them it was nonsense: muckle they cared! And there was I cocking +behind a yadvocate that liked the business as little as myself, for +it was fair ruin to the pair of us - a black mark, <i>disaffected, </i>branded +on our hurdies, like folk’s names upon their kye! And what +can I do? I’m a Stewart, ye see, and must fend for my clan +and family. Then no later by than yesterday there was one of our +Stewart lads carried to the Castle. What for? I ken fine: +Act of 1736: recruiting for King Lewie. And you’ll see, +he’ll whistle me in to be his lawyer, and there’ll be another +black mark on my chara’ter! I tell you fair: if I but kent +the heid of a Hebrew word from the hurdies of it, be dammed but I would +fling the whole thing up and turn minister!”<br> +<br> +“It’s rather a hard position,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I hope it will be that,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I made him a sign that his clerk was within hearing.<br> +<br> +“Hoot, ye neednae mind for Robbie,” cries he. “A +Stewart, too, puir deevil! and has smuggled out more French recruits +and trafficking Papists than what he has hairs upon his face. +Why, it’s Robin that manages that branch of my affairs. +Who will we have now, Rob, for across the water!”<br> +<br> +“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 was anybody important, I would +give Tam the go-by.”<br> +<br> +“The head’s worth two hundred pounds, Robin,” said +Stewart.<br> +<br> +“Gosh, that’ll no be Alan Breck!” cried the clerk.<br> +<br> +“Just Alan,” said his master.<br> +<br> +“Weary winds! that’s sayrious,” cried Robin. +“I’ll try Andie, then; Andie’ll be the best.”<br> +<br> +“It seems it’s quite a big business,” I observed.<br> +<br> +“Mr. Balfour, there’s no end to it,” said Stewart.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“He didnae behave very well to you and Alan,” said Mr. Stewart; +“but my mind of the man in general is rather otherwise. +If he had taken Alan on board his ship on an agreement, it’s my +notion he would have proved a just dealer. How say ye, Rob?”<br> +<br> +“No more honest skipper in the trade than Eli,” said the +clerk. “I would lippen to <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a> +Eli’s word - ay, if it was the Chevalier, or Appin himsel’,” +he added.<br> +<br> +“And it was him that brought the doctor, wasnae’t?” +asked the master.<br> +<br> +“He was the very man,” said the clerk.<br> +<br> +“And I think he took the doctor back?” says Stewart.<br> +<br> +“Ay, with his sporran full!” cried Robin. “And +Eli kent of that!” <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a><br> +<br> +“Well, it seems it’s hard to ken folk rightly,” said +I.<br> +<br> +“That was just what I forgot when ye came in, Mr. Balfour!” +says the Writer.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER III - I GO TO PILRIG<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The next morning, I was no sooner awake in my new lodging than I was +up and into my new clothes; and no sooner the breakfast swallowed, than +I was forth on my adventurers. Alan, I could hope, was fended +for; James was like to be a more difficult affair, and I could not but +think that enterprise might cost me dear, even as everybody said to +whom I had opened my opinion. It seemed I was come to the top +of the mountain only to cast myself down; that I had clambered up, through +so many and hard trials, to be rich, to be recognised, to wear city +clothes and a sword to my side, all to commit mere suicide at the last +end of it, and the worst kind of suicide, besides, which is to get hanged +at the King’s charges.<br> +<br> +What was I doing it for? I asked, as I went down the high Street and +out north by Leith Wynd. First I said it was to save James Stewart; +and no doubt the memory of his distress, and his wife’s cries, +and a word or so I had let drop on that occasion worked upon me strongly. +At the same time I reflected that it was (or ought to be) the most indifferent +matter to my father’s son, whether James died in his bed or from +a scaffold. He was Alan’s cousin, to be sure; but so far +as regarded Alan, the best thing would be to lie low, and let the King, +and his Grace of Argyll, and the corbie crows, pick the bones of his +kinsman their own way. Nor could I forget that, while we were +all in the pot together, James had shown no such particular anxiety +whether for Alan or me.<br> +<br> +Next it came upon me I was acting for the sake of justice: and I thought +that a fine word, and reasoned it out that (since we dwelt in polities, +at some discomfort to each one of us) the main thing of all must still +be justice, and the death of any innocent man a wound upon the whole +community. Next, again, it was the Accuser of the Brethren that +gave me a turn of his argument; bade me think shame for pretending myself +concerned in these high matters, and told me I was but a prating vain +child, who had spoken big words to Rankeillor and to Stewart, and held +myself bound upon my vanity to make good that boastfulness. Nay, +and he hit me with the other end of the stick; for he accused me of +a kind of artful cowardice, going about at the expense of a little risk +to purchase greater safety. No doubt, until I had declared and +cleared myself, I might any day encounter Mungo Campbell or the sheriff’s +officer, and be recognised, and dragged into the Appin murder by the +heels; and, no doubt, in case I could manage my declaration with success, +I should breathe more free for ever after. But when I looked this +argument full in the face I could see nothing to be ashamed of. +As for the rest, “Here are the two roads,” I thought, “and +both go to the same place. It’s unjust that James should +hang if I can save him; and it would be ridiculous in me to have talked +so much and then do nothing. It’s lucky for James of the +Glens that I have boasted beforehand; and none so unlucky for myself, +because now I’m committed to do right. I have the name of +a gentleman and the means of one; it would be a poor duty that I was +wanting in the essence.” And then I thought this was a Pagan +spirit, and said a prayer in to myself, asking for what courage I might +lack, and that I might go straight to my duty like a soldier to battle, +and come off again scatheless, as so many do.<br> +<br> +This train of reasoning brought me to a more resolved complexion; though +it was far from closing up my sense of the dangers that surrounded me, +nor of how very apt I was (if I went on) to stumble on the ladder of +the gallows. It was a plain, fair morning, but the wind in the +east. The little chill of it sang in my blood, and gave me a feeling +of the autumn, and the dead leaves, and dead folks’ bodies in +their graves. It seemed the devil was in it, if I was to die in +that tide of my fortunes and for other folks’ affairs. On +the top of the Calton Hill, though it was not the customary time of +year for that diversion, some children were crying and running with +their kites. These toys appeared very plain against the sky; I +remarked a great one soar on the wind to a high altitude and then plump +among the whins; and I thought to myself at sight of it, “There +goes Davie.”<br> +<br> +My way lay over Mouter’s Hill, and through an end of a clachan +on the braeside among fields. There was a whirr of looms in it +went from house to house; bees bummed in the gardens; the neighbours +that I saw at the doorsteps talked in a strange tongue; and I found +out later that this was Picardy, a village where the French weavers +wrought for the Linen Company. Here I got a fresh direction for +Pilrig, my destination; and a little beyond, on the wayside, came by +a gibbet and two men hanged in chains. They were dipped in tar, +as the manner is; the wind span them, the chains clattered, and the +birds hung about the uncanny jumping-jacks and cried. The sight +coming on me suddenly, like an illustration of my fears, I could scarce +be done with examining it and drinking in discomfort. And, as +I thus turned and turned about the gibbet, what should I strike on, +but a weird old wife, that sat behind a leg of it, and nodded, and talked +aloud to herself with becks and courtesies.<br> +<br> +“Who are these two, mother?” I asked, and pointed to the +corpses.<br> +<br> +“A blessing on your precious face!” she cried. “Twa +joes <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a> o’mine: +just two o’ my old joes, my hinny dear.”<br> +<br> +“What did they suffer for?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“Ou, just for the guid cause,” said she. “Aften +I spaed to them the way that it would end. Twa shillin’ +Scots: no pickle mair; and there are twa bonny callants hingin’ +for ’t! They took it frae a wean <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a> +belanged to Brouchton.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Gie’s your loof, <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a> +hinny,” says she, “and let me spae your weird to ye.”<br> +<br> +“No, mother,” said I, “I see far enough the way I +am. It’s an unco thing to see too far in front.”<br> +<br> +“I read it in your bree,” she said. “There’s +a bonnie lassie that has bricht een, and there’s a wee man in +a braw coat, and a big man in a pouthered wig, and there’s the +shadow of the wuddy, <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a> +joe, that lies braid across your path. Gie’s your loof, +hinny, and let Auld Merren spae it to ye bonny.”<br> +<br> +The two chance shots that seemed to point at Alan and the daughter of +James More struck me hard; and I fled from the eldritch creature, casting +her a baubee, which she continued to sit and play with under the moving +shadows of the hanged.<br> +<br> +My way down the causeway of Leith Walk would have been more pleasant +to me but for this encounter. The old rampart ran among fields, +the like of them I had never seen for artfulness of agriculture; I was +pleased, besides, to be so far in the still countryside; but the shackles +of the gibbet clattered in my head; and the mope and mows of the old +witch, and the thought of the dead men, hag-rode my spirits. To +hang on a gallows, that seemed a hard case; and whether a man came to +hang there for two shillings Scots, or (as Mr. Stewart had it) from +the sense of duty, once he was tarred and shackled and hung up, the +difference seemed small. There might David Balfour hang, and other +lads pass on their errands and think light of him; and old daft limmers +sit at a leg-foot and spae their fortunes; and the clean genty maids +go by, and look to the other aide, and hold a nose. I saw them +plain, and they had grey eyes, and their screens upon their heads were +of the Drummed colours.<br> +<br> +I was thus in the poorest of spirits, though still pretty resolved, +when I came in view of Pilrig, a pleasant gabled house set by the walkside +among some brave young woods. The laird’s horse was standing +saddled at the door as I came up, but himself was in the study, where +he received me in the midst of learned works and musical instruments, +for he was not only a deep philosopher but much of a musician. +He greeted me at first pretty well, and when he had read Rankeillor’s +letter, placed himself obligingly at my disposal.<br> +<br> +“And what is it, cousin David!” said he - “since it +appears that we are cousins - what is this that I can do for you! +A word to Prestongrange! Doubtless that is easily given. +But what should be the word?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman,” says he.<br> +<br> +“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="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</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 blythe to avoid a knowledge of.”<br> +<br> +“Why, very well, Mr. David,” he replied, “I am pleased +to see you are all that Rankeillor represented. And for what you +say of political complications, you do me no more than justice. +It is my study to be beyond suspicion, and indeed outside the field +of it. The question is,” says he, “how, if I am to +know nothing of the matter, I can very well assist you?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I have Rankeillor’s word for it,” said Mr. Balfour, +“and I count that a warran-dice against all deadly.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“None of which will do you any harm,” said Mr. Balfour.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I believe I could indicate in two words where the thing sticks,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“Perhaps that would be the best,” said he.<br> +<br> +“Well, it’s the Appin murder,” said I.<br> +<br> +He held up both his hands. “Sirs! sirs!” cried he.<br> +<br> +I thought by the expression of his face and voice that I had lost my +helper.<br> +<br> +“Let me explain. . .” I began.<br> +<br> +“I thank you kindly, I will hear no more of it,” says he. +“I decline <i>in</i> <i>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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Well, well,” said he; and then again, “Well, well! +I will do what I can for you.” There with he took a pen +and paper, sat a while in thought, and began to write with much consideration. +“I understand that Rankeillor approved of what you have in mind?” +he asked presently.<br> +<br> +“After some discussion, sir, he bade me to go forward in God’s +name,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +“PILRIG, <i>August</i> 26th, 1751.<br> +<br> +“My Lord, - This is to bring to your notice my namesake and cousin, +David Balfour Esquire of Shaws, a young gentleman of unblemished descent +and good estate. He has enjoyed, besides, the more valuable advantages +of a godly training, and his political principles are all that your +lordship can desire. I am not in Mr. Balfour’s confidence, +but I understand him to have a matter to declare, touching His Majesty’s +service and the administration of justice; purposes for which your Lordship’s +zeal is known. I should add that the young gentleman’s intention +is known to and approved by some of his friends, who will watch with +hopeful anxiety the event of his success or failure.<br> +<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER IV - LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONGRANGE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +My kinsman kept me to a meal, “for the honour of the roof,” +he said; and I believe I made the better speed on my return. I +had no thought but to be done with the next stage, and have myself fully +committed; to a person circumstanced as I was, the appearance of closing +a door on hesitation and temptation was itself extremely tempting; and +I was the more disappointed, when I came to Prestongrange’s house, +to be informed he was abroad. I believe it was true at the moment, +and for some hours after; and then I have no doubt the Advocate came +home again, and enjoyed himself in a neighbouring chamber among friends, +while perhaps the very fact of my arrival was forgotten. I would +have gone away a dozen times, only for this strong drawing to have done +with my declaration out of hand and be able to lay me down to sleep +with a free conscience. At first I read, for the little cabinet +where I was left contained a variety of books. But I fear I read +with little profit; and the weather falling cloudy, the dusk coming +up earlier than usual, and my cabinet being lighted with but a loophole +of a window, I was at last obliged to desist from this diversion (such +as it was), and pass the rest of my time of waiting in a very burthensome +vacuity. The sound of people talking in a near chamber, the pleasant +note of a harpsichord, and once the voice of a lady singing, bore me +a kind of company.<br> +<br> +I do not know the hour, but the darkness was long come, when the door +of the cabinet opened, and I was aware, by the light behind him, of +a tall figure of a man upon the threshold. I rose at once.<br> +<br> +“Is anybody there?” he asked. “Who in that?”<br> +<br> +“I am bearer of a letter from the laird of Pilrig to the Lord +Advocate,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Have you been here long?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“I would not like to hazard an estimate of how many hours,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Well, sir, sit ye down,” said he, “and let us see +Pilrig’s letter.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Balfour,” he +said, when he had done. “Let me offer you a glass of claret.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You shall be the judge,” said he. “But if you +will permit, I believe I will even have the bottle in myself.”<br> +<br> +He touched a bell, and a footman came, as at a signal, bringing wine +and glasses.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I should, perhaps, begin by telling you, my lord, that I am here +at your own pressing invitation,” said I.<br> +<br> +“You have the advantage of me somewhere,” said he, “for +I profess I think I never heard of you before this evening.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I wish you would afford me a clue,” says he. “I +am no Daniel.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“In what sense?” he inquired.<br> +<br> +“In the sense of rewards offered for my person,” said I.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“<i>A tall strong lad of about eighteen</i>,” I quoted, +“<i>speaks like </i>a <i>Lowlander and</i> <i>has no beard</i>.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I can only suppose (seeing you here) that you claim to be innocent,” +said he.<br> +<br> +“The inference is clear,” I said. “I am a very +loyal subject to King George, but if I had anything to reproach myself +with, I would have had more discretion than to walk into your den.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And unfortunately, my lord,” I added, a little drily, “directly +personal to another great personage who may be nameless.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“When you are come to more discretion you will understand such +talk in not to be listened to, how much less repeated,” says the +Advocate. “But I acquit you of an ill intention. That +nobleman, whom we all honour, and who has indeed been wounded in a near +place by the late barbarity, sits too high to be reached by these aspersions. +The Duke of Argyle - you see that I deal plainly with you - takes it +to heart as I do, and as we are both bound to do by our judicial functions +and the service of his Majesty; and I could wish that all hands, in +this ill age, were equally clean of family rancour. But from the +accident that this is a Campbell who has fallen martyr to his duty - +as who else but the Campbells have ever put themselves foremost on that +path? - I may say it, who am no Campbell - and that the chief of that +great house happens (for all our advantages) to be the present head +of the College of Justice, small minds and disaffected tongues are set +agog in every changehouse in the country; and I find a young gentleman +like Mr. Balfour so ill-advised as to make himself their echo.” +So much he spoke with a very oratorical delivery, as if in court, and +then declined again upon the manner of a gentleman. “All +this apart,” said he. “It now remains that I should +learn what I am to do with you.”<br> +<br> +“I had thought it was rather I that should learn the same from +your lordship,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Meaning how?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I saw what way he was driving. “I suppose it is needless +anyone should be informed upon my visit,” said I, “though +the precise nature of my gains by that I cannot see. I am not +at all ashamed of coming here.”<br> +<br> +“And have no cause to be,” says he, encouragingly. +“Nor yet (if you are careful) to fear the consequences.”<br> +<br> +“My lord,” said I, “speaking under your correction, +I am not very easy to be frightened.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I shall try to follow your lordship’s advice,” said +I.<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“By accident,” said I.<br> +<br> +“How came you in speech with Colin Campbell?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“I was inquiring my way of him to Aucharn,” I replied.<br> +<br> +I observed he did not write this answer down.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I had thought, my lord, that all points of fact were equally +material in such a case,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Not immediately, my lord, and the cause was my seeing of the +murderer.”<br> +<br> +“You saw him, then?”<br> +<br> +“As plain as I see your lordship, though not so near hand.”<br> +<br> +“You know him?”<br> +<br> +“I should know him again.”<br> +<br> +“In your pursuit you were not so fortunate, then, as to overtake +him?”<br> +<br> +“I was not.”<br> +<br> +“Was he alone?”<br> +<br> +“He was alone.”<br> +<br> +“There was no one else in that neighbourhood?”<br> +<br> +“Alan Breck Stewart was not far off, in a piece of a wood.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“I content myself with following your lordship’s advice, +and answering what I am asked,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +At this he rose from his chair, lit a second candle, and for a while +gazed upon me steadily. I was surprised to see a great change +of gravity fallen upon his face, and I could have almost thought he +was a little pale.<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +“Under your pardon, my lord, I would have you to believe nothing +but that which I can prove,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Tut! tut; young gentleman,” says he, “be not so pragmatical, +and suffer a man who might be your father (if it was nothing more) to +employ his own imperfect language, and express his own poor thoughts, +even when they have the misfortune not to coincide with Mr. Balfour’s. +You would have me to believe Breck innocent. I would think this +of little account, the more so as we cannot catch our man. But +the matter of Breck’s innocence shoots beyond itself. Once +admitted, it would destroy the whole presumptions of our case against +another and a very different criminal; a man grown old in treason, already +twice in arms against his king and already twice forgiven; a fomentor +of discontent, and (whoever may have fired the shot) the unmistakable +original of the deed in question. I need not tell you that I mean +James Stewart.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You are at the head of Justice in this country,” I cried, +“and you propose to me a crime!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I desire not to be thought to make a repartee, when I express +only the plain sense of our position,” said I. “But +if your lordship has no need of my testimony, I believe the other side +would be extremely blythe to get it.”<br> +<br> +Prestongrange arose and began to pace to and fro in the room. +“You are not so young,” he said, “but what you must +remember very clearly the year ‘45 and the shock that went about +the country. I read in Pilrig’s letter that you are sound +in Kirk and State. Who saved them in that fatal year? I +do not refer to His Royal Highness and his ramrods, which were extremely +useful in their day; but the country had been saved and the field won +before ever Cumberland came upon Drummossie. Who saved it? +I repeat; who saved the Protestant religion and the whole frame of our +civil institutions? The late Lord President Culloden, for one; +he played a man’s part, and small thanks he got for it - even +as I, whom you see before you, straining every nerve in the same service, +look for no reward beyond the conscience of my duties done. After +the President, who else? You know the answer as well as I do; +’tis partly a scandal, and you glanced at it yourself, and I reproved +you for it, when you first came in. It was the Duke and the great +clan of Campbell. Now here is a Campbell foully murdered, and +that in the King’s service. The Duke and I are Highlanders. +But we are Highlanders civilised, and it is not so with the great mass +of our clans and families. They have still savage virtues and +defects. They are still barbarians, like these Stewarts; only +the Campbells were barbarians on the right side, and the Stewarts were +barbarians on the wrong. Now be you the judge. The Campbells +expect vengeance. If they do not get it - if this man James escape +- there will be trouble with the Campbells. That means disturbance +in the Highlands, which are uneasy and very far from being disarmed: +the disarming is a farce. . .”<br> +<br> +“I can bear you out in that,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Disturbance in the Highlands makes the hour of our old watchful +enemy,” pursued his lordship, holding out a finger as he paced; +“and I give you my word we may have a ‘45 again with the +Campbells on the other side. To protect the life of this man Stewart +- which is forfeit already on half-a-dozen different counts if not on +this - do you propose to plunge your country in war, to jeopardise the +faith of your fathers, and to expose the lives and fortunes of how many +thousand innocent persons? . . . These are considerations that +weigh with me, and that I hope will weigh no less with yourself, Mr. +Balfour, as a lover of your country, good government, and religious +truth.”<br> +<br> +“You deal with me very frankly, and I thank you for it,” +said I. “I will try on my side to be no less honest. +I believe your policy to be sound. I believe these deep duties +may lie upon your lordship; I believe you may have laid them on your +conscience when you took the oath of the high office which you hold. +But for me, who am just a plain man - or scarce a man yet - the plain +duties must suffice. I can think but of two things, of a poor +soul in the immediate and unjust danger of a shameful death, and of +the cries and tears of his wife that still tingle in my head. +I cannot see beyond, my lord. It’s the way that I am made. +If the country has to fall, it has to fall. And I pray God, if +this be wilful blindness, that He may enlighten me before too late.”<br> +<br> +He had heard me motionless, and stood so a while longer.<br> +<br> +“This is an unexpected obstacle,” says he, aloud, but to +himself.<br> +<br> +“And how is your lordship to dispose of me?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“If I wished,” said he, “you know that you might sleep +in gaol?”<br> +<br> +“My lord,” said I, “I have slept in worse places.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I had no thought to entrap you,” said he.<br> +<br> +“I am sure of that,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Let me see,” he continued. “To-morrow is the +Sabbath. Come to me on Monday by eight in the morning, and give +me our promise until then.”<br> +<br> +“Freely given, my lord,” said I. “And with regard +to what has fallen from yourself, I will give it for an long as it shall +please God to spare your days.”<br> +<br> +“You will observe,” he said next, “that I have made +no employment of menaces.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Well,” said he, “good-night to you. May you +sleep well, for I think it is more than I am like to do.”<br> +<br> +With that he sighed, took up a candle, and gave me his conveyance as +far as the street door.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER V - IN THE ADVOCATE’S HOUSE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The next day, Sabbath, August 27th, I had the occasion I had long looked +forward to, to hear some of the famous Edinburgh preachers, all well +known to me already by the report of Mr Campbell. Alas! and I +might just as well have been at Essendean, and sitting under Mr. Campbell’s +worthy self! the turmoil of my thoughts, which dwelt continually on +the interview with Prestongrange, inhibiting me from all attention. +I was indeed much less impressed by the reasoning of the divines than +by the spectacle of the thronged congregation in the churches, like +what I imagined of a theatre or (in my then disposition) of an assize +of trial; above all at the West Kirk, with its three tiers of galleries, +where I went in the vain hope that I might see Miss Drummond.<br> +<br> +On the Monday I betook me for the first time to a barber’s, and +was very well pleased with the result. Thence to the Advocate’s, +where the red coats of the soldiers showed again about his door, making +a bright place in the close. I looked about for the young lady +and her gillies: there was never a sign of them. But I was no +sooner shown into the cabinet or antechamber where I had spent so wearyful +a time upon the Saturday, than I was aware of the tall figure of James +More in a corner. He seemed a prey to a painful uneasiness, reaching +forth his feet and hands, and his eyes speeding here and there without +rest about the walls of the small chamber, which recalled to me with +a sense of pity the man’s wretched situation. I suppose +it was partly this, and partly my strong continuing interest in his +daughter, that moved me to accost him.<br> +<br> +“Give you a good-morning, sir,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And a good-morning to you, sir,” said he.<br> +<br> +“You bide tryst with Prestongrange?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“I do, sir, and I pray your business with that gentleman be more +agreeable than mine,” was his reply.<br> +<br> +“I hope at least that yours will be brief, for I suppose you pass +before me,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +There came a kind of Highland snuffle out of the man that raised my +dander strangely.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“It is a good name,” he replied, civilly; “there are +many decent folk that use it. And now that I call to mind, there +was a young gentleman, your namesake, that marched surgeon in the year +‘45 with my battalion.”<br> +<br> +“I believe that would be a brother to Balfour of Baith,” +said I, for I was ready for the surgeon now.<br> +<br> +“The same, sir,” said James More. “And since +I have been fellow-soldier with your kinsman, you must suffer me to +grasp your hand.”<br> +<br> +He shook hands with me long and tenderly, beaming on me the while as +though he had found a brother.<br> +<br> +“Ah!” says he, “these are changed days since your +cousin and I heard the balls whistle in our lugs.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“In the year you refer to, Mr. Macgregor, I was getting skelped +in the parish school,” said I.<br> +<br> +“So young!” cries he. “Ah, then, you will never +be able to think what this meeting is to me. In the hour of my +adversity, and here in the house of my enemy, to meet in with the blood +of an old brother-in-arms - it heartens me, Mr. Balfour, like the skirting +of the highland pipes! Sir, this is a sad look back that many +of us have to make: some with falling tears. I have lived in my +own country like a king; my sword, my mountains, and the faith of my +friends and kinsmen sufficed for me. Now I lie in a stinking dungeon; +and do you know, Mr. Balfour,” he went on, taking my arm and beginning +to lead me about, “do you know, sir, that I lack mere ne<i>cess</i>aries? +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 - ”<br> +<br> +I would be ashamed to set down all he poured out to me in this beggarly +vein, or the very short and grudging answers that I made to him. +There were times when I was tempted to stop his mouth with some small +change; but whether it was from shame or pride - whether it was for +my own sake or Catriona’s - whether it was because I thought him +no fit father for his daughter, or because I resented that grossness +of immediate falsity that clung about the man himself - the thing was +clean beyond me. And I was still being wheedled and preached to, +and still being marched to and fro, three steps and a turn, in that +small chamber, and had already, by some very short replies, highly incensed, +although not finally discouraged, my beggar, when Prestongrange appeared +in the doorway and bade me eagerly into his big chamber.<br> +<br> +“I have a moment’s engagements,” said he; “and +that you may not sit empty-handed I am going to present you to my three +braw daughters, of whom perhaps you may have heard, for I think they +are more famous than papa. This way.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 Alan Ramsay’s +answer!”<br> +<br> +Hereupon all three, and the old Miss Grant as well, cried out against +this sally, which (as I was acquainted with the verses he referred to) +brought shame into my own check. It seemed to me a citation unpardonable +in a father, and I was amazed that these ladies could laugh even while +they reproved, or made believe to.<br> +<br> +Under cover of this mirth, Prestongrange got forth of the chamber, and +I was left, like a fish upon dry land, in that very unsuitable society. +I could never deny, in looking back upon what followed, that I was eminently +stockish; and I must say the ladies were well drilled to have so long +a patience with me. The aunt indeed sat close at her embroidery, +only looking now and again and smiling; but the misses, and especially +the eldest, who was besides the most handsome, paid me a score of attentions +which I was very ill able to repay. It was all in vain to tell +myself I was a young follow of some worth as well as a good estate, +and had no call to feel abashed before these lasses, the eldest not +so much older than myself, and no one of them by any probability half +as learned. Reasoning would not change the fact; and there were +times when the colour came into my face to think I was shaved that day +for the first time.<br> +<br> +The talk going, with all their endeavours, very heavily, the eldest +took pity on my awkwardness, sat down to her instrument, of which she +was a passed mistress, and entertained me for a while with playing and +singing, both in the Scots and in the Italian manners; this put me more +at my ease, and being reminded of Alan’s air that he had taught +me in the hole near Carriden, I made so bold as to whistle a bar or +two, and ask if she knew that.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +<br> +“Haenae I got just the lilt of it?<br> +Isnae this the tune that ye whustled?”<br> +<br> +<br> +“You see,” she says, “I can do the poetry too, only +it won’t rhyme. And then again:<br> +<br> +<br> +“I am Miss Grant, sib to the Advocate:<br> +You, I believe, are Dauvit Balfour.”<br> +<br> +<br> +I told her how much astonished I was by her genius.<br> +<br> +“And what do you call the name of it?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“I do not know the real name,” said I. “I just +call it <i>Alan’s air</i>.”<br> +<br> +She looked at me directly in the face. “I shall call it +<i>David’s air</i>,” 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.”<br> +<br> +This was said with a significance that gave my heart a jog. “Why +that, Miss Grant?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +This put it beyond a doubt that she was partly informed of my story +and peril. How, or just how much, it was more difficult to guess. +It was plain she knew there was something of danger in the name of Alan, +and thus warned me to leave it out of reference; and plain she knew +that I stood under some criminal suspicion. I judged besides that +the harshness of her last speech (which besides she had followed up +immediately with a very noisy piece of music) was to put an end to the +present conversation. I stood beside her, affecting to listen +and admire, but truly whirled away by my own thoughts. I have +always found this young lady to be a lover of the mysterious; and certainly +this first interview made a mystery that was beyond my plummet. +One thing I learned long after, the hours of the Sunday had been well +employed, the bank porter had been found and examined, my visit to Charles +Stewart was discovered, and the deduction made that I was pretty deep +with James and Alan, and most likely in a continued correspondence with +the last. Hence this broad hint that was given me across the harpsichord.<br> +<br> +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</i> <i>eyes </i>again.” The whole +family trooped there at once, and crowded one another for a look. +The window whither they ran was in an odd corner of that room, gave +above the entrance door, and flanked up the close.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Presently papa returned, the same kind, happy-like, pleasant-spoken +man.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +So they each made me a little farthing compliment, and I was led away.<br> +<br> +If this visit to the family had been meant to soften my resistance, +it was the worst of failures. I was no such ass but what I understood +how poor a figure I had made, and that the girls would be yawning their +jaws off as soon as my stiff back was turned. I felt I had shown +how little I had in me of what was soft and graceful; and I longed for +a chance to prove that I had something of the other stuff, the stern +and dangerous.<br> +<br> +Well, I was to be served to my desire, for the scene to which he was +conducting me was of a different character.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VI - UMQUILE THE MASTER OF LOVAT<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +There was a man waiting us in Prestongrange’s study, whom I distasted +at the first look, as we distaste a ferret or an earwig. He was +bitter ugly, but seemed very much of a gentleman; had still manners, +but capable of sudden leaps and violences; and a small voice, which +could ring out shrill and dangerous when he so desired.<br> +<br> +The Advocate presented us in a familiar, friendly way.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +With that he stepped aside to his book-shelves, and made believe to +consult a quarto volume in the far end.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Well, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “what is all this I +hear of ye?”<br> +<br> +“It would not become me to prejudge,” said I, “but +if the Advocate was your authority he is fully possessed of my opinions.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Doubtless a proud position for your father’s son,” +says I.<br> +<br> +He wagged his bald eyebrows at me. “You are pleased to make +experiments in the ironical, I think,” said he. “But +I am here upon duty, I am here to discharge my errand in good faith, +it is in vain you think to divert me. And let me tell you, for +a young fellow of spirit and ambition like yourself, a good shove in +the beginning will do more than ten years’ drudgery. The +shove is now at your command; choose what you will to be advanced in, +the Duke will watch upon you with the affectionate disposition of a +father.”<br> +<br> +“I am thinking that I lack the docility of the son,” says +I.<br> +<br> +“And do you really suppose, sir, that the whole policy of this +country is to be suffered to trip up and tumble down for an ill-mannered +colt of a boy?” he cried. “This has been made a test +case, all who would prosper in the future must put a shoulder to the +wheel. Look at me! Do you suppose it is for my pleasure +that I put myself in the highly invidious position of persecuting a +man that I have drawn the sword alongside of? The choice is not +left me.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I was waiting for you there,” said I.<br> +<br> +“The evidence of Mungo Campbell; your flight after the completion +of the murder; your long course of secresy - my good young man!” +said Mr. Simon, “here is enough evidence to hang a bullock, let +be a David Balfour! I shall be upon that trial; my voice shall +be raised; I shall then speak much otherwise from what I do to-day, +and far less to your gratification, little as you like it now! +Ah, you look white!” cries he. “I have found the key +of your impudent heart. You look pale, your eyes waver, Mr. David! +You see the grave and the gallows nearer by than you had fancied.”<br> +<br> +“I own to a natural weakness,” said I. “I think +no shame for that. Shame. . .” I was going on.<br> +<br> +“Shame waits for you on the gibbet,” he broke in.<br> +<br> +“Where I shall but be even’d with my lord your father,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 +Auchurn; and I saw that some of James’s people had been blabbing +in their dungeons.<br> +<br> +“You see I know more than you fancied,” he resumed in triumph. +“And as for giving it this turn, great Mr. David, you must not +suppose the Government of Great Britain and Ireland will ever be stuck +for want of evidence. We have men here in prison who will swear +out their lives as we direct them; as I direct, if you prefer the phrase. +So now you are to guess your part of glory if you choose to die. +On the one hand, life, wine, women, and a duke to be your handgun: on +the other, a rope to your craig, and a gibbet to clatter your bones +on, and the lousiest, lowest story to hand down to your namesakes in +the future that was ever told about a hired assassin. And see +here!” he cried, with a formidable shrill voice, “see this +paper that I pull out of my pocket. Look at the name there: it +is the name of the great David, I believe, the ink scarce dry yet. +Can you guess its nature? It is the warrant for your arrest, which +I have but to touch this bell beside me to have executed on the spot. +Once in the Tolbooth upon this paper, may God help you, for the die +is cast!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“There is a gentleman in this room,” cried I. “I +appeal to him. I put my life and credit in his hands.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +These were very good words, and I could see besides that there was little +love, and perhaps a spice of genuine ill-will, between these two who +were opposed to me. For all that, it was unmistakable this interview +had been designed, perhaps rehearsed, with the consent of both; it was +plain my adversaries were in earnest to try me by all methods; and now +(persuasion, flattery, and menaces having been tried in vain) I could +not but wonder what would be their next expedient. My eyes besides +were still troubled, and my knees loose under me, with the distress +of the late ordeal; and I could do no more than stammer the same form +of words: “I put my life and credit in your hands.”<br> +<br> +“Well, well,” said he, “we must try to save them. +And in the meanwhile let us return to gentler methods. You must +not bear any grudge upon my friend, Mr. Simon, who did but speak by +his brief. And even if you did conceive some malice against myself, +who stood by and seemed rather to hold a candle, I must not let that +extend to innocent members of my family. These are greatly engaged +to see more of you, and I cannot consent to have my young womenfolk +disappointed. To-morrow they will be going to Hope Park, where +I think it very proper you should make your bow. Call for me first, +when I may possibly have something for your private hearing; then you +shall be turned abroad again under the conduct of my misses; and until +that time repeat to me your promise of secrecy.”<br> +<br> +I had done better to have instantly refused, but in truth I was beside +the power of reasoning; did as I was bid; took my leave I know not how; +and when I was forth again in the close, and the door had shut behind +me, was glad to lean on a house wall and wipe my face. That horrid +apparition (as I may call it) of Mr. Simon rang in my memory, as a sudden +noise rings after it is over in the ear. Tales of the man’s +father, of his falseness, of his manifold perpetual treacheries, rose +before me from all that I had heard and read, and joined on with what +I had just experienced of himself. Each time it occurred to me, +the ingenious foulness of that calumny he had proposed to nail upon +my character startled me afresh. The case of the man upon the +gibbet by Leith Walk appeared scarce distinguishable from that I was +now to consider as my own. To rob a child of so little more than +nothing was certainly a paltry enterprise for two grown men; but my +own tale, as it was to be represented in a court by Simon Fraser, appeared +a fair second in every possible point of view of sordidness and cowardice.<br> +<br> +The voices of two of Prestongrange’s liveried men upon his doorstep +recalled me to myself.<br> +<br> +“Ha’e,” said the one, “this billet as fast as +ye can link to the captain.”<br> +<br> +“Is that for the cateran back again?” asked the other.<br> +<br> +“It would seem sae,” returned the first. “Him +and Simon are seeking him.”<br> +<br> +“I think Prestongrange is gane gyte,” says the second. +“He’ll have James More in bed with him next.”<br> +<br> +“Weel, it’s neither your affair nor mine’s,” +said the first.<br> +<br> +And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the other back into the +house.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +I began to walk swiftly and at random, conscious only of a desire for +movement, air, and the open country.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VII - I MAKE A FAULT IN HONOUR<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I came forth, I vow I know not how, on the <i>Lang Dykes </i><a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</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, property Lord Lovat, daunted +me wholly.<br> +<br> +I sat by the lake side in a place where the rushes went down into the +water, and there steeped my wrists and laved my temples. If I +could have done so with any remains of self-esteem, I would now have +fled from my foolhardy enterprise. But (call it courage or cowardice, +and I believe it was both the one and the other) I decided I was ventured +out beyond the possibility of a retreat. I had out-faced these +men, I would continue to out-face them; come what might, I would stand +by the word spoken.<br> +<br> +The sense of my own constancy somewhat uplifted my spirits, but not +much. At the best of it there was an icy place about my heart, +and life seemed a black business to be at all engaged in. For +two souls in particular my pity flowed. The one was myself, to +be so friendless and lost among dangers. The other was the girl, +the daughter of James More. I had seen but little of her; yet +my view was taken and my judgment made. I thought her a lass of +a clean honour, like a man’s; I thought her one to die of a disgrace; +and now I believed her father to be at that moment bargaining his vile +life for mine. It made a bond in my thoughts betwixt the girl +and me. I had seen her before only as a wayside appearance, though +one that pleased me strangely; I saw her now in a sudden nearness of +relation, as the daughter of my blood foe, and I might say, my murderer. +I reflected it was hard I should be so plagued and persecuted all my +days for other folks’ affairs, and have no manner of pleasure +myself. I got meals and a bed to sleep in when my concerns would +suffer it; beyond that my wealth was of no help to me. If I was +to hang, my days were like to be short; if I was not to hang but to +escape out of this trouble, they might yet seem long to me ere I was +done with them. Of a sudden her face appeared in my memory, the +way I had first seen it, with the parted lips; at that, weakness came +in my bosom and strength into my legs; and I set resolutely forward +on the way to Dean. If I was to hang to-morrow, and it was sure +enough I might very likely sleep that night in a dungeon, I determined +I should hear and speak once more with Catriona.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“What do ye come seeking here?” she asked.<br> +<br> +I told her I was after Miss Drummond.<br> +<br> +“And what may be your business with Miss Drummond?” says +she.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +I told my name.<br> +<br> +“Preserve me!” she cried. “Has Ebenezer gotten +a son?”<br> +<br> +“No, ma’am,” said I. “I am a son of Alexander’s. +It’s I that am the Laird of Shaws.”<br> +<br> +“Ye’ll find your work cut out for ye to establish that,” +quoth she.<br> +<br> +“I perceive you know my uncle,” said I; “and I daresay +you may be the better pleased to hear that business is arranged.”<br> +<br> +“And what brings ye here after Miss Drummond?” she pursued.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“This is surely rather an early question,” said I. +“The maid is young, so am I, worse fortune. I have but seen +her the once. I’ll not deny,” I added, making up my +mind to try her with some frankness, “I’ll not deny but +she has run in my head a good deal since I met in with her. That +is one thing; but it would be quite another, and I think I would look +very like a fool, to commit myself.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Lady Allardyce,” said I, “for that I suppose to be +your name, you seem to do the two sides of the talking, which is a very +poor manner to come to an agreement. You give me rather a home +thrust when you ask if I would marry, at the gallow’s foot, a +young lady whom I have seen but once. I have told you already +I would never be so untenty as to commit myself. And yet I’ll +go some way with you. If I continue to like the lass as well as +I have reason to expect, it will be something more than her father, +or the gallows either, that keeps the two of us apart. As for +my family, I found it by the wayside like a lost bawbee! I owe +less than nothing to my uncle and if ever I marry, it will be to please +one person: that’s myself.”<br> +<br> +“I have heard this kind of talk before ye were born,” said +Mrs. Ogilvy, “which is perhaps the reason that I think of it so +little. There’s much to be considered. This James +More is a kinsman of mine, to my shame be it spoken. But the better +the family, the mair men hanged or headed, that’s always been +poor Scotland’s story. And if it was just the hanging! +For my part I think I would be best pleased with James upon the gallows, +which would be at least an end to him. Catrine’s a good +lass enough, and a good-hearted, and lets herself be deaved all day +with a runt of an auld wife like me. But, ye see, there’s +the weak bit. She’s daft about that long, false, fleeching +beggar of a father of hers, and red-mad about the Gregara, and proscribed +names, and King James, and a wheen blethers. And you might think +ye could guide her, ye would find yourself sore mista’en. +Ye say ye’ve seen her but the once. . .”<br> +<br> +“Spoke with her but the once, I should have said,” I interrupted. +“I saw her again this morning from a window at Prestongrange’s.”<br> +<br> +This I daresay I put in because it sounded well; but I was properly +paid for my ostentation on the return.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I told her that was so.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Here! Hoots! The callant’s in a creel!” +she cried. “Think ye a spy? what else would I think ye - +me that kens naething by ye? But I see that I was wrong; and as +I cannot fight, I’ll have to apologise. A bonny figure I +would be with a broadsword. Ay! ay!” she went on, “you’re +none such a bad lad in your way; I think ye’ll have some redeeming +vices. But, O! Davit Balfour, ye’re damned countryfeed. +Ye’ll have to win over that, lad; ye’ll have to soople your +back-bone, and think a wee pickle less of your dainty self; and ye’ll +have to try to find out that women-folk are nae grenadiers. But +that can never be. To your last day you’ll ken no more of +women-folk than what I do of sow-gelding.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +My skirmish with this disconcerting lady gave my thoughts a boldness +they had otherwise wanted. For two days the image of Catriona +had mixed in all my meditations; she made their background, so that +I scarce enjoyed my own company without a glint of her in a corner of +my mind. But now she came immediately near; I seemed to touch +her, whom I had never touched but the once; I let myself flow out to +her in a happy weakness, and looking all about, and before and behind, +saw the world like an undesirable desert, where men go as soldiers on +a march, following their duty with what constancy they have, and Catriona +alone there to offer me some pleasure of my days. I wondered at +myself that I could dwell on such considerations in that time of my +peril and disgrace; and when I remembered my youth I was ashamed. +I had my studies to complete: I had to be called into some useful business; +I had yet to take my part of service in a place where all must serve; +I had yet to learn, and know, and prove myself a man; and I had so much +sense as blush that I should be already tempted with these further-on +and holier delights and duties. My education spoke home to me +sharply; I was never brought up on sugar biscuits but on the hard food +of the truth. I knew that he was quite unfit to be a husband who +was not prepared to be a father also; and for a boy like me to play +the father was a mere derision.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“O!” she cried, “you have been seeking your sixpence; +did you get it?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“That was Miss Grant,” said I, “the eldest and the +bonniest.”<br> +<br> +“They say they are all beautiful,” said she.<br> +<br> +“They think the same of you, Miss Drummond,” I replied, +“and were all crowding to the window to observe you.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Well, I would think so too, at all events!” said she, at +which we both of us laughed.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“O, I think any man will be afraid of her,” she cried. +“My father is afraid of her himself.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Speaking of which,” said I, “I met your father no +later than this morning.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I did even that,” said I.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You thank me for very little,” said I, and then stopped. +But it seemed when I was holding back so much, something at least had +to come out. “I spoke rather ill to him,” said I; +“I did no like him very much; I spoke him rather ill, and he was +angry.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I will take the freedom of a word yet,” said I, beginning +to tremble. “Perhaps neither your father nor I are in the +best of spirits at Prestongrange’s. I daresay we both have +anxious business there, for it’s a dangerous house. I was +sorry for him too, and spoke to him the first, if I could but have spoken +the wiser. And for one thing, in my opinion, you will soon find +that his affairs are mending.”<br> +<br> +“It will not be through your friendship, I am thinking,” +said she; “and he is much made up to you for your sorrow.”<br> +<br> +“Miss Drummond,” cried I, “I am alone in this world.”<br> +<br> +“And I am not wondering at that,” said she.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“O, let me have one to believe in me!” I pleaded, “I +cannae bear it else. The whole world is clanned against me. +How am I to go through with my dreadful fate? If there’s +to be none to believe in me I cannot do it. The man must just +die, for I cannot do it.”<br> +<br> +She had still looked straight in front of her, head in air; but at my +words or the tone of my voice she came to a stop. “What +is this you say?” she asked. “What are you talking +of?”<br> +<br> +“It is my testimony which may save an innocent life,” said +I, “and they will not suffer me to bear it. What would you +do yourself? You know what this is, whose father lies in danger. +Would you desert the poor soul? They have tried all ways with +me. They have sought to bribe me; they offered me hills and valleys. +And to-day that sleuth-hound told me how I stood, and to what a length +he would go to butcher and disgrace me. I am to be brought in +a party to the murder; I am to have held Glenure in talk for money and +old clothes; I am to be killed and shamed. If this is the way +I am to fall, and me scarce a man - if this is the story to be told +of me in all Scotland - if you are to believe it too, and my name is +to be nothing but a by-word - Catriona, how can I go through with it? +The thing’s not possible; it’s more than a man has in his +heart.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Glenure! It is the Appin murder,” she said softly, +but with a very deep surprise.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +“In the name of heaven, what ails you now!” she cried.<br> +<br> +“I gave my honour,” I groaned, “I gave my honour and +now I have broke it. O, Catriona!”<br> +<br> +“I am asking you what it is,” she said; “was it these +things you should not have spoken? And do you think I have no +honour, then? or that I am one that would betray a friend? I hold +up my right hand to you and swear.”<br> +<br> +“O, I knew you would be true!” said I. “It’s +me - it’s here. I that stood but this morning and out-faced +them, that risked rather to die disgraced upon the gallows than do wrong +- and a few hours after I throw my honour away by the roadside in common +talk! ‘There is one thing clear upon our interview,’ +says he, ‘that I can rely on your pledged word.’ Where +is my word now? Who could believe me now? You could not +believe me. I am clean fallen down; I had best die!” +All this I said with a weeping voice, but I had no tears in my body.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” said I, looking at her, hang-dog, “is +this true of it? Would ye trust me yet?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And maybe all this while I am but a child frighted with bogles,” +said I. “Maybe they but make a mock of me.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I had sat down on the wayside, where she took a place beside me, and +I told her all that matter much as I have written it, my thoughts about +her father’s dealings being alone omitted.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +Indeed, it was already dipping towards the mountains.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER VIII - THE BRAVO<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The next day, August 29th, I kept my appointment at the Advocate’s +in a coat that I had made to my own measure, and was but newly ready,<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You have news for me?” cried I.<br> +<br> +“Beyond anticipation,” he replied. “Your testimony +is after all to be received; and you may go, if you will, in my company +to the trial, which in to be held at Inverary, Thursday, 21st <i>proximo</i>.”<br> +<br> +I was too much amazed to find words.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ah, but you must try and manage, you must try and manage to believe +it,” says he, soothing-like, “and I am very glad to hear +your acknowledgment of obligation, for I think you may be able to repay +me very shortly” - he coughed - “or even now. The +matter is much changed. Your testimony, which I shall not trouble +you for to-day, will doubtless alter the complexion of the case for +all concerned, and this makes it less delicate for me to enter with +you on a side issue.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I did, my lord,” said I<br> +<br> +“This was immediately after the murder?”<br> +<br> +“It was.”<br> +<br> +“Did you speak to him?”<br> +<br> +“I did.”<br> +<br> +“You had known him before, I think?” says my lord, carelessly.<br> +<br> +“I cannot guess your reason for so thinking, my lord,” I +replied, “but such in the fact.”<br> +<br> +“And when did you part with him again?” said he.<br> +<br> +“I reserve my answer,” said I. “The question +will be put to me at the assize.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“My lord,” said I, “I give you my word I do not so +much as guess where Alan is.”<br> +<br> +He paused a breath. “Nor how he might be found?” he +asked.<br> +<br> +I sat before him like a log of wood.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +My three keepers led me out by Bristo and the Bruntsfield Links; whence +a path carried us to Hope Park, a beautiful pleasance, laid with gravel-walks, +furnished with seats and summer-sheds, and warded by a keeper. +The way there was a little longsome; the two younger misses affected +an air of genteel weariness that damped me cruelly, the eldest considered +me with something that at times appeared like mirth; and though I thought +I did myself more justice than the day before, it was not without some +effort. Upon our reaching the park I was launched on a bevy of +eight or ten young gentlemen (some of them cockaded officers, the rest +chiefly advocates) who crowded to attend upon these beauties; and though +I was presented to all of them in very good words, it seemed I was by +all immediately forgotten. Young folk in a company are like to +savage animals: they fall upon or scorn a stranger without civility, +or I may say, humanity; and I am sure, if I had been among baboons, +they would have shown me quite as much of both. Some of the advocates +set up to be wits, and some of the soldiers to be rattles; and I could +not tell which of these extremes annoyed me most. All had a manner +of handling their swords and coat-skirts, for the which (in mere black +envy) I could have kicked them from the park. I daresay, upon +their side, they grudged me extremely the fine company in which I had +arrived; and altogether I had soon fallen behind, and stepped stiffly +in the rear of all that merriment with my own thoughts.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +I told him it was, not very kindly, for his manner was scant civil.<br> +<br> +“Ha, Palfour,” says he, and then, repeating it, “Palfour, +Palfour!”<br> +<br> +“I am afraid you do not like my name, sir,” says I, annoyed +with myself to be annoyed with such a rustical fellow.<br> +<br> +“No,” says he, “but I wass thinking.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Tit you effer hear where Alan Grigor fand the tangs?” said +he.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +There could be no mistake about this, and my cheek burned.<br> +<br> +“Before I went about to put affronts on gentlemen,” said +I, “I think I would learn the English language first.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +I paid him as good or better on the return; whereupon he stepped a little +back and took off his hat to me decorously.<br> +<br> +“Enough plows I think,” says he. “I will be +the offended shentleman, for who effer heard of such suffeeciency as +tell a shentlemans that is the king’s officer he cannae speak +Cot’s English? We have swords at our hurdles, and here is +the King’s Park at hand. Will ye walk first, or let me show +ye the way?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +We went about the end of the long craigs, and came into the Hunter’s +Bog. Here, on a piece of fair turf, my adversary drew. There +was nobody there to see us but some birds; and no resource for me but +to follow his example, and stand on guard with the best face I could +display. It seems it was not good enough for Mr. Dancansby, who +spied some flaw in my manoeuvres, paused, looked upon me sharply, and +came off and on, and menaced me with his blade in the air. As +I had seen no such proceedings from Alan, and was besides a good deal +affected with the proximity of death, I grew quite bewildered, stood +helpless, and could have longed to run away.<br> +<br> +“Fat deil ails her?” cries the lieutenant.<br> +<br> +And suddenly engaging, he twitched the sword out of my grasp and sent +it flying far among the rushes.<br> +<br> +Twice was this manoeuvre repeated; and the third time when I brought +back my humiliated weapon, I found he had returned his own to the scabbard, +and stood awaiting me with a face of some anger, and his hands clasped +under his skirt.<br> +<br> +“Pe tamned if I touch you!” he cried, and asked me bitterly +what right I had to stand up before “shentlemans” when I +did not know the back of a sword from the front of it.<br> +<br> +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?<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Indeed, no, Palfour,” said he; “and I think I was +used extremely suffeeciently myself to be set up to fecht with an auld +wife, or all the same as a bairn whateffer! And I will tell the +Master so, and fecht him, by Cot, himself!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You can do me a better service than even what you propose,” +said I; and when he had asked its nature - “Come with me to the +house of one of my enemies, and testify how I have carried myself this +day,” I told him. “That will be the true service. +For though he has sent me a gallant adversary for the first, the thought +in Mr. Simon’s mind is merely murder. There will be a second +and then a third; and by what you have seen of my cleverness with the +cold steel, you can judge for yourself what is like to be the upshot.”<br> +<br> +“And I would not like it myself, if I was no more of a man than +what you wass!” he cried. “But I will do you right, +Palfour. Lead on!”<br> +<br> +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</i> <i>passed</i>.” I mind that +I was extremely thirsty, and had a drink at Saint Margaret’s well +on the road down, and the sweetness of that water passed belief. +We went through the sanctuary, up the Canongate, in by the Netherbow, +and straight to Prestongrange’s door, talking as we came and arranging +the details of our affair. The footman owned his master was at +home, but declared him engaged with other gentlemen on very private +business, and his door forbidden.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +As the man departed unwillingly enough upon this errand, we made so +bold as to follow him to the ante-chamber, whence I could hear for a +while the murmuring of several voices in the room within. The +truth is, they were three at the one table - Prestongrange, Simon Fraser, +and Mr. Erskine, Sheriff of Perth; and as they were met in consultation +on the very business of the Appin murder, they were a little disturbed +at my appearance, but decided to receive me.<br> +<br> +“Well, well, Mr. Balfour, and what brings you here again? and +who is this you bring with you?” says Prestongrange.<br> +<br> +As for Fraser, he looked before him on the table.<br> +<br> +“He is here to bear a little testimony in my favour, my lord, +which I think it very needful you should hear,” said I, and turned +to Duncansby.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“I thank you for your honest expressions,” said I.<br> +<br> +Whereupon Duncansby made his bow to the company, and left the chamber, +as we had agreed upon before.<br> +<br> +“What have I to do with this?” says Prestongrange.<br> +<br> +“I will tell your lordship in two words,” said I. +“I have brought this gentleman, a King’s officer, to do +me so much justice. Now I think my character in covered, and until +a certain date, which your lordship can very well supply, it will be +quite in vain to despatch against me any more officers. I will +not consent to fight my way through the garrison of the castle.”<br> +<br> +The veins swelled on Prestongrange’s brow, and he regarded me +with fury.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +But Sheriff Erskine had preserved his temper, and now intervened smoothly. +“And in the meantime,” says he, “I think we should +tell Mr. Balfour that his character for valour is quite established. +He may sleep in peace. Until the date he was so good as to refer +to it shall be put to the proof no more.”<br> +<br> +His coolness brought the others to their prudence; and they made haste, +with a somewhat distracted civility, to pack me from the house.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER IX - THE HEATHER ON FIRE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +When I left Prestongrange that afternoon I was for the first time angry. +The Advocate had made a mock of me. He had pretended my testimony +was to be received and myself respected; and in that very hour, not +only was Simon practising against my life by the hands of the Highland +soldier, but (as appeared from his own language) Prestongrange himself +had some design in operation. I counted my enemies; Prestongrange +with all the King’s authority behind him; and the Duke with the +power of the West Highlands; and the Lovat interest by their side to +help them with so great a force in the north, and the whole clan of +old Jacobite spies and traffickers. And when I remembered James +More, and the red head of Neil the son of Duncan, I thought there was +perhaps a fourth in the confederacy, and what remained of Rob Roy’s +old desperate sept of caterans would be banded against me with the others. +One thing was requisite - some strong friend or wise adviser. +The country must be full of such, both able and eager to support me, +or Lovat and the Duke and Prestongrange had not been nosing for expedients; +and it made me rage to think that I might brush against my champions +in the street and be no wiser.<br> +<br> +And just then (like an answer) a gentleman brushed against me going +by, gave me a meaning look, and turned into a close. I knew him +with the tail of my eye - it was Stewart the Writer; and, blessing my +good fortune, turned in to follow him. As soon as I had entered +the close I saw him standing in the mouth of a stair, where he made +me a signal and immediately vanished. Seven storeys up, there +he was again in a house door, the which he looked behind us after we +had entered. The house was quite dismantled, with not a stick +of furniture; indeed, it was one of which Stewart had the letting in +his hands.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“How’s it with Alan?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Hout awa!” cried Stewart. “I’ll never +believe that.”<br> +<br> +“I have maybe a suspicion of my own,” says I, “but +I would like fine to hear your reasons.”<br> +<br> +“Well, I tell ye fairly, I’m horn-mad,” cries Stewart. +“If my one hand could pull their Government down I would pluck +it like a rotten apple. I’m doer for Appin and for James +of the Glens; and, of course, it’s my duty to defend my kinsman +for his life. Hear how it goes with me, and I’ll leave the +judgment of it to yourself. The first thing they have to do is +to get rid of Alan. They cannae bring in James as art and part +until they’ve brought in Alan first as principal; that’s +sound law: they could never put the cart before the horse.”<br> +<br> +“And how are they to bring in Alan till they can catch him?” +says I.<br> +<br> +“Ah, but there is a way to evite that arrestment,” said +he. “Sound law, too. It would be a bonny thing if, +by the escape of one ill-doer another was to go scatheless, and the +remeid is to summon the principal and put him to outlawry for the non-compearance. +Now there’s four places where a person can be summoned: at his +dwelling-house; at a place where he has resided forty days; at the head +burgh of the shire where he ordinarily resorts; or lastly (if there +be ground to think him forth of Scotland) <i>at the cross of Edinburgh,</i> +<i>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 summonsing +be something other than a form. Now take the case of Alan. +He has no dwelling-house that ever I could hear of; I would be obliged +if anyone would show me where he has lived forty days together since +the ‘45; there is no shire where he resorts whether ordinarily +or extraordinarily; if he has a domicile at all, which I misdoubt, it +must be with his regiment in France; and if he is not yet forth of Scotland +(as we happen to know and they happen to guess) it must be evident to +the most dull it’s what he’s aiming for. Where, then, +and what way should he be summoned? I ask it at yourself, a layman.”<br> +<br> +“You have given the very words,” said I. “Here +at the cross, and at the pier and shore of Leith, for sixty days.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What do you mean?” I cried. “Not seeking him?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“See that!” says he. “But there! I may +be right or wrong, that’s guesswork at the best, and let me get +to my facts again. It comes to my ears that James and the witnesses +- the witnesses, Mr. Balfour! - lay in close dungeons, and shackled +forbye, in the military prison at Fort William; none allowed in to them, +nor they to write. The witnesses, Mr. Balfour; heard ye ever the +match of that? I assure ye, no old, crooked Stewart of the gang +ever out-faced the law more impudently. It’s clean in the +two eyes of the Act of Parliament of 1700, anent wrongous imprisonment. +No sooner did I get the news than I petitioned the Lord Justice Clerk. +I have his word to-day. There’s law for ye! here’s +justice!”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“It will bear that colour,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And I’ll go on to prove it you outright,” said he. +“They have the right to hold James in prison, yet they cannot +deny me to visit him. They have no right to hold the witnesses; +but am I to get a sight of them, that should be as free as the Lord +Justice Clerk himself! See - read: <i>For the rest, refuses to</i> +<i>give any orders to keepers of prisons who are not accused as having +done anything</i> <i>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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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</i> <i>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 cannae +get I a little harle of justice out of the <i>military man notoriously +ignorant of the</i> <i>law </i>that shall command the party.”<br> +<br> +It was actually so - it was actually on the wayside near Tynedrum, and +by the connivance of a soldier officer, that Mr. Stewart first saw the +witnesses upon the case.<br> +<br> +“There is nothing that would surprise me in this business,” +I remarked.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I suppose it would likely be King George,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Is not this against the law?” I asked<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Disappear yourself,” said he.<br> +<br> +“I do not take you,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Then I’ll carry you there,” said he. “By +my view of it you’re to disappear whatever. O, that’s +outside debate. The Advocate, who is not without some spunks of +a remainder decency, has wrung your life-safe out of Simon and the Duke. +He has refused to put you on your trial, and refused to have you killed; +and there is the clue to their ill words together, for Simon and the +Duke can keep faith with neither friend nor enemy. Ye’re +not to be tried then, and ye’re not to be murdered; but I’m +in bitter error if ye’re not to be kidnapped and carried away +like the Lady Grange. Bet me what ye please - there was their +<i>expedient</i>!”<br> +<br> +“You make me think,” said I, and told him of the whistle +and the red-headed retainer, Neil.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ye make a strong case,” I admitted.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I will tell you one thing,” said I. “I saw +the murderer and it was not Alan.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Where am I to go, then?” I inquired.<br> +<br> +“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 <i>King Arms </i>in Stirling; and if ye’ve managed for yourself +as long as that, I’ll see that ye reach Inverary.”<br> +<br> +“One thing more,” said I. “Can I no see Alan?”<br> +<br> +He seemed boggled. “Hech, I would rather you wouldnae,” +said he. “But I can never deny that Alan is extremely keen +of it, and is to lie this night by Silvermills on purpose. If +you’re sure that you’re not followed, Mr. Balfour - but +make sure of that - lie in a good place and watch your road for a clear +hour before ye risk it. It would be a dreadful business if both +you and him was to miscarry!”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER X - THE RED-HEADED MAN<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +It was about half-past three when I came forth on the Lang Dykes. +Dean was where I wanted to go. Since Catriona dwelled there, and +her kinsfolk the Glengyle Macgregors appeared almost certainly to be +employed against me, it was just one of the few places I should have +kept away from; and being a very young man, and beginning to be very +much in love, I turned my face in that direction without pause. +As a slave to my conscience and common sense, however, I took a measure +of precaution. Coming over the crown of a bit of a rise in the +road, I clapped down suddenly among the barley and lay waiting. +After a while, a man went by that looked to be a Highlandman, but I +had never seen him till that hour. Presently after came Neil of +the red head. The next to go past was a miller’s cart, and +after that nothing but manifest country people. Here was enough +to have turned the most foolhardy from his purpose, but my inclination +ran too strong the other way. I argued it out that if Neil was +on that road, it was the right road to find him in, leading direct to +his chief’s daughter; as for the other Highlandman, if I was to +be startled off by every Highlandman I saw, I would scarce reach anywhere. +And having quite satisfied myself with this disingenuous debate, I made +the better speed of it, and came a little after four to Mrs. Drumond-Ogilvy’s.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Catriona ran out to greet me heartily, and, to my surprise, the old +lady seemed scarce less forward than herself. I learned long afterwards +that she had despatched a horseman by daylight to Rankeillor at the +Queensferry, whom she knew to be the doer for Shaws, and had then in +her pocket a letter from that good friend of mine, presenting, in the +most favourable view, my character and prospects. But had I read +it I could scarce have seen more clear in her designs. Maybe I +was <i>countryfeed; </i>at least, I was not so much so as she thought; +and it was even to my homespun wits, that she was bent to hammer up +a match between her cousin and a beardless boy that was something of +a laird in Lothian.<br> +<br> +“Saxpence had better take his broth with us, Catrine,” says +she. “Run and tell the lasses.”<br> +<br> +And for the little while we were alone was at a good deal of pains to +flatter me; always cleverly, always with the appearance of a banter, +still calling me Saxpence, but with such a turn that should rather uplift +me in my own opinion. When Catriona returned, the design became +if possible more obvious; and she showed off the girl’s advantages +like a horse-couper with a horse. My face flamed that she should +think me so obtuse. Now I would fancy the girl was being innocently +made a show of, and then I could have beaten the old carline wife with +a cudgel; and now, that perhaps these two had set their heads together +to entrap me, and at that I sat and gloomed betwixt them like the very +image of ill-will. At last the matchmaker had a better device, +which was to leave the pair of us alone. When my suspicions are +anyway roused it is sometimes a little the wrong side of easy to allay +them. But though I knew what breed she was of, and that was a +breed of thieves, I could never look in Catriona’s face and disbelieve +her.<br> +<br> +“I must not ask?” says she, eagerly, the same moment we +were left alone.<br> +<br> +“Ah, but to-day I can talk with a free conscience,” I replied. +“I am lightened of my pledge, and indeed (after what has come +and gone since morning) I would not have renewed it were it asked.”<br> +<br> +“Tell me,” she said. “My cousin will not be +so long.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“And I think you will be as little fitted for the rudas men as +for the pretty ladies, after all!” says she, when I had done. +“But what was your father that he could not learn you to draw +the sword! It is most ungentle; I have not heard the match of +that in anyone.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You are a bloodthirsty maid,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Well, I know it is good to sew and spin, and to make samplers,” +she said, “but if you were to do nothing else in the great world, +I think you will say yourself it is a driech business; and it is not +that I want to kill, I think. Did ever you kill anyone?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But how did you feel, then - after it?” she asked.<br> +<br> +‘”Deed, I sat down and grat like a bairn,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Yes,” said she, “you are brave. And your friend, +I admire and love him.”<br> +<br> +“Well, and I think anyone would!” said I. “He +has his faults like other folk; but he is brave and staunch and kind, +God bless him! That will be a strange day when I forget Alan.” +And the thought of him, and that it was within my choice to speak with +him that night, had almost overcome me.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I am a thousand miles from judging,” I replied. “And +I give you my word I do rejoice to know your heart is lightened. +If my face fell at all, as I suppose it must, you will allow this is +rather an ill day for compositions, and the people in power extremely +ill persons to be compounding with. I have Simon Fraser extremely +heavy on my stomach still.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I never heard tell of that,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What country is that?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“My country and yours,” said she<br> +<br> +“This is my day for discovering I think,” said I, “for +I always thought the name of it was Scotland.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Troth,” said I, “and that I never learned!” +For I lacked heart to take her up about the Macedonian.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I had a meal with the two ladies, all very good, served in fine old +plate, and the wine excellent, for it seems that Mrs. Ogilvy was rich. +Our talk, too, was pleasant enough; but as soon as I saw the sun decline +sharply and the shadows to run out long, I rose to take my leave. +For my mind was now made up to say farewell to Alan; and it was needful +I should see the trysting wood, and reconnoitre it, by daylight. +Catriona came with me as far as to the garden gate.<br> +<br> +“It is long till I see you now?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“It is beyond my judging,” I replied. “It will +be long, it may be never.”<br> +<br> +“It may be so,” said she. “And you are sorry?”<br> +<br> +I bowed my head, looking upon her.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“O yes, Mr. David,” said she, “that is what I think +of you. The head goes with the lips.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +After that honour she had done me I could offer no more trivial civility. +It was even hard for me to speak; a certain lifting in her voice had +knocked directly at the door of my own tears.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Catriona was yet in the garden walking by herself.<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” said I, “you see me back again.”<br> +<br> +“With a changed face,” said she.<br> +<br> +“I carry two men’s lives besides my own,” said I. +“It would be a sin and shame not to walk carefully. I was +doubtful whether I did right to come here. I would like it ill, +if it was by that means we were brought to harm.”<br> +<br> +“I could tell you one that would be liking it less, and will like +little enough to hear you talking at this very same time,” she +cried. “What have I done, at all events?”<br> +<br> +“O, you I you are not alone,” I replied. “But +since I went off I have been dogged again, and I can give you the name +of him that follows me. It is Neil, son of Duncan, your man or +your father’s.”<br> +<br> +“To be sure you are mistaken there,” she said, with a white +face. “Neil is in Edinburgh on errands from my father.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Why, how will you know that?” says she.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“He has come to your call,” said I; “judge how near +he was to Edinburgh, or what was the nature of your father’s errands. +Ask himself. If I am to lose my life, or the lives of those that +hang by me, through the means of your clan, let me go where I have to +go with my eyes open.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Twice or thrice they spoke together, and I could make out that Neil +(for all his obsequiousness) was an angry man.<br> +<br> +Then she turned to me. “He swears it is not,” she +said.<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” said I, “do you believe the man yourself?”<br> +<br> +She made a gesture like wringing the hands.<br> +<br> +“How will I can know?” she cried.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +They spoke together once more in the Gaelic.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“It is pretty plain now,” said I, “and may God forgive +the wicked!”<br> +<br> +She said never anything to that, but continued gazing at me with the +same white face.<br> +<br> +“This is a fine business,” said I again. “Am +I to fall, then, and those two along with me?”<br> +<br> +“O, what am I to do?” she cried. “Could I go +against my father’s orders, him in prison, in the danger of his +life!”<br> +<br> +“But perhaps we go too fast,” said I. “This +may be a lie too. He may have no right orders; all may be contrived +by Simon, and your father knowing nothing.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Here,” said I, “keep him but the one hour; and I’ll +chance it, and may God bless you.”<br> +<br> +She put out her hand to me, “I will he needing one good word,” +she sobbed.<br> +<br> +“The full hour, then?” said I, keeping her hand in mine. +“Three lives of it, my lass!”<br> +<br> +“The full hour!” she said, and cried aloud on her Redeemer +to forgive her.<br> +<br> +I thought it no fit place for me, and fled.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XI - THE WOOD BY SILVERMILLS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I lost no time, but down through the valley and by Stockbridge and Silvermills +as hard as I could stave. It was Alan’s tryst to be every +night between twelve and two “in a bit scrog of wood by east of +Silvermills and by south the south mill-lade.” This I found +easy enough, where it grew on a steep brae, with the mill-lade flowing +swift and deep along the foot of it; and here I began to walk slower +and to reflect more reasonably on my employment. I saw I had made +but a fool’s bargain with Catriona. It was not to be supposed +that Neil was sent alone upon his errand, but perhaps he was the only +man belonging to James More; in which case I should have done all I +could to hang Catriona’s father, and nothing the least material +to help myself. To tell the truth, I fancied neither one of these +ideas. Suppose by holding back Neil, the girl should have helped +to hang her father, I thought she would never forgive herself this side +of time. And suppose there were others pursuing me that moment, +what kind of a gift was I come bringing to Alan? and how would I like +that?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +This brought my face to Silvermills; the path came past the village +with a crook, but all plainly visible; and, Highland or Lowland, there +was nobody stirring. Here was my advantage, here was just such +a conjuncture as Stewart had counselled me to profit by, and I ran by +the side of the mill-lade, fetched about beyond the east corner of the +wood, threaded through the midst of it, and returned to the west selvage, +whence I could again command the path, and yet be myself unseen. +Again it was all empty, and my heart began to rise.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Two things became plain to me first: that I had no right to go that +day to Dean, and (having gone there) had now no right to be lying where +I was. This (where Alan was to come) was just the one wood in +all broad Scotland that was, by every proper feeling, closed against +me; I admitted that, and yet stayed on, wondering at myself. I +thought of the measure with which I had meted to Catriona that same +night; how I had prated of the two lives I carried, and had thus forced +her to enjeopardy her father’s; and how I was here exposing them +again, it seemed in wantonness. A good conscience is eight parts +of courage. No sooner had I lost conceit of my behaviour, than +I seemed to stand disarmed amidst a throng of terrors. Of a sudden +I sat up. How if I went now to Prestongrange, caught him (as I +still easily might) before he slept, and made a full submission? +Who could blame me? Not Stewart the Writer; I had but to say that +I was followed, despaired of getting clear, and so gave in. Not +Catriona: here, too, I had my answer ready; that I could not bear she +should expose her father. So, in a moment, I could lay all these +troubles by, which were after all and truly none of mine; swim clear +of the Appin Murder; get forth out of hand-stroke of all the Stewarts +and Campbells, all the Whigs and Tories, in the land; and live henceforth +to my own mind, and be able to enjoy and to improve my fortunes, and +devote some hours of my youth to courting Catriona, which would be surely +a more suitable occupation than to hide and run and be followed like +a hunted thief, and begin over again the dreadful miseries of my escape +with Alan.<br> +<br> +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</i> <i>can Satan</i> <i>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.<br> +<br> +I have been the more careful to narrate this passage of my reflections, +because I think it is of some utility, and may serve as an example to +young men. But there is reason (they say) in planting kale, and +even in ethic and religion, room for common sense. It was already +close on Alan’s hour, and the moon was down. If I left (as +I could not very decently whistle to my spies to follow me) they might +miss me in the dark and tack themselves to Alan by mistake. If +I stayed, I could at the least of it set my friend upon his guard which +might prove his mere salvation. I had adventured other peoples’ +safety in a course of self-indulgence; to have endangered them again, +and now on a mere design of penance, would have been scarce rational. +Accordingly, I had scarce risen from my place ere I sat down again, +but already in a different frame of spirits, and equally marvelling +at my past weakness and rejoicing in my present composure.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Is this you at last, Davie?” he whispered.<br> +<br> +“Just myself,” said I.<br> +<br> +“God, man, but I’ve been wearying to see ye!” says +he. “I’ve had the longest kind of a time. A’ +day, I’ve had my dwelling into the inside of a stack of hay, where +I couldnae see the nebs of my ten fingers; and then two hours of it +waiting here for you, and you never coming! Dod, and ye’re +none too soon the way it is, with me to sail the morn! The morn? +what am I saying? - the day, I mean.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“We’ll have a long crack of it first,” said he.<br> +<br> +“Well, indeed, and I have a good deal it will be telling you to +hear,” said I.<br> +<br> +And I told him what behooved, making rather a jumble of it, but clear +enough when done. He heard me out with very few questions, laughing +here and there like a man delighted: and the sound of his laughing (above +all there, in the dark, where neither one of us could see the other) +was extraordinary friendly to my heart.<br> +<br> +“Ay, Davie, ye’re a queer character,” says he, when +I had done: “a queer bitch after a’, and I have no mind +of meeting with the like of ye. As for your story, Prestongrange +is a Whig like yoursel’, so I’ll say the less of him; and, +dod! I believe he was the best friend ye had, if ye could only trust +him. But Simon Fraser and James More are my ain kind of cattle, +and I’ll give them the name that they deserve. The muckle +black deil was father to the Frasers, a’body kens that; and as +for the Gregara, I never could abye the reek of them since I could stotter +on two feet. I bloodied the nose of one, I mind, when I was still +so wambly on my legs that I cowped upon the top of him. A proud +man was my father that day, God rest him! and I think he had the cause. +I’ll never can deny but what Robin was something of a piper,” +he added; “but as for James More, the deil guide him for me!”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“And what’s your ain opinion, you that’s a man of +so much experience?” said he.<br> +<br> +“It passes me,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And me too,” says Alan. “Do ye think this lass +would keep her word to ye?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“I do that,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“How many would ye think there would be of them?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“That depends,” said Alan. “If it was only you, +they would likely send two-three lively, brisk young birkies, and if +they thought that I was to appear in the employ, I daresay ten or twelve,” +said he.<br> +<br> +It was no use, I gave a little crack of laughter.<br> +<br> +“And I think your own two eyes will have seen me drive that number, +or the double of it, nearer hand!” cries he.<br> +<br> +“It matters the less,” said I, “because I am well +rid of them for this time.”<br> +<br> +“Nae doubt that’s your opinion,” said he; “but +I wouldnae be the least surprised if they were hunkering this wood. +Ye see, David man; they’ll be Hieland folk. There’ll +be some Frasers, I’m thinking, and some of the Gregara; and I +would never deny but what the both of them, and the Gregara in especial, +were clever experienced persons. A man kens little till he’s +driven a spreagh of neat cattle (say) ten miles through a throng lowland +country and the black soldiers maybe at his tail. It’s there +that I learned a great part of my penetration. And ye need nae +tell me: it’s better than war; which is the next best, however, +though generally rather a bauchle of a business. Now the Gregara +have had grand practice.”<br> +<br> +“No doubt that’s a branch of education that was left out +with me,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And I can see the marks of it upon ye constantly,” said +Alan. “But that’s the strange thing about you folk +of the college learning: ye’re ignorat, and ye cannae see ’t. +Wae’s me for my Greek and Hebrew; but, man, I ken that I dinnae +ken them - there’s the differ of it. Now, here’s you. +Ye lie on your wame a bittie in the bield of this wood, and ye tell +me that ye’ve cuist off these Frasers and Macgregors. Why? +<i>Because I couldnae see them</i>, says you. Ye blockhead, that’s +their livelihood.”<br> +<br> +“Take the worst of it,” said I, “and what are we to +do?”<br> +<br> +“I am thinking of that same,” said he. “We might +twine. It wouldnae be greatly to my taste; and forbye that, I +see reasons against it. First, it’s now unco dark, and it’s +just humanly possible we might give them the clean slip. If we +keep together, we make but the ae line of it; if we gang separate, we +make twae of them: the more likelihood to stave in upon some of these +gentry of yours. And then, second, if they keep the track of us, +it may come to a fecht for it yet, Davie; and then, I’ll confess +I would be blythe to have you at my oxter, and I think you would be +none the worse of having me at yours. So, by my way of it, we +should creep out of this wood no further gone than just the inside of +next minute, and hold away east for Gillane, where I’m to find +my ship. It’ll be like old days while it lasts, Davie; and +(come the time) we’ll have to think what you should be doing. +I’m wae to leave ye here, wanting me.”<br> +<br> +“Have with ye, then!” says I. “Do ye gang back +where you were stopping?”<br> +<br> +“Deil a fear!” said Alan. “They were good folks +to me, but I think they would be a good deal disappointed if they saw +my bonny face again. For (the way times go) I amnae just what +ye could call a Walcome Guest. Which makes me the keener for your +company, Mr. David Balfour of the Shaws, and set ye up! For, leave +aside twa cracks here in the wood with Charlie Stewart, I have scarce +said black or white since the day we parted at Corstorphine.”<br> +<br> +With which he rose from his place, and we began to move quietly eastward +through the wood.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XII - ON THE MARCH AGAIN WITH ALAN<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +It was likely between one and two; the moon (as I have said) was down; +a strongish wind, carrying a heavy wrack of cloud, had set in suddenly +from the west; and we began our movement in as black a night as ever +a fugitive or a murderer wanted. The whiteness of the path guided +us into the sleeping town of Broughton, thence through Picardy, and +beside my old acquaintance the gibbet of the two thieves. A little +beyond we made a useful beacon, which was a light in an upper window +of Lochend. Steering by this, but a good deal at random, and with +some trampling of the harvest, and stumbling and falling down upon the +banks, we made our way across country, and won forth at last upon the +linky, boggy muirland that they call the Figgate Whins. Here, +under a bush of whin, we lay down the remainder of that night and slumbered.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Well, Davie,” said he, “is this no a bonny morning? +Here is a day that looks the way that a day ought to. This is +a great change of it from the belly of my haystack; and while you were +there sottering and sleeping I have done a thing that maybe I do very +seldom.”<br> +<br> +“And what was that?” said I.<br> +<br> +“O, just said my prayers,” said he.<br> +<br> +“And where are my gentry, as ye call them?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I feel like a gomeral,” says he, “to be leaving Scotland +on a day like this. It sticks in my head; I would maybe like it +better to stay here and hing.”<br> +<br> +“Ay, but ye wouldnae, Alan,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“If that’s all you have to complain of, Alan, it’s +no such great affair,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever,” said he, +“and me but new out of yon deil’s haystack.”<br> +<br> +“And so you were unco weary of your haystack?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“Weary’s nae word for it,” said he. “I’m +not just precisely a man that’s easily cast down; but I do better +with caller air and the lift above my head. I’m like the +auld Black Douglas (wasnae’t?) that likit better to hear the laverock +sing than the mouse cheep. And yon place, ye see, Davie - whilk +was a very suitable place to hide in, as I’m free to own - was +pit mirk from dawn to gloaming. There were days (or nights, for +how would I tell one from other?) that seemed to me as long as a long +winter.”<br> +<br> +“How did you know the hour to bide your tryst?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“The goodman brought me my meat and a drop brandy, and a candle-dowp +to eat it by, about eleeven,” said he. “So, when I +had swallowed a bit, it would he time to be getting to the wood. +There I lay and wearied for ye sore, Davie,” says he, laying his +hand on my shoulder “and guessed when the two hours would be about +by - unless Charlie Stewart would come and tell me on his watch - and +then back to the dooms haystack. Na, it was a driech employ, and +praise the Lord that I have warstled through with it!”<br> +<br> +“What did you do with yourself?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What were they about?” says I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“So ye were frich’ened of Sim Fraser?” he asked once.<br> +<br> +“In troth was I!” cried I.<br> +<br> +“So would I have been, Davie,” said he. “And +that is indeed a driedful man. But it is only proper to give the +deil his due: and I can tell you he is a most respectable person on +the field of war.”<br> +<br> +“Is he so brave?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“Brave!” said he. “He is as brave as my steel +sword.”<br> +<br> +The story of my duel set him beside himself.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Alan,” said I, “this is midsummer madness. +Here is no time for fencing lessons.”<br> +<br> +“I cannae well say no to that,” he admitted. “But +three times, man! And you standing there like a straw bogle and +rinning to fetch your ain sword like a doggie with a pocket-napkin! +David, this man Duncansby must be something altogether by-ordinar! +He maun be extraordinar skilly. If I had the time, I would gang +straight back and try a turn at him mysel’. The man must +be a provost.”<br> +<br> +“You silly fellow,” said I, “you forget it was just +me.”<br> +<br> +“Na,” said he, “but three times!”<br> +<br> +“When ye ken yourself that I am fair incompetent,” I cried.<br> +<br> +“Well, I never heard tell the equal of it,” said he.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ay, the next time!” says he. “And when will +that be, I would like to ken?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“That’s but a weary trade, Davie,” says Alan, “and +rather a blagyard one forby. Ye would be better in a king’s +coat than that.”<br> +<br> +“And no doubt that would be the way to have us meet,” cried +I. “But as you’ll be in King Lewie’s coat, and +I’ll be in King Geordie’s, we’ll have a dainty meeting +of it.”<br> +<br> +“There’s some sense in that,” he admitted<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Well, and I would think he could!” cried he. “Ye +see, I stand well in with my colonel, Count Drummond-Melfort; and, what’s +mair to the purpose I have a cousin of mine lieutenant-colonel in a +regiment of the Scots-Dutch. Naething could be mair proper than +what I would get a leave to see Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart of Halkett’s. +And Lord Melfort, who is a very scienteefic kind of a man, and writes +books like Caesar, would be doubtless very pleased to have the advantage +of my observes.”<br> +<br> +“Is Lord Meloort an author, then?” I asked, for much as +Alan thought of soldiers, I thought more of the gentry that write books.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“The best will be to write me in the care of my chieftain,” +said he, “Charles Stewart, of Ardsheil, Esquire, at the town of +Melons, in the Isle of France. It might take long, or it might +take short, but it would aye get to my hands at the last of it.”<br> +<br> +We had a haddock to our breakfast in Musselburgh, where it amused me +vastly to hear Alan. His great-coat and boot-hose were extremely +remarkable this warm morning, and perhaps some hint of an explanation +had been wise; but Alan went into that matter like a business, or I +should rather say, like a diversion. He engaged the goodwife of +the house with some compliments upon the rizzoring of our haddocks; +and the whole of the rest of our stay held her in talk about a cold +he had taken on his stomach, gravely relating all manner of symptoms +and sufferings, and hearing with a vast show of interest all the old +wives’ remedies she could supply him with in return.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +I sat listening; and it came in my mind that I had scarce ever heard +him address three serious words to any woman, but he was always drolling +and fleering and making a private mock of them, and yet brought to that +business a remarkable degree of energy and interest. Something +to this effect I remarked to him, when the good-wife (as chanced) was +called away.<br> +<br> +“What do ye want?” says he. “A man should aye +put his best foot forrit with the womankind; he should aye give them +a bit of a story to divert them, the poor lambs! It’s what +ye should learn to attend to, David; ye should get the principles, it’s +like a trade. Now, if this had been a young lassie, or onyways +bonnie, she would never have heard tell of my stomach, Davie. +But aince they’re too old to be seeking joes, they a’ set +up to be apotecaries. Why? What do I ken? They’ll +be just the way God made them, I suppose. But I think a man would +be a gomeral that didnae give his attention to the same.”<br> +<br> +And here, the luckie coming back, he turned from me as if with impatience +to renew their former conversation. The lady had branched some +while before from Alan’s stomach to the case of a goodbrother +of her own in Aberlady, whose last sickness and demise she was describing +at extraordinary length. Sometimes it was merely dull, sometimes +both dull and awful, for she talked with unction. The upshot was +that I fell in a deep muse, looking forth of the window on the road, +and scarce marking what I saw. Presently had any been looking +they might have seen me to start.<br> +<br> +“We pit a fomentation to his feet,” the good-wife was saying, +“and a het stane to his wame, and we gied him hyssop and water +of pennyroyal, and fine, clean balsam of sulphur for the hoast. . . +”<br> +<br> +“Sir,” says I, cutting very quietly in, “there’s +a friend of mine gone by the house.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +Presently, however, he paid her with a half-crown piece, and she must +go forth after the change.<br> +<br> +“Was it him with the red head?” asked Alan.<br> +<br> +“Ye have it,” said I.<br> +<br> +“What did I tell you in the wood?” he cried. “And +yet it’s strange he should be here too! Was he his lane?”<br> +<br> +“His lee-lane for what I could see,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Did he gang by?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“Straight by,” said I, “and looked neither to the +right nor left.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“There is one big differ, though,” said I, “that now +we have money in our pockets.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“I’m saying, Luckie,” says he, when the goodwife returned, +“have ye a back road out of this change house?”<br> +<br> +She told him there was and where it led to.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Now for a council of war, Davie,” said he. “But +first of all, a bit lesson to ye. Suppose that I had been like +you, what would yon old wife have minded of the pair of us! Just +that we had gone out by the back gate. And what does she mind +now? A fine, canty, friendly, cracky man, that suffered with the +stomach, poor body! and was real ta’en up about the goodbrother. +O man, David, try and learn to have some kind of intelligence!”<br> +<br> +“I’ll try, Alan,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And now for him of the red head,” says he; “was he +gaun fast or slow?”<br> +<br> +“Betwixt and between,” said I.<br> +<br> +“No kind of a hurry about the man?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“Never a sign of it,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Nhm!” said Alan, “it looks queer. We saw nothing +of them this morning on the Whins; he’s passed us by, he doesnae +seem to be looking, and yet here he is on our road! Dod, Davie, +I begin to take a notion. I think it’s no you they’re +seeking, I think it’s me; and I think they ken fine where they’re +gaun.”<br> +<br> +“They ken?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“I think Andie Scougal’s sold me - him or his mate wha kent +some part of the affair - or else Charlie’s clerk callant, which +would be a pity too,” says Alan; “and if you askit me for +just my inward private conviction, I think there’ll be heads cracked +on Gillane sands.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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 gomerals, I should ken this country like the back +of my hand; and if ye’re ready for another bit run with Alan Breck, +we’ll can cast back inshore, and come to the seaside again by +Dirleton. If the ship’s there, we’ll try and get on +board of her. If she’s no there, I’ll just have to +get back to my weary haystack. But either way of it, I think we +will leave your gentry whistling on their thumbs.”<br> +<br> +“I believe there’s some chance in it,” said I. +“Have on with ye, Alan!”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIII - GILLANE SANDS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I did not profit by Alan’s pilotage as he had done by his marchings +under General Cope; for I can scarce tell what way we went. It +is my excuse that we travelled exceeding fast. Some part we ran, +some trotted, and the rest walked at a vengeance of a pace. Twice, +while we were at top speed, we ran against country-folk; but though +we plumped into the first from round a corner, Alan was as ready as +a loaded musket.<br> +<br> +“Has ye seen my horse?” he gasped.<br> +<br> +“Na, man, I haenae seen nae horse the day,” replied the +countryman.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Them that cannae tell the truth,” he observed to myself +as we went on again, “should be aye mindful to leave an honest, +handy lee behind them. If folk dinnae ken what ye’re doing, +Davie, they’re terrible taken up with it; but if they think they +ken, they care nae mair for it than what I do for pease porridge.”<br> +<br> +As we had first made inland, so our road came in the end to lie very +near due north; the old Kirk of Aberlady for a landmark on the left; +on the right, the top of the Berwick Law; and it was thus we struck +the shore again, not far from Dirleton. From north Berwick west +to Gillane Ness there runs a string of four small islets, Craiglieth, +the Lamb, Fidra, and Eyebrough, notable by their diversity of size and +shape. Fidra is the most particular, being a strange grey islet +of two humps, made the more conspicuous by a piece of ruin; and I mind +that (as we drew closer to it) by some door or window of these ruins +the sea peeped through like a man’s eye. Under the lee of +Fidra there is a good anchorage in westerly winds, and there, from a +far way off, we could see the <i>Thistle </i>riding.<br> +<br> +The shore in face of these islets is altogether waste. Here is +no dwelling of man, and scarce any passage, or at most of vagabond children +running at their play. Gillane is a small place on the far side +of the Ness, the folk of Dirleton go to their business in the inland +fields, and those of North Berwick straight to the sea-fishing from +their haven; so that few parts of the coast are lonelier. But +I mind, as we crawled upon our bellies into that multiplicity of heights +and hollows, keeping a bright eye upon all sides, and our hearts hammering +at our ribs, there was such a shining of the sun and the sea, such a +stir of the wind in the bent grass, and such a bustle of down-popping +rabbits and up-flying gulls, that the desert seemed to me, like a place +alive. No doubt it was in all ways well chosen for a secret embarcation, +if the secret had been kept; and even now that it was out, and the place +watched, we were able to creep unperceived to the front of the sandhills, +where they look down immediately on the beach and sea.<br> +<br> +But here Alan came to a full stop.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Maybe they’re no come yet,” said I. “And +even if they are, there’s one clear matter in our favour. +They’ll be all arranged to take us, that’s true. But +they’ll have arranged for our coming from the east and here we +are upon their west.”<br> +<br> +“Ay,” says Alan, “I wish we were in some force, and +this was a battle, we would have bonnily out-manoeuvred them! +But it isnae, Davit; and the way it is, is a wee thing less inspiring +to Alan Breck. I swither, Davie.”<br> +<br> +“Time flies, Alan,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +“Alan,” said I, “this is no like you. It’s +got to be now or never.”<br> +<br> +<br> +“This is no me, quo’ he,”<br> +<br> +<br> +sang Alan, with a queer face betwixt shame and drollery.<br> +<br> +<br> +“Neither you nor me, quo’ he, neither you nor me.<br> +Wow, na, Johnnie man! neither you nor me.”<br> +<br> +<br> +And then of a sudden he stood straight up where he was, and with a handkerchief +flying in his right hand, marched down upon the beach. I stood +up myself, but lingered behind him, scanning the sand-hills to the east. +His appearance was at first unremarked: Scougal not expecting him so +early, and <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.<br> +<br> +Alan had not seen this, looking straight to seaward at the ship and +skiff.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“There is one thing I would like to ken,” say Alan. +“I would like to ken these gentry’s orders. We’re +worth four hunner pound the pair of us: how if they took the guns to +us, Davie! They would get a bonny shot from the top of that lang +sandy bank.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I believe ye’ll be in the right,” says Alan. +“For all which I am wearing a good deal for yon boat.”<br> +<br> +And he snapped his fingers and whistled to it like a dog.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“This is a fine, bright, caller place to get shot in,” says +Alan suddenly; “and, man, I wish that I had your courage!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And you would be the more mistaken,” said he. “What +makes the differ with me is just my great penetration and knowledge +of affairs. But for auld, cauld, dour, deadly courage, I am not +fit to hold a candle to yourself. Look at us two here upon the +sands. Here am I, fair hotching to be off; here’s you (for +all that I ken) in two minds of it whether you’ll no stop. +Do you think that I could do that, or would? No me! Firstly, +because I havenae got the courage and wouldnae daur; and secondly, because +I am a man of so much penetration and would see ye damned first.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Remembrance of my temptation in the wood made me strong as iron.<br> +<br> +“I have a tryst to keep,” I continued. “I am +trysted with your cousin Charlie; I have passed my word.”<br> +<br> +“Braw trysts that you’ll can keep,” said Alan. +“Ye’ll just mistryst aince and for a’ with the gentry +in the bents. And what for?” he went on with an extreme +threatening gravity. “Just tell me that, my mannie! +Are ye to be speerited away like Lady Grange? Are they to drive +a dirk in your inside and bury ye in the bents? Or is it to be +the other way, and are they to bring ye in with James? Are they +folk to be trustit? Would ye stick your head in the mouth of Sim +Fraser and the ither Whigs?” he added with extraordinary bitterness.<br> +<br> +“Alan,” cried I, “they’re all rogues and liars, +and I’m with ye there. The more reason there should be one +decent man in such a land of thieves! My word in passed, and I’ll +stick to it. I said long syne to your kinswoman that I would stumble +at no risk. Do ye mind of that? - the night Red Colin fell, it +was. No more I will, then. Here I stop. Prestongrange +promised me my life: if he’s to be mansworn, here I’ll have +to die.”<br> +<br> +“Aweel aweel,” said Alan.<br> +<br> +All this time we had seen or heard no more of our pursuers. In +truth we had caught them unawares; their whole party (as I was to learn +afterwards) had not yet reached the scene; what there was of them was +spread among the bents towards Gillane. It was quite an affair +to call them in and bring them over, and the boat was making speed. +They were besides but cowardly fellows: a mere leash of Highland cattle-thieves, +of several clans, no gentleman there to be the captain and the more +they looked at Alan and me upon the beach, the less (I must suppose) +they liked the look of us.<br> +<br> +Whoever had betrayed Alan it was not the captain: he was in the skiff +himself, steering and stirring up his oarsmen, like a man with his heart +in his employ. Already he was near in, and the boat securing - +already Alan’s face had flamed crimson with the excitement of +his deliverance, when our friends in the bents, either in their despair +to see their prey escape them or with some hope of scaring Andie, raised +suddenly a shrill cry of several voices.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“What’s this of it?” sings out the captain, for he +was come within an easy hail.<br> +<br> +“Freens o’mine,” says Alan, and began immediately +to wade forth in the shallow water towards the boat. “Davie,” +he said, pausing, “Davie, are ye no coming? I am swier to +leave ye.”<br> +<br> +“Not a hair of me,” said I.<br> +<br> +“He stood part of a second where he was to his knees in the salt +water, hesitating.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +I stood where he had left me, with my hands behind my back; Alan sat +with his head turned watching me; and the boat drew smoothly away. +Of a sudden I came the nearest hand to shedding tears, and seemed to +myself the most deserted solitary lad in Scotland. With that I +turned my back upon the sea and faced the sandhills. There was +no sight or sound of man; the sun shone on the wet sand and the dry, +the wind blew in the bents, the gulls made a dreary piping. As +I passed higher up the beach, the sand-lice were hopping nimbly about +the stranded tangles. The devil any other sight or sound in that +unchancy place. And yet I knew there were folk there, observing +me, upon some secret purpose. They were no soldiers, or they would +have fallen on and taken us ere now; doubtless they were some common +rogues hired for my undoing, perhaps to kidnap, perhaps to murder me +outright. From the position of those engaged, the first was the +more likely; from what I knew of their character and ardency in this +business, I thought the second very possible; and the blood ran cold +about my heart.<br> +<br> +I had a mad idea to loosen my sword in the scabbard; for though I was +very unfit to stand up like a gentleman blade to blade, I thought I +could do some scathe in a random combat. But I perceived in time +the folly of resistance. This was no doubt the joint “expedient” +on which Prestongrange and Fraser were agreed. The first, I was +very sure, had done something to secure my life; the second was pretty +likely to have slipped in some contrary hints into the ears of Neil +and his companions; and it I were to show bare steel I might play straight +into the hands of my worst enemy and seal my own doom.<br> +<br> +These thoughts brought me to the head of the beach. I cast a look +behind, the boat was nearing the brig, and Alan flew his handkerchief +for a farewell, which I replied to with the waving of my hand. +But Alan himself was shrunk to a small thing in my view, alongside of +this pass that lay in front of me. I set my hat hard on my head, +clenched my teeth, and went right before me up the face of the sand-wreath. +It made a hard climb, being steep, and the sand like water underfoot. +But I caught hold at last by the long bent-grass on the brae-top, and +pulled myself to a good footing. The same moment men stirred and +stood up here and there, six or seven of them, ragged-like knaves, each +with a dagger in his hand. The fair truth is, I shut my eyes and +prayed. When I opened them again, the rogues were crept the least +thing nearer without speech or hurry. Every eye was upon mine, +which struck me with a strange sensation of their brightness, and of +the fear with which they continued to approach me. I held out +my hands empty; whereupon one asked, with a strong Highland brogue, +if I surrendered.<br> +<br> +“Under protest,” said I, “if ye ken what that means, +which I misdoubt.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +In the course of two hours or so, more and more ragged Highlandmen kept +collecting. Neil among the first, until the party must have numbered +near a score. With each new arrival there was a fresh bout of +talk, that sounded like complaints and explanations; but I observed +one thing, none of those who came late had any share in the division +of my spoils. The last discussion was very violent and eager, +so that once I thought they would have quarrelled; on the heels of which +their company parted, the bulk of them returning westward in a troop, +and only three, Neil and two others, remaining sentries on the prisoner.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +He assured me in answer I should be tenderly used, for he knew he was +“acquent wi’ the leddy.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Lads,” cried he, “has ye a paper like this?” +and held up one in his hand. Neil produced a second, which the +newcomer studied through a pair of horn spectacles, and saying all was +right and we were the folk he was seeking, immediately dismounted. +I was then set in his place, my feet tied under the horse’s belly, +and we set forth under the guidance of the Lowlander. His path +must have been very well chosen, for we met but one pair - a pair of +lovers - the whole way, and these, perhaps taking us to be free-traders, +fled on our approach. We were at one time close at the foot of +Berwick Law on the south side; at another, as we passed over some open +hills, I spied the lights of a clachan and the old tower of a church +among some trees not far off, but too far to cry for help, if I had +dreamed of it. At last we came again within sound of the sea. +There was moonlight, though not much; and by this I could see the three +huge towers and broken battlements of Tantallon, that old chief place +of the Red Douglases. The horse was picketed in the bottom of +the ditch to graze, and I was led within, and forth into the court, +and thence into the tumble-down stone hall. Here my conductors +built a brisk fire in the midst of the pavement, for there was a chill +in the night. My hands were loosed, I was set by the wall in the +inner end, and (the Lowlander having produced provisions) I was given +oatmeal bread and a pitcher of French brandy. This done, I was +left once more alone with my three Highlandmen. They sat close +by the fire drinking and talking; the wind blew in by the breaches, +cast about the smoke and flames, and sang in the tops of the towers; +I could hear the sea under the cliffs, and, my mind being reassured +as to my life, and my body and spirits wearied with the day’s +employment, I turned upon one side and slumbered.<br> +<br> +I had no means of guessing at what hour I was wakened, only the moon +was down and the fire was low. My feet were now loosed, and I +was carried through the ruins and down the cliff-side by a precipitous +path to where I found a fisher’s boat in a haven of the rocks. +This I was had on board of, and we began to put forth from the shore +in a fine starlight<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIV - THE BASS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I had no thought where they were taking me; only looked here and there +for the appearance of a ship; and there ran the while in my head a word +of Ransome’s - the<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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What are you going to do with me?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“Nae harm,” said he, “nae harm ava’. Ye’ll +have strong freens, I’m thinking. Ye’ll be richt eneuch +yet.”<br> +<br> +There began to fall a greyness on the face of the sea; little dabs of +pink and red, like coals of slow fire, came in the east; and at the +same time the geese awakened, and began crying about the top of the +Bass. It is just the one crag of rock, as everybody knows, but +great enough to carve a city from. The sea was extremely little, +but there went a hollow plowter round the base of it. With the +growing of the dawn I could see it clearer and clearer; the straight +crags painted with sea-birds’ droppings like a morning frost, +the sloping top of it green with grass, the clan of white geese that +cried about the sides, and the black, broken buildings of the prison +sitting close on the sea’s edge.<br> +<br> +At the sight the truth came in upon me in a clap.<br> +<br> +“It’s there you’re taking me!” I cried.<br> +<br> +“Just to the Bass, mannie,” said he: “Whaur the auld +saints were afore ye, and I misdoubt if ye have come so fairly by your +preeson.”<br> +<br> +“But none dwells there now,” I cried; “the place is +long a ruin.”<br> +<br> +“It’ll be the mair pleisand a change for the solan geese, +then,” quoth Andie dryly.<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +Andie Dale was the Prefect (as I would jocularly call him) of the Bass, +being at once the shepherd and the gamekeeper of that small and rich +estate. He had to mind the dozen or so of sheep that fed and fattened +on the grass of the sloping part of it, like beasts grazing the roof +of a cathedral. He had charge besides of the solan geese that +roosted in the crags; and from these an extraordinary income is derived. +The young are dainty eating, as much as two shillings a-piece being +a common price, and paid willingly by epicures; even the grown birds +are valuable for their oil and feathers; and a part of the minister’s +stipend of North Berwick is paid to this day in solan geese, which makes +it (in some folks’ eyes) a parish to be coveted. To perform +these several businesses, as well as to protect the geese from poachers, +Andie had frequent occasion to sleep and pass days together on the crag; +and we found the man at home there like a farmer in his steading. +Bidding us all shoulder some of the packages, a matter in which I made +haste to bear a hand, he led us in by a looked gate, which was the only +admission to the island, and through the ruins of the fortress, to the +governor’s house. There we saw by the ashes in the chimney +and a standing bed-place in one corner, that he made his usual occupation.<br> +<br> +This bed he now offered me to use, saying he supposed I would set up +to be gentry.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He grumbled a little at this speech, but seemed upon reflection to approve +it. Indeed, he was a long-headed, sensible man, and a good Whig +and Presbyterian; read daily in a pocket Bible, and was both able and +eager to converse seriously on religion, leaning more than a little +towards the Cameronian extremes. His morals were of a more doubtful +colour. I found he was deep in the free trade, and used the rains +of Tantallon for a magazine of smuggled merchandise. As for a +gauger, I do not believe he valued the life of one at half-a-farthing. +But that part of the coast of Lothian is to this day as wild a place, +and the commons there as rough a crew, as any in Scotland.<br> +<br> +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 Palliser. It chanced she +was cruising in the month of September, plying between Fife and Lothian, +and sounding for sunk dangers. Early one fine morning she was +seen about two miles to east of us, where she lowered a boat, and seemed +to examine the Wildfire Rocks and Satan’s Bush, famous dangers +of that coast. And presently after having got her boat again, +she came before the wind and was headed directly for the Base. +This was very troublesome to Andie and the Highlanders; the whole business +of my sequestration was designed for privacy, and here, with a navy +captain perhaps blundering ashore, it looked to become public enough, +if it were nothing worse. I was in a minority of one, I am no +Alan to fall upon so many, and I was far from sure that a warship was +the least likely to improve my condition. All which considered, +I gave Andie my parole of good behaviour and obedience, and was had +briskly to the summit of the rock, where we all lay down, at the cliff’s +edge, in different places of observation and concealment. The<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.<br> +<br> +All the time of my stay on the rock we lived well. We had small +ale and brandy, and oatmeal, of which we made our porridge night and +morning. At times a boat came from the Castleton and brought us +a quarter of mutton, for the sheep upon the rock we must not touch, +these being specially fed to market. The geese were unfortunately +out of season, and we let them be. We fished ourselves, and yet +more often made the geese to fish for us: observing one when he had +made a capture and searing him from his prey ere he had swallowed it.<br> +<br> +The strange nature of this place, and the curiosities with which it +abounded, held me busy and amused. Escape being impossible, I +was allowed my entire liberty, and continually explored the surface +of the isle wherever it might support the foot of man. The old +garden of the prison was still to be observed, with flowers and pot-herbs +running wild, and some ripe cherries on a bush. A little lower +stood a chapel or a hermit’s cell; who built or dwelt in it, none +may know, and the thought of its age made a ground of many meditations. +The prison, too, where I now bivouacked with Highland cattle-thieves, +was a place full of history, both human and divine. I thought +it strange so many saints and martyrs should have gone by there so recently, +and left not so much as a leaf out of their Bibles, or a name carved +upon the wall, while the rough soldier lads that mounted guard upon +the battlements had filled the neighbourhood with their mementoes - +broken tobacco-pipes for the most part, and that in a surprising plenty, +but also metal buttons from their coats. There were times when +I thought I could have heard the pious sound of psalms out of the martyr’s +dungeons, and seen the soldiers tramp the ramparts with their glinting +pipes, and the dawn rising behind them out of the North Sea.<br> +<br> +No doubt it was a good deal Andie and his tales that put these fancies +in my head. He was extraordinarily well acquainted with the story +of the rock in all particulars, down to the names of private soldiers, +his father having served there in that same capacity. He was gifted +besides with a natural genius for narration, so that the people seemed +to speak and the things to be done before your face. This gift +of his and my assiduity to listen brought us the more close together. +I could not honestly deny but what I liked him; I soon saw that he liked +me; and indeed, from the first I had set myself out to capture his good-will. +An odd circumstance (to be told presently) effected this beyond my expectation; +but even in early days we made a friendly pair to be a prisoner and +his gaoler.<br> +<br> +I should trifle with my conscience if I pretended my stay upon the Bass +was wholly disagreeable. It seemed to me a safe place, as though +I was escaped there out of my troubles. No harm was to be offered +me; a material impossibility, rock and the deep sea, prevented me from +fresh attempts; I felt I had my life safe and my honour safe, and there +were times when I allowed myself to gloat on them like stolen waters. +At other times my thoughts were very different, I recalled how strong +I had expressed myself both to Rankeillor and to Stewart; I reflected +that my captivity upon the Bass, in view of a great part of the coasts +of Fife and Lothian, was a thing I should be thought more likely to +have invented than endured; and in the eyes of these two gentlemen, +at least, I must pass for a boaster and a coward. Now I would +take this lightly enough; tell myself that so long as I stood well with +Catriona Drummond, the opinion of the rest of man was but moonshine +and spilled water; and thence pass off into those meditations of a lover +which are so delightful to himself and must always appear so surprisingly +idle to a reader. But anon the fear would take me otherwise; I +would be shaken with a perfect panic of self-esteem, and these supposed +hard judgments appear an injustice impossible to be supported. +With that another train of thought would he presented, and I had scarce +begun to be concerned about men’s judgments of myself, than I +was haunted with the remembrance of James Stewart in his dungeon and +the lamentations of his wife. Then, indeed, passion began to work +in me; I could not forgive myself to sit there idle: it seemed (if I +were a man at all) that I could fly or swim out of my place of safety; +and it was in such humours and to amuse my self-reproaches that I would +set the more particularly to win the good side of Andie Dale.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Ay, you’re funny, Mr. Dale,” said I, “but perhaps +if you’ll glance an eye upon that paper you may change your note.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +He read it. “Troth, and ye’re nane sae ill aff,” +said he.<br> +<br> +“I thought that would maybe vary your opinions,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Hout!” said he. “It shows me ye can bribe; +but I’m no to be bribit.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ye’re no a’thegether wrong either,” says Andie. +“I’m to let you gang, bar orders contrair, on Saturday, +the 23rd.”<br> +<br> +I could not but feel there was something extremely insidious in this +arrangement. That I was to re-appear precisely in time to be too +late would cast the more discredit on my tale, if I were minded to tell +one; and this screwed me to fighting point.<br> +<br> +“Now then, Andie, you that kens the world, listen to me, and think +while ye listen,” said I. “I know there are great +folks in the business, and I make no doubt you have their names to go +upon. I have seen some of them myself since this affair began, +and said my say into their faces too. But what kind of a crime +would this be that I had committed? or what kind of a process is this +that I am fallen under? To be apprehended by some ragged John-Hielandman +on August 30th, carried to a rickle of old stones that is now neither +fort nor gaol (whatever it once was) but just the gamekeeper’s +lodge of the Bass Rock, and set free again, September 23rd, as secretly +as I was first arrested - does that sound like law to you? or does it +sound like justice? or does it not sound honestly like a piece of some +low dirty intrigue, of which the very folk that meddle with it are ashamed?”<br> +<br> +“I canna gainsay ye, Shaws. It looks unco underhand,” +says Andie. “And werenae the folk guid sound Whigs and true-blue +Presbyterians I would has seen them ayont Jordan and Jeroozlem or I +would have set hand to it.”<br> +<br> +“The Master of Lovat’ll be a braw Whig,” says I, “and +a grand Presbyterian.”<br> +<br> +“I ken naething by him,” said he. “I hae nae +trokings wi’ Lovats.”<br> +<br> +“No, it’ll be Prestongrange that you’ll be dealing +with,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Ah, but I’ll no tell ye that,” said Andie.<br> +<br> +“Little need when I ken,” was my retort.<br> +<br> +“There’s just the ae thing ye can be fairly sure of, Shaws,” +says Andie. “And that is that (try as ye please) I’m +no dealing wi’ yoursel’; nor yet I amnae goin’ to,” +he added.<br> +<br> +“Well, Andie, I see I’ll have to be speak out plain with +you,” I replied. And told him so much as I thought needful +of the facts.<br> +<br> +He heard me out with some serious interest, and when I had done, seemed +to consider a little with himself.<br> +<br> +“Shaws,” said he at last, “I’ll deal with the +naked hand. It’s a queer tale, and no very creditable, the +way you tell it; and I’m far frae minting that is other than the +way that ye believe it. As for yoursel’, ye seem to me rather +a dacent-like young man. But me, that’s aulder and mair +judeecious, see perhaps a wee bit further forrit in the job than what +ye can dae. And here the maitter clear and plain to ye. +There’ll be nae skaith to yoursel’ if I keep ye here; far +free that, I think ye’ll be a hantle better by it. There’ll +be nae skaith to the kintry - just ae mair Hielantman hangit - Gude +kens, a guid riddance! On the ither hand, it would be considerable +skaith to me if I would let you free. Sae, speakin’ as a +guid Whig, an honest freen’ to you, and an anxious freen’ +to my ainsel’, the plain fact is that I think ye’ll just +have to bide here wi’ Andie an’ the solans.”<br> +<br> +“Andie,” said I, laying my hand upon his knee, “this +Hielantman’s innocent.”<br> +<br> +“Ay, it’s a peety about that,” said he. “But +ye see, in this warld, the way God made it, we cannae just get a’thing +that we want.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XV - BLACK ANDIE’S TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I have yet said little of the Highlanders. They were all three +of the followers of James More, which bound the accusation very tight +about their master’s neck. All understood a word or two +of English, but Neil was the only one who judged he had enough of it +for general converse, in which (when once he got embarked) his company +was often tempted to the contrary opinion. They were tractable, +simple creatures; showed much more courtesy than might have been expected +from their raggedness and their uncouth appearance, and fell spontaneously +to be like three servants for Andie and myself.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Ay,” he would say, “<i>its an unco place, the Bass</i>.”<br> +<br> +It is so I always think of it. It was an unco place by night, +unco by day; and these were unco sounds, of the calling of the solans, +and the plash of the sea and the rock echoes, that hung continually +in our ears. It was chiefly so in moderate weather. When +the waves were anyway great they roared about the rock like thunder +and the drums of armies, dreadful but merry to hear; and it was in the +calm days that a man could daunt himself with listening - not a Highlandman +only, as I several times experimented on myself, so many still, hollow +noises haunted and reverberated in the porches of the rock.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“Not canny?” I asked. “How can that be?”<br> +<br> +“Na,” said he; “it will be made by a bogle and her +wanting ta heid upon his body.” <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a><br> +<br> +“Well,” said I, “there can be no bogles here, Neil; +for it’s not likely they would fash themselves to frighten geese.”<br> +<br> +“Ay?” says Andie, “is that what ye think of it! +But I’ll can tell ye there’s been waur nor bogles here.”<br> +<br> +“What’s waur than bogles, Andie?” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the Highlander that +had the least English of the three set himself to listen with all his +might.<br> +<br> +<br> +THE TALE OF TOD LAPRAIK<br> +<br> +<br> +MY faither, Tam Dale, peace to his banes, was a wild, sploring lad in +his young days, wi’ little wisdom and little grace. He was +fond of a lass and fond of a glass, and fond of a ran-dan; but I could +never hear tell that he was muckle use for honest employment. +Frae ae thing to anither, he listed at last for a sodger and was in +the garrison of this fort, which was the first way that ony of the Dales +cam to set foot upon the Bass. Sorrow upon that service! +The governor brewed his ain ale; it seems it was the warst conceivable. +The rock was proveesioned free the shore with vivers, the thing was +ill-guided, and there were whiles when they but to fish and shoot solans +for their diet. To crown a’, thir was the Days of the Persecution. +The perishin’ cauld chalmers were all occupeed wi’ sants +and martyrs, the saut of the yearth, of which it wasnae worthy. +And though Tam Dale carried a firelock there, a single sodger, and liked +a lass and a glass, as I was sayin,’ the mind of the man was mair +just than set with his position. He had glints of the glory of +the kirk; there were whiles when his dander rase to see the Lord’s +sants misguided, and shame covered him that he should be haulding a +can’le (or carrying a firelock) in so black a business. +There were nights of it when he was here on sentry, the place a’ +wheesht, the frosts o’ winter maybe riving in the wa’s, +and he would hear ane o’ the prisoners strike up a psalm, and +the rest join in, and the blessed sounds rising from the different chalmers +- or dungeons, I would raither say - so that this auld craig in the +sea was like a pairt of Heev’n. Black shame was on his saul; +his sins hove up before him muckle as the Bass, and above a’, +that chief sin, that he should have a hand in hagging and hashing at +Christ’s Kirk. But the truth is that he resisted the spirit. +Day cam, there were the rousing compainions, and his guid resolves depairtit.<br> +<br> +In thir days, dwalled upon the Bass a man of God, Peden the Prophet +was his name. Ye’ll have heard tell of Prophet Peden. +There was never the wale of him sinsyne, and it’s a question wi’ +mony if there ever was his like afore. He was wild’s a peat-hag, +fearsome to look at, fearsome to hear, his face like the day of judgment. +The voice of him was like a solan’s and dinnle’d in folks’ +lugs, and the words of him like coals of fire.<br> +<br> +Now there was a lass on the rock, and I think she had little to do, +for it was nae place far decent weemen; but it seems she was bonny, +and her and Tam Dale were very well agreed. It befell that Peden +was in the gairden his lane at the praying when Tam and the lass cam +by; and what should the lassie do but mock with laughter at the sant’s +devotions? He rose and lookit at the twa o’ them, and Tam’s +knees knoitered thegether at the look of him. But whan he spak, +it was mair in sorrow than in anger. ‘Poor thing, poor thing!” +says he, and it was the lass he lookit at, “I hear you skirl and +laugh,” he says, “but the Lord has a deid shot prepared +for you, and at that surprising judgment ye shall skirl but the ae time!” +Shortly thereafter she was daundering on the craigs wi’ twa-three +sodgers, and it was a blawy day. There cam a gowst of wind, claught +her by the coats, and awa’ wi’ her bag and baggage. +And it was remarked by the sodgers that she gied but the ae skirl.<br> +<br> +Nae doubt this judgment had some weicht upon Tam Dale; but it passed +again and him none the better. Ae day he was flyting wi’ +anither sodger-lad. “Deil hae me!” quo’ Tam, +for he was a profane swearer. And there was Peden glowering at +him, gash an’ waefu’; Peden wi’ his lang chafts an’ +luntin’ een, the maud happed about his kist, and the hand of him +held out wi’ the black nails upon the finger-nebs - for he had +nae care of the body. “Fy, fy, poor man!” cries he, +“the poor fool man! <i>Deil hae me, </i>quo’ he; an’ +I see the deil at his oxter.” The conviction of guilt and +grace cam in on Tam like the deep sea; he flang doun the pike that was +in his hands - “I will nae mair lift arms against the cause o’ +Christ!” says he, and was as gude’s word. There was +a sair fyke in the beginning, but the governor, seeing him resolved, +gied him his discharge, and he went and dwallt and merried in North +Berwick, and had aye a gude name with honest folk free that day on.<br> +<br> +It was in the year seeventeen hunner and sax that the Bass cam in the +hands o’ the Da’rymples, and there was twa men soucht the +chairge of it. Baith were weel qualified, for they had baith been +sodgers in the garrison, and kent the gate to handle solans, and the +seasons and values of them. Forby that they were baith - or they +baith seemed - earnest professors and men of comely conversation. +The first of them was just Tam Dale, my faither. The second was +ane Lapraik, whom the folk ca’d Tod Lapraik maistly, but whether +for his name or his nature I could never hear tell. Weel, Tam +gaed to see Lapraik upon this business, and took me, that was a toddlin’ +laddie, by the hand. Tod had his dwallin’ in the lang loan +benorth the kirkyaird. It’s a dark uncanny loan, forby that +the kirk has aye had an ill name since the days o’ James the Saxt +and the deevil’s cantrips played therein when the Queen was on +the seas; and as for Tod’s house, it was in the mirkest end, and +was little liked by some that kenned the best. The door was on +the sneck that day, and me and my faither gaed straucht in. Tod +was a wabster to his trade; his loom stood in the but. There he +sat, a muckle fat, white hash of a man like creish, wi’ a kind +of a holy smile that gart me scunner. The hand of him aye cawed +the shuttle, but his een was steeked. We cried to him by his name, +we skirted in the deid lug of him, we shook him by the shou’ther. +Nae mainner o’ service! There he sat on his dowp, an’ +cawed the shuttle and smiled like creish.<br> +<br> +“God be guid to us,” says Tam Dale, “this is no canny?”<br> +<br> +He had jimp said the word, when Tod Lapraik cam to himsel’.<br> +<br> +“Is this you, Tam?” says he. “Haith, man! +I’m blythe to see ye. I whiles fa’ into a bit dwam +like this,” he says; “its frae the stamach.”<br> +<br> +Weel, they began to crack about the Bass and which of them twa was to +get the warding o’t, and little by little cam to very ill words, +and twined in anger. I mind weel that as my faither and me gaed +hame again, he cam ower and ower the same expression, how little he +likit Tod Lapraik and his dwams.<br> +<br> +“Dwam!” says he. “I think folk hae brunt for +dwams like yon.”<br> +<br> +Aweel, my faither got the Bass and Tod had to go wantin’. +It was remembered sinsyne what way he had ta’en the thing. +“Tam,” says he, “ye hae gotten the better o’ +me aince mair, and I hope,” says he, “ye’ll find at +least a’ that ye expeckit at the Bass.” Which have +since been thought remarkable expressions. At last the time came +for Tam Dale to take young solans. This was a business he was +weel used wi’, he had been a craigsman frae a laddie, and trustit +nane but himsel’. So there was he hingin’ by a line +an’ speldering on the craig face, whaur its hieest and steighest. +Fower tenty lads were on the tap, hauldin’ the line and mindin’ +for his signals. But whaur Tam hung there was naething but the +craig, and the sea belaw, and the solans skirlin and flying. It +was a braw spring morn, and Tam whustled as he claught in the young +geese. Mony’s the time I’ve heard him tell of this +experience, and aye the swat ran upon the man.<br> +<br> +It chanced, ye see, that Tam keeked up, and he was awaur of a muckle +solan, and the solan pyking at the line. He thocht this by-ordinar +and outside the creature’s habits. He minded that ropes +was unco saft things, and the solan’s neb and the Bass Rock unco +hard, and that twa hunner feet were raither mair than he would care +to fa’.<br> +<br> +“Shoo!” says Tam. “Awa’, bird! Shoo, +awa’ wi’ ye!” says he.<br> +<br> +The solan keekit doon into Tam’s face, and there was something +unco in the creature’s ee. Just the ae keek it gied, and +back to the rope. But now it wroucht and warstl’t like a +thing dementit. There never was the solan made that wroucht as +that solan wroucht; and it seemed to understand its employ brawly, birzing +the saft rope between the neb of it and a crunkled jag o’ stane.<br> +<br> +There gaed a cauld stend o’ fear into Tam’s heart. +“This thing is nae bird,” thinks he. His een turnt +backward in his heid and the day gaed black aboot him. “If +I get a dwam here,” he toucht, “it’s by wi’ +Tam Dale.” And he signalled for the lads to pu’ him +up.<br> +<br> +And it seemed the solan understood about signals. For nae sooner +was the signal made than he let be the rope, spried his wings, squawked +out loud, took a turn flying, and dashed straucht at Tam Dale’s +een. Tam had a knife, he gart the cauld steel glitter. And +it seemed the solan understood about knives, for nae suner did the steel +glint in the sun than he gied the ae squawk, but laighter, like a body +disappointit, and flegged aff about the roundness of the craig, and +Tam saw him nae mair. And as sune as that thing was gane, Tam’s +heid drapt upon his shouther, and they pu’d him up like a deid +corp, dadding on the craig.<br> +<br> +A dram of brandy (which he went never without) broucht him to his mind, +or what was left of it. Up he sat.<br> +<br> +“Rin, Geordie, rin to the boat, mak’ sure of the boat, man +- rin!” he cries, “or yon solan’ll have it awa’,” +says he.<br> +<br> +The fower lads stared at ither, an’ tried to whilly-wha him to +be quiet. But naething would satisfy Tam Dale, till ane o’ +them had startit on aheid to stand sentry on the boat. The ithers +askit if he was for down again.<br> +<br> +“Na,” says he, “and niether you nor me,” says +he, “and as sune as I can win to stand on my twa feet we’ll +be aff frae this craig o’ Sawtan.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +It was about this time o’ the year; my grandfaither was out at +the white fishing; and like a bairn, I but to gang wi’ him. +We had a grand take, I mind, and the way that the fish lay broucht us +near in by the Bass, whaur we foregaithered wi’ anither boat that +belanged to a man Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He’s no +lang deid neither, or ye could speir at himsel’. Weel, Sandie +hailed.<br> +<br> +“What’s yon on the Bass?” says he.<br> +<br> +“On the Bass?” says grandfaither.<br> +<br> +“Ay,” says Sandie, “on the green side o’t.”<br> +<br> +“Whatten kind of a thing?” says grandfaither. “There +cannae be naething on the Bass but just the sheep.”<br> +<br> +“It looks unco like a body,” quo’ Sandie, who was +nearer in.<br> +<br> +“A body!” says we, and we none of us likit that. For +there was nae boat that could have brought a man, and the key o’ +the prison yett hung ower my faither’s at hame in the press bed.<br> +<br> +We keept the twa boats close for company, and crap in nearer hand. +Grandfaither had a gless, for he had been a sailor, and the captain +of a smack, and had lost her on the sands of Tay. And when we +took the glass to it, sure eneuch there was a man. He was in a +crunkle o’ green brae, a wee below the chaipel, a’ by his +lee lane, and lowped and flang and danced like a daft quean at a waddin’.<br> +<br> +“It’s Tod,” says grandfather, and passed the gless +to Sandie.<br> +<br> +“Ay, it’s him,” says Sandie.<br> +<br> +“Or ane in the likeness o’ him,” says grandfaither.<br> +<br> +“Sma’ is the differ,” quo’ Sandie. “De’il +or warlock, I’ll try the gun at him,” quo’ he, and +broucht up a fowling-piece that he aye carried, for Sandie was a notable +famous shot in all that country.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Hout!” says Sandie, “this is the Lord’s judgment +surely, and be damned to it,” says he.<br> +<br> +“Maybe ay, and maybe no,” says my grandfaither, worthy man! +“But have you a mind of the Procurator Fiscal, that I think ye’ll +have foregaithered wi’ before,” says he.<br> +<br> +This was ower true, and Sandie was a wee thing set ajee. “Aweel, +Edie,” says he, “and what would be your way of it?”<br> +<br> +“Ou, just this,” says grandfaither. “Let me +that has the fastest boat gang back to North Berwick, and let you bide +here and keep an eye on Thon. If I cannae find Lapraik, I’ll +join ye and the twa of us’ll have a crack wi’ him. +But if Lapraik’s at hame, I’ll rin up the flag at the harbour, +and ye can try Thon Thing wi’ the gun.”<br> +<br> +Aweel, so it was agreed between them twa. I was just a bairn, +an’ clum in Sandie’s boat, whaur I thoucht I would see the +best of the employ. My grandsire gied Sandie a siller tester to +pit in his gun wi’ the leid draps, bein mair deidly again bogles. +And then the as boat set aff for North Berwick, an’ the tither +lay whaur it was and watched the wanchancy thing on the brae-side.<br> +<br> +A’ the time we lay there it lowped and flang and capered and span +like a teetotum, and whiles we could hear it skelloch as it span. +I hae seen lassies, the daft queans, that would lowp and dance a winter’s +nicht, and still be lowping and dancing when the winter’s day +cam in. But there would be fowk there to hauld them company, and +the lads to egg them on; and this thing was its lee-lane. And +there would be a fiddler diddling his elbock in the chimney-side; and +this thing had nae music but the skirling of the solans. And the +lassies were bits o’ young things wi’ the reid life dinnling +and stending in their members; and this was a muckle, fat, creishy man, +and him fa’n in the vale o’ years. Say what ye like, +I maun say what I believe. It was joy was in the creature’s +heart, the joy o’ hell, I daursay: joy whatever. Mony a +time I have askit mysel’ why witches and warlocks should sell +their sauls (whilk are their maist dear possessions) and be auld, duddy, +wrunkl’t wives or auld, feckless, doddered men; and then I mind +upon Tod Lapraik dancing a’ the hours by his lane in the black +glory of his heart. Nae doubt they burn for it muckle in hell, +but they have a grand time here of it, whatever! - and the Lord forgie +us!<br> +<br> +Weel, at the hinder end, we saw the wee flag yirk up to the mast-heid +upon the harbour rocks. That was a’ Sandie waited for. +He up wi’ the gun, took a deleeberate aim, an’ pu’d +the trigger. There cam’ a bang and then ae waefu’ +skirl frae the Bass. And there were we rubbin’ our een and +lookin’ at ither like daft folk. For wi’ the bang +and the skirl the thing had clean disappeared. The sun glintit, +the wund blew, and there was the bare yaird whaur the Wonder had been +lowping and flinging but ae second syne.<br> +<br> +The hale way hame I roared and grat wi’ the terror o’ that +dispensation. The grawn folk were nane sae muckle better; there +was little said in Sandie’s boat but just the name of God; and +when we won in by the pier, the harbour rocks were fair black wi’ +the folk waitin’ us. It seems they had fund Lapraik in ane +of his dwams, cawing the shuttle and smiling. Ae lad they sent +to hoist the flag, and the rest abode there in the wabster’s house. +You may be sure they liked it little; but it was a means of grace to +severals that stood there praying in to themsel’s (for nane cared +to pray out loud) and looking on thon awesome thing as it cawed the +shuttle. Syne, upon a suddenty, and wi’ the ae dreidfu’ +skelloch, Tod sprang up frae his hinderlands and fell forrit on the +wab, a bluidy corp.<br> +<br> +When the corp was examined the leid draps hadnae played buff upon the +warlock’s body; sorrow a leid drap was to be fund! but there was +grandfaither’s siller tester in the puddock’s heart of him.<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“She would ken that story afore,” he said. “She +was the story of Uistean More M’Gillie Phadrig and the Gavar Vore.”<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Thir will be no words to use to shentlemans,” says Neil.<br> +<br> +“Shentlemans!” cries Andie. “Shentlemans, ye +hielant stot! If God would give ye the grace to see yoursel’ +the way that ithers see ye, ye would throw your denner up.”<br> +<br> +There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and the black knife +was in his hand that moment.<br> +<br> +There was no time to think; and I caught the Highlander by the leg, +and had him down, and his armed hand pinned out, before I knew what +I was doing. His comrades sprang to rescue him, Andie and I were +without weapons, the Gregara three to two. It seemed we were beyond +salvation, when Neil screamed in his own tongue, ordering the others +back, and made his submission to myself in a manner the most abject, +even giving me up his knife which (upon a repetition of his promises) +I returned to him on the morrow.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVI - THE MISSING WITNESS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +On the seventeenth, the day I was trysted with the Writer, I had much +rebellion against fate. The thought of him waiting in the <i>King’s +Arms, </i>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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“If I thoucht it was to do guid to ye, Shaws!” said he, +staring at me over his spectacles.<br> +<br> +“It’s to save another,” said I, “and to redeem +my word. What would be more good than that? Do ye no mind +the scripture, Andie? And you with the Book upon your lap!<i> +What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world</i>?”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Andie! have I named the name of siller?” cried I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Early the next morning (Friday, 22nd) a boat came with provisions, and +Andie placed a packet in my hand. The cover was without address +but sealed with a Government seal. It enclosed two notes. +“Mr. Balfour can now see for himself it is too late to meddle. +His conduct will be observed and his discretion rewarded.” +So ran the first, which seemed to be laboriously writ with the left +hand. There was certainly nothing in these expressions to compromise +the writer, even if that person could be found; the seal, which formidably +served instead of signature, was affixed to a separate sheet on which +there was no scratch of writing; and I had to confess that (so far) +my adversaries knew what they were doing, and to digest as well as I +was able the threat that peeped under the promise.<br> +<br> +But the second enclosure was by far the more surprising. It was +in a lady’s hand of writ. “<i>Maister</i> <i>Dauvit +Balfour is informed a friend was speiring for</i> <i>him</i> <i>and</i> +<i>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 inconsequent +intelligence upon the Bass? For the writer, I could hit upon none +possible except Miss Grant. Her family, I remembered, had remarked +on Catriona’s eyes and even named her for their colour; and she +herself had been much in the habit to address me with a broad pronunciation, +by way of a sniff, I supposed, at my rusticity. No doubt, besides, +but she lived in the same house as this letter came from. So there +remained but one step to be accounted for; and that was how Prestongrange +should have permitted her at all in an affair so secret, or let her +daft-like billet go in the same cover with his own. But even here +I had a glimmering. For, first of all, there was something rather +alarming about the young lady, and papa might be more under her domination +than I knew. And, second, there was the man’s continual +policy to be remembered, how his conduct had been continually mingled +with caresses, and he had scarce ever, in the midst of so much contention, +laid aside a mask of friendship. He must conceive that my imprisonment +had incensed me. Perhaps this little jesting, friendly message +was intended to disarm my rancour?<br> +<br> +I will be honest - and I think it did. I felt a sudden warmth +towards that beautiful Miss Grant, that she should stoop to so much +interest in my affairs. The summoning up of Catriona moved me +of itself to milder and more cowardly counsels. If the Advocate +knew of her and our acquaintance - if I should please him by some of +that “discretion” at which his letter pointed - to what +might not this lead! <i>In vain is the net prepared in</i> <i>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.<br> +<br> +I was in this frame, my heart beating, the grey eyes plain before me +like two stars, when Andie broke in upon my musing.<br> +<br> +“I see ye has gotten guid news,” said he.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Andie,” said I, “is it still to be to-morrow?”<br> +<br> +He told me nothing was changed.<br> +<br> +“Was anything said about the hour?” I asked.<br> +<br> +He told me it was to be two o’clock afternoon.<br> +<br> +“And about the place?” I pursued.<br> +<br> +“Whatten place?” says Andie.<br> +<br> +“The place I am to be landed at?” said I.<br> +<br> +He owned there was nothing as to that.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ye daft callant!” he cried; “ye would try for Inverary +after a’!”<br> +<br> +“Just that, Andie,” says I.<br> +<br> +“Weel, ye’re ill to beat!” says he. “And +I was a kind o’ sorry for ye a’ day yesterday,” he +added. “Ye see, I was never entirely sure till then, which +way of it ye really wantit.”<br> +<br> +Here was a spur to a lame horse!<br> +<br> +“A word in your ear, Andie,” said I. “This plan +of mine has another advantage yet. We can leave these Hielandman +behind us on the rock, and one of your boats from the Castleton can +bring them off to-morrow. Yon Neil has a queer eye when he regards +you; maybe, if I was once out of the gate there might be knives again; +these red-shanks are unco grudgeful. And if there should come +to be any question, here is your excuse. Our lives were in danger +by these savages; being answerable for my safety, you chose the part +to bring me from their neighbourhood and detain me the rest of the time +on board your boat: and do you know, Andie?” says I, with a smile, +“I think it was very wisely chosen,”<br> +<br> +“The truth is I have nae goo for Neil,” says Andie, “nor +he for me, I’m thinking; and I would like ill to come to my hands +wi’ the man. Tam Anster will make a better hand of it with +the cattle onyway.” (For this man, Anster, came from Fife, +where the Gaelic is still spoken.) “Ay, ay!” says +Andie, “Tam’ll can deal with them the best. And troth! +the mair I think of it, the less I see we would be required. The +place - ay, feggs! they had forgot the place. Eh, Shaws, ye’re +a lang-heided chield when ye like! Forby that I’m awing +ye my life,” he added, with more solemnity, and offered me his +hand upon the bargain.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +It was our first care to set Anster ashore in a cove by the Glenteithy +Rocks, so that the deliverance of our maroons might be duly seen to +the next day. Thence we kept away up Firth. The breeze, +which was then so spirited, swiftly declined, but never wholly failed +us. All day we kept moving, though often not much more; and it +was after dark ere we were up with the Queensferry. To keep the +letter of Andie’s engagement (or what was left of it) I must remain +on board, but I thought no harm to communicate with the shore in writing. +On Prestongrange’s cover, where the Government seal must have +a good deal surprised my correspondent, I writ, by the boat’s +lantern, a few necessary words, aboard and Andie carried them to Rankeillor. +In about an hour he came again, with a purse of money and the assurance +that a good horse should be standing saddled for me by two to-morrow +at Clackmannan Pool. This done, and the boat riding by her stone +anchor, we lay down to sleep under the sail.<br> +<br> +We were in the Pool the next day long ere two; and there was nothing +left for me but to sit and wait. I felt little alacrity upon my +errand. I would have been glad of any passable excuse to lay it +down; but none being to be found, my uneasiness was no less great than +if I had been running to some desired pleasure. By shortly after +one the horse was at the waterside, and I could see a man walking it +to and fro till I should land, which vastly swelled my impatience. +Andie ran the moment of my liberation very fine, showing himself a man +of his bare word, but scarce serving his employers with a heaped measure; +and by about fifty seconds after two I was in the saddle and on the +full stretch for Stirling. In a little more than an hour I had +passed that town, and was already mounting Alan Water side, when the +weather broke in a small tempest. The rain blinded me, the wind +had nearly beat me from the saddle, and the first darkness of the night +surprised me in a wilderness still some way east of Balwhidder, not +very sure of my direction and mounted on a horse that began already +to be weary.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +From Duncan I had news of the trial. It was followed in all these +Highland regions with religious interest; news of it spread from Inverary +as swift as men could travel; and I was rejoiced to learn that, up to +a late hour that Saturday it was not yet concluded; and all men began +to suppose it must spread over the Monday. Under the spur of this +intelligence I would not sit to eat; but, Duncan having agreed to be +my guide, took the road again on foot, with the piece in my hand and +munching as I went. Duncan brought with him a flask of usquebaugh +and a hand-lantern; which last enlightened us just so long as we could +find houses where to rekindle it, for the thing leaked outrageously +and blew out with every gust. The more part of the night we walked +blindfold among sheets of rain, and day found us aimless on the mountains. +Hard by we struck a hut on a burn-side, where we got bite and a direction; +and, a little before the end of the sermon, came to the kirk doors of +Inverary.<br> +<br> +The rain had somewhat washed the upper parts of me, but I was still +bogged as high as to the knees; I streamed water; I was so weary I could +hardly limp, and my face was like a ghost’s. I stood certainly +more in need of a change of raiment and a bed to lie on, than of all +the benefits in Christianity. For all which (being persuaded the +chief point for me was to make myself immediately public) I set the +door of the church with the dirty Duncan at my tails, and finding a +vacant place sat down.<br> +<br> +“Thirteently, my brethren, and in parenthesis, the law itself +must be regarded as a means of grace,” the minister was saying, +in the voice of one delighting to pursue an argument.<br> +<br> +The sermon was in English on account of the assize. The judges +were present with their armed attendants, the halberts glittered in +a corner by the door, and the seats were thronged beyond custom with +the array of lawyers. The text was in Romans 5th and 13th - the +minister a skilled hand; and the whole of that able churchful - from +Argyle, and my Lords Elchies and Kilkerran, down to the halbertmen that +came in their attendance - was sunk with gathered brows in a profound +critical attention. The minister himself and a sprinkling of those +about the door observed our entrance at the moment and immediately forgot +the same; the rest either did not hear or would not hear or would not +be heard; and I sat amongst my friends and enemies unremarked.<br> +<br> +The first that I singled out was Prestongrange. He sat well forward, +like an eager horseman in the saddle, his lips moving with relish, his +eyes glued on the minister; the doctrine was clearly to his mind. +Charles Stewart, on the other hand, was half asleep, and looked harassed +and pale. As for Simon Fraser, he appeared like a blot, and almost +a scandal, in the midst of that attentive congregation, digging his +hands in his pockets, shifting his legs, clearing his throat, and rolling +up his bald eyebrows and shooting out his eyes to right and left, now +with a yawn, now with a secret smile. At times, too, he would +take the Bible in front of him, run it through, seem to read a bit, +run it through again, and stop and yawn prodigiously: the whole as if +for exercise.<br> +<br> +In the course of this restlessness his eye alighted on myself. +He sat a second stupefied, then tore a half-leaf out of the Bible, scrawled +upon it with a pencil, and passed it with a whispered word to his next +neighbour. The note came to Prestongrange, who gave me but the +one look; thence it voyaged to the hands of Mr. Erskine; thence again +to Argyle, where he sat between the other two lords of session, and +his Grace turned and fixed me with an arrogant eye. The last of +those interested in my presence was Charlie Stewart, and he too began +to pencil and hand about dispatches, none of which I was able to trace +to their destination in the crowd.<br> +<br> +But the passage of these notes had aroused notice; all who were in the +secret (or supposed themselves to be so) were whispering information +- the rest questions; and the minister himself seemed quite discountenanced +by the flutter in the church and sudden stir and whispering. His +voice changed, he plainly faltered, nor did he again recover the easy +conviction and full tones of his delivery. It would be a puzzle +to him till his dying day, why a sermon that had gone with triumph through +four parts, should this miscarry in the fifth.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVII - THE MEMORIAL<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The last word of the blessing was scarce out of the minister’s +mouth before Stewart had me by the arm. We were the first to be +forth of the church, and he made such extraordinary expedition that +we were safe within the four walls of a house before the street had +begun to be thronged with the home-going congregation.<br> +<br> +“Am I yet in time?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“Ay and no,” said he. “The case is over; the +jury is enclosed, and will so kind as let us ken their view of it to-morrow +in the morning, the same as I could have told it my own self three days +ago before the play began. The thing has been public from the +start. The panel kent it, ‘<i>Ye may do what ye</i> <i>will +for me</i>,’ whispers he two days ago. ‘<i>Ye ken +my fate by what the Duke of Argyle has just said to Mr. Macintosh</i>.’ +O, it’s been a scandal!<br> +<br> +<br> +“The great Agyle he gaed before,<br> +He gart the cannons and guns to roar,”<br> +<br> +<br> +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!”<br> +<br> +He was leaping with excitement, emptied out his mails upon the floor +that I might have a change of clothes, and incommoded me with his assistance +as I changed. What remained to be done, or how I was to do it, +was what he never told me nor, I believe, so much as thought of. +“We’ll ding the Campbells yet!” that was still his +overcome. And it was forced home upon my mind how this, that had +the externals of a sober process of law, was in its essence a clan battle +between savage clans. I thought my friend the Writer none of the +least savage. Who that had only seen him at a counsel’s +back before the Lord Ordinary or following a golf ball and laying down +his clubs on Bruntsfield links, could have recognised for the same person +this voluble and violent clansman?<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I am of the same opinion,” said Sheriff Miller. “I +think we may all be very much obliged to Prestongrange for taking a +most uncomfortable witness out of our way. And chiefly, I think, +Mr. Balfour himself might be obliged. For you talk of a third +accomplice, but Mr. Balfour (in my view) has very much the appearance +of a fourth.”<br> +<br> +“Allow me, sirs!” interposed Stewart the Writer. “There +is another view. Here we have a witness - never fash whether material +or not - a witness in this cause, kidnapped by that old, lawless, bandit +crew of the Glengyle Macgregors, and sequestered for near upon a month +in a bourock of old ruins on the Bass. Move that and see what +dirt you fling on the proceedings! Sirs, this is a tale to make +the world ring with! It would be strange, with such a grip as +this, if we couldnae squeeze out a pardon for my client.”<br> +<br> +“And suppose we took up Mr. Balfour’s cause to-morrow?” +said Stewart Hall. “I am much deceived or we should find +so many impediments thrown in our path, as that James should have been +hanged before we had found a court to hear us. This is a great +scandal, but I suppose we have none of us forgot a greater still, I +mean the matter of the Lady Grange. The woman was still in durance; +my friend Mr. Hope of Rankeillor did what was humanly possible; and +how did he speed? He never got a warrant! Well, it’ll be +the same now; the same weapons will be used. This is a scene, +gentleman, of clan animosity. The hatred of the name which I have +the honour to bear, rages in high quarters. There is nothing here +to be viewed but naked Campbell spite and scurvy Campbell intrigue.”<br> +<br> +You may be sure this was to touch a welcome topic, and I sat for some +time in the midst of my learned counsel, almost deaved with their talk +but extremely little the wiser for its purport. The Writer was +led into some hot expressions; Colstoun must take him up and set him +right; the rest joined in on different sides, but all pretty noisy; +the Duke of Argyle was beaten like a blanket; King George came in for +a few digs in the by-going and a great deal of rather elaborate defence; +and there was only one person that seemed to be forgotten, and that +was James of the Glens.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +The whole table turned to him with a common movement.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +Well, there they all were started on another hare; Mr. Balfour’s +cause, and what kind of speeches could be there delivered, and what +officials could be thus turned out, and who would succeed to their positions. +I shall give but the two specimens. It was proposed to approach +Simon Fraser, whose testimony, if it could be obtained, would prove +certainly fatal to Argyle and to Prestongrange. Miller highly +approved of the attempt. “We have here before us a dreeping +roast,” said he, “here is cut-and-come-again for all.” +And methought all licked their lips. The other was already near +the end. Stewart the Writer was out of the body with delight, +smelling vengeance on his chief enemy, the Duke.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And if the damned Campbells get their ears rubbed, what care +I?” cries Stewart, smiting down his fist.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I have to thank you, gentlemen, for your advice,” said +I. “And now I would like, by your leave, to set you two +or three questions. There is one thing that has fallen rather +on one aide, for instance: Will this cause do any good to our friend +James of the Glens?”<br> +<br> +They seemed all a hair set back, and gave various answers, but concurring +practically in one point, that James had now no hope but in the King’s +mercy.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I have them a chance to answer, but none volunteered.<br> +<br> +“Of those for whom the case was to be profitable,” I went +on, “Sheriff Miller gave us the names of several, among the which +he was good enough to mention mine. I hope he will pardon me if +I think otherwise. I believe I hung not the least back in this +affair while there was life to be saved; but I own I thought myself +extremely hazarded, and I own I think it would be a pity for a young +man, with some idea of coming to the Bar, to ingrain upon himself the +character of a turbulent, factious fellow before he was yet twenty. +As for James, it seems - at this date of the proceedings, with the sentence +as good as pronounced - he has no hope but in the King’s mercy. +May not his Majesty, then, be more pointedly addressed, the characters +of these high officers sheltered from the public, and myself kept out +of a position which I think spells ruin for me?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“If I may be allowed to put my young friend’s notion in +more formal shape,” says he, “I understand him to propose +that we should embody the fact of his sequestration, and perhaps some +heads of the testimony he was prepared to offer, in a memorial to the +Crown. This plan has elements of success. It is as likely +as any other (and perhaps likelier) to help our client. Perhaps +his Majesty would have the goodness to feel a certain gratitude to all +concerned in such a memorial, which might be construed into an expression +of a very delicate loyalty; and I think, in the drafting of the same, +this view might be brought forward.”<br> +<br> +They all nodded to each other, not without sighs, for the former alternative +was doubtless more after their inclination.<br> +<br> +“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.”’<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +Thereupon they set themselves, not very enthusiastically, to draft the +memorial - a process in the course of which they soon caught fire; and +I had no more ado but to sit looking on and answer an occasional question. +The paper was very well expressed; beginning with a recitation of the +facts about myself, the reward offered for my apprehension, my surrender, +the pressure brought to bear upon me; my sequestration; and my arrival +at Inverary in time to be too late; going on to explain the reasons +of loyalty and public interest for which it was agreed to waive any +right of action; and winding up with a forcible appeal to the King’s +mercy on behalf of James.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Colstoun hummed and hawed. “This is a very confidential +document,” said he.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +The Advocate was at the castle dining with his Grace. By the hand +of one of Colstoun’s servants I sent him a billet asking for an +interview, and received a summons to meet him at once in a private house +of the town. Here I found him alone in a chamber; from his face +there was nothing to be gleaned; yet I was not so unobservant but what +I spied some halberts in the hall, and not so stupid but what I could +gather he was prepared to arrest me there and then, should it appear +advisable.<br> +<br> +“So, Mr. David, this is you?” said he.<br> +<br> +“Where I fear I am not overly welcome, my lord,” said I. +“And I would like before I go further to express my sense of your +lordship’s good offices, even should they now cease.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Rather for your indulgence to that unlucky young man, my lord,” +said I.<br> +<br> +He still skimmed the paper, and all the while his spirits seemed to +mend.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“My lord, it was myself,” said I. “These gentlemen +have shown me no such consideration, as that I should deny myself any +credit I can fairly claim, or spare them any responsibility they should +properly bear. And the mere truth is, that they were all in favour +of a process which should have remarkable consequences in the Parliament +House, and prove for them (in one of their own expressions) a dripping +roast. Before I intervened, I think they were on the point of +sharing out the different law appointments. Our friend Mr. Simon +was to be taken in upon some composition.”<br> +<br> +Prestongrange smiled. “These are our friends,” said +he. “And what were your reasons for dissenting, Mr. David?”<br> +<br> +I told them without concealment, expressing, however, with more force +and volume those which regarded Prestongrange himself.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I was not of course, going to betray Andie.<br> +<br> +“I suspect there is some very weary cattle by the road,” +said I<br> +<br> +“If I had known you were such a mosstrooper you should have tasted +longer of the Bass,” says he.<br> +<br> +“Speaking of which, my lord, I return your letter.” +And I gave him the enclosure in the counterfeit hand.<br> +<br> +“There was the cover also with the seal,” said he.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“My lord . . .” I began.<br> +<br> +“I do not deny it will be of service to me,” he interrupted. +“I desire even that, when we shall come to Edinburgh, you should +alight at my house. You have very warm friends in the Miss Grants, +who will be overjoyed to have you to themselves. If you think +I have been of use to you, you can thus easily repay me, and so far +from losing, may reap some advantage by the way. It is not every +strange young man who is presented in society by the King’s Advocate.”<br> +<br> +Often enough already (in our brief relations) this gentleman had caused +my head to spin; no doubt but what for a moment he did so again now. +Here was the old fiction still maintained of my particular favour with +his daughters, one of whom had been so good as to laugh at me, while +the other two had scarce deigned to remark the fact of my existence. +And now I was to ride with my lord to Glasgow; I was to dwell with him +in Edinburgh; I was to be brought into society under his protection! +That he should have so much good-nature as to forgive me was surprising +enough; that he could wish to take me up and serve me seemed impossible; +and I began to seek some ulterior meaning. One was plain. +If I became his guest, repentance was excluded; I could never think +better of my present design and bring any action. And besides, +would not my presence in his house draw out the whole pungency of the +memorial? For that complaint could not be very seriously regarded, +if the person chiefly injured was the guest of the official most incriminated. +As I thought upon this I could not quite refrain from smiling.<br> +<br> +“This is in the nature of a countercheck to the memorial?” +said I.<br> +<br> +“You are cunning, Mr. David,” said he, “and you do +not wholly guess wrong the fact will be of use to me in my defence. +Perhaps, however, you underrate friendly sentiments, which are perfectly +genuine. I have a respect for you, David, mingled with awe,” +says he, smiling.<br> +<br> +“I am more than willing, I am earnestly desirous to meet your +wishes,” said I. “It is my design to be called to +the Bar, where your lordship’s countenance would be invaluable; +and I am besides sincerely grateful to yourself and family for different +marks of interest and of indulgence. The difficulty is here. +There is one point in which we pull two ways. You are trying to +hang James Stewart, I am trying to save him. In so far as my riding +with you would better your lordship’s defence, I am at your lordships +orders; but in so far as it would help to hang James Stewart, you see +me at a stick.”<br> +<br> +I thought he swore to himself. “You should certainly be +called; the Bar is the true scene for your talents,” says he, +bitterly, and then fell a while silent. “I will tell you,” +he presently resumed, “there is no question of James Stewart, +for or against, James is a dead man; his life is given and taken - bought +(if you like it better) and sold; no memorial can help - no defalcation +of a faithful Mr. David hurt him. Blow high, blow low, there will +be no pardon for James Stewart: and take that for said! The question +is now of myself: am I to stand or fall? and I do not deny to you that +I am in some danger. But will Mr. David Balfour consider why? +It is not because I pushed the case unduly against James; for that, +I am sure of condonation. And it is not because I have sequestered +Mr. David on a rock, though it will pass under that colour; but because +I did not take the ready and plain path, to which I was pressed repeatedly, +and send Mr. David to his grave or to the gallows. Hence the scandal +- hence this damned memorial,” striking the paper on his leg. +“My tenderness for you has brought me in this difficulty. +I wish to know if your tenderness to your own conscience is too great +to let you help me out of it.”<br> +<br> +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<br> +<br> +“If you will name the time and place, I will be punctually ready +to attend your lordship,” said I.<br> +<br> +He shook hands with me. “And I think my misses have some +news for you,” says he, dismissing me.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XVIII - THE TEE’D BALL<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +On the morrow, from the justices’ private room, where none could +see me, I heard the verdict given in and judgment rendered upon James. +The Duke’s words I am quite sure I have correctly; and since that +famous passage has been made a subject of dispute, I may as well commemorate +my version. Having referred to the year ‘45, the chief of +the Campbells, sitting as Justice-General upon the bench, thus addressed +the unfortunate Stewart before him: “If you had been successful +in that rebellion, you might have been giving the law where you have +now received the judgment of it; we, who are this day your judges, might +have been tried before one of your mock courts of judicature; and then +you might have been satiated with the blood of any name or clan to which +you had an aversion.”<br> +<br> +“This is to let the cat out of the bag, indeed,” thought +I. And that was the general impression. It was extraordinary +how the young advocate lads took hold and made a mock of this speech, +and how scarce a meal passed but what someone would get in the words: +“And then you might have been satiated.” Many songs +were made in time for the hour’s diversion, and are near all forgot. +I remember one began:<br> +<br> +<br> +“What do ye want the bluid of, bluid of?<br> +Is it a name, or is it a clan,<br> +Or is it an aefauld Hielandman,<br> +That ye want the bluid of, bluid of?”<br> +<br> +<br> +Another went to my old favourite air, <i>The House of Airlie</i>, and +began thus:<br> +<br> +<br> +“It fell on a day when Argyle was on the bench,<br> +That they served him a Stewart for his denner.”<br> +<br> +<br> +And one of the verses ran:<br> +<br> +<br> +“Then up and spak’ the Duke, and flyted on his cook,<br> +I regard it as a sensible aspersion,<br> +That I would sup ava’, an’ satiate my maw,<br> +With the bluid of ony clan of my aversion.”<br> +<br> +<br> +James was as fairly murdered as though the Duke had got a fowling-piece +and stalked him. So much of course I knew: but others knew not +so much, and were more affected by the items of scandal that came to +light in the progress of the cause. One of the chief was certainly +this sally of the justice’s. It was run hard by another +of a juryman, who had struck into the midst of Coulston’s speech +for the defence with a “Pray, sir, cut it short, we are quite +weary,” which seemed the very excess of impudence and simplicity. +But some of my new lawyer friends were still more staggered with an +innovation that had disgraced and even vitiated the proceedings. +One witness was never called. His name, indeed, was printed, where +it may still be seen on the fourth page of the list: “James Drummond, +<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.<br> +<br> +The following day, Prestongrange and I, with a considerable company, +set out for Glasgow, where (to my impatience) we continued to linger +some time in a mixture of pleasure and affairs. I lodged with +my lord, with whom I was encouraged to familiarity; had my place at +entertainments; was presented to the chief guests; and altogether made +more of than I thought accorded either with my parts or station; so +that, on strangers being present, I would often blush for Prestongrange. +It must be owned the view I had taken of the world in these last months +was fit to cast a gloom upon my character. I had met many men, +some of them leaders in Israel whether by their birth or talents; and +who among them all had shown clean hands? As for the Browns and +Millers, I had seen their self-seeking, I could never again respect +them. Prestongrange was the best yet; he had saved me, spared +me rather, when others had it in their minds to murder me outright; +but the blood of James lay at his door; and I thought his present dissimulation +with myself a thing below pardon. That he should affect to find +pleasure in my discourse almost surprised me out of my patience. +I would sit and watch him with a kind of a slow fire of anger in my +bowels. “Ah, friend, friend,” I would think to myself, +“if you were but through with this affair of the memorial, would +you not kick me in the streets?” Here I did him, as events +have proved, the most grave injustice; and I think he was at once far +more sincere, and a far more artful performer, than I supposed.<br> +<br> +But I had some warrant for my incredulity in the behaviour of that court +of young advocates that hung about in the hope of patronage. The +sudden favour of a lad not previously heard of troubled them at first +out of measure; but two days were not gone by before I found myself +surrounded with flattery and attention. I was the same young man, +and neither better nor bonnier, that they had rejected a month before; +and now there was no civility too fine for me! The same, do I +say? It was not so; and the by-name by which I went behind my +back confirmed it. Seeing me so firm with the Advocate, and persuaded +that I was to fly high and far, they had taken a word from the golfing +green, and called me <i>the Tee’d Ball</i>. <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14">{14}</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 aspired as even to remind me of that meeting. +I told him I had not the pleasure of remembering it.<br> +<br> +“Why” says he, “it was Miss Grant herself presented +me! My name is so-and-so.”<br> +<br> +“It may very well be, sir,” said I; “but I have kept +no mind of it.”<br> +<br> +At which he desisted; and in the midst of the disgust that commonly +overflowed my spirits I had a glisk of pleasure.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +I told him I was slow of making friends.<br> +<br> +“I will take the word back,” said he. “But there +is such a thing as <i>Fair gude</i> <i>s’en</i> <i>and</i> <i>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.”<br> +<br> +“It will be an ill job to make a silk purse of a sow’s ear,” +said I.<br> +<br> +On the morning of October 1st I was awakened by the clattering in of +an express; and getting to my window almost before he had dismounted, +I saw the messenger had ridden hard. Somewhile after I was called +to Prestongrange, where he was sitting in his bedgown and nightcap, +with his letters round him.<br> +<br> +“Mr. David,” add he, “I have a piece of news for you. +It concerns some friends of yours, of whom I sometimes think you are +a little ashamed, for you have never referred to their existence.”<br> +<br> +I suppose I blushed.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I cried out.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But what has she done? What is her offence?” I cried.<br> +<br> +“It might be almost construed a high treason,” he returned, +“for she has broke the king’s Castle of Edinburgh.”<br> +<br> +“The lady is much my friend,” I said. “I know +you would not mock me if the thing were serious.”<br> +<br> +“And yet it is serious in a sense,” said he; “for +this rogue of a Katrine - or Cateran, as we may call her - has set adrift +again upon the world that very doubtful character, her papa.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +“Ah! I was expecting that!”<br> +<br> +“You have at times a great deal of discretion, too!” says +Prestongrange.<br> +<br> +“And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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 greatcoat, 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="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a> in her hand, +and off to the Castle! Here she gives herself out to be a soutar +<a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</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 greatcoat. Presently they hear disputation +and the sound of blows inside. Out flies the cobbler, his coat +flying, the flaps of his hat beat about his face, and the lieutenant +and his soldiers mock at him as he runs off. They laughed no so +hearty the next time they had occasion to visit the cell and found nobody +but a tall, pretty, grey-eyed lass in the female habit! As for +the cobbler, he was ‘over the hills ayout Dumblane,’ and +it’s thought that poor Scotland will have to console herself without +him. I drank Catriona’s health this night in public.<br> +<br> +Indeed, the whole town admires her; and I think the beaux would wear +bits of her garters in their button-holes if they could only get them. +I would have gone to visit her in prison too, only I remembered in time +I was papa’s daughter; so I wrote her a billet instead, which +I entrusted to the faithful Doig, and I hope you will admit I can be +political when I please. The same faithful gomeral is to despatch +this letter by the express along with those of the wiseacres, so that +you may hear Tom Fool in company with Solomon. Talking of <i>gomerals,</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.”<br> +<br> +“The gomeral is much obliged,” said I.<br> +<br> +“And was not this prettily done!” he went on. “Is +not this Highland maid a piece of a heroine?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I am not your lordship’s daughter. . . ” I began.<br> +<br> +“That I know of!” he put in, smiling.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“So-ho, Mr. David,” says he; “I thought that you and +I were in a bargain?”<br> +<br> +“My lord,” I said, “when I made that bargain I was +a good deal affected by your goodness, but I’ll never can deny +that I was moved besides by my own interest. There was self-seeking +in my heart, and I think shame of it now. It may be for your lordship’s +safety to say this fashious Davie Balfour is your friend and housemate. +Say it then; I’ll never contradict you. But as for your +patronage, I give it all back. I ask but the one thing - let me +go, and give me a pass to see her in her prison.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“Well, and I would like to be that kind of youth!” I cried. +“I have seen too much of the other party in these young advocates +that fawn upon your lordship and are even at the pains to fawn on me. +And I have seen it in the old ones also. They are all for by-ends, +the whole clan of them! It’s this that makes me seem to +misdoubt your lordship’s liking. Why would I think that +you would like me? But ye told me yourself ye had an interest!”<br> +<br> +I stopped at this, confounded that I had run so far; he was observing +me with an unfathomable face.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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’.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He was a minute serious, then smiled. “You mind me of the +man with the long nose,” said he; “was you to see the moon +by a telescope you would see David Balfour there! But you shall +have your way of it. I will ask at you one service, and then set +you free: My clerks are overdriven; be so good as copy me these few +pages, and when that is done, I shall bid you God speed! I would +never charge myself with Mr. David’s conscience; and if you could +cast some part of it (as you went by) in a moss hag, you would find +yourself to ride much easier without it.”<br> +<br> +“Perhaps not just entirely in the same direction though, my lord!” +says I.<br> +<br> +“And you shall have the last word, too!” cries he gaily.<br> +<br> +Indeed, he had some cause for gaiety, having now found the means to +gain his purpose. To lessen the weight of the memorial, or to +have a readier answer at his hand, he desired I should appear publicly +in the character of his intimate. But if I were to appear with +the same publicity as a visitor to Catriona in her prison the world +would scarce stint to draw conclusions, and the true nature of James +More’s escape must become evident to all. This was the little +problem I had to set him of a sudden, and to which he had so briskly +found an answer. I was to be tethered in Glasgow by that job of +copying, which in mere outward decency I could not well refuse; and +during these hours of employment Catriona was privately got rid of. +I think shame to write of this man that loaded me with so many goodnesses. +He was kind to me as any father, yet I ever thought him as false as +a cracked bell.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XIX - I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The copying was a weary business, the more so as I perceived very early +there was no sort of urgency in the matters treated, and began very +early to consider my employment a pretext. I had no sooner finished +than I got to horse, used what remained of daylight to the best purpose, +and being at last fairly benighted, slept in a house by Almond-Water +side. I was in the saddle again before the day, and the Edinburgh +booths were just opening when I clattered in by the West Bow and drew +up a smoking horse at my lord Advocate’s door. I had a written +word for Doig, my lord’s private hand that was thought to be in +all his secrets - a worthy little plain man, all fat and snuff and self-sufficiency. +Him I found already at his desk and already bedabbled with maccabaw, +in the same anteroom where I rencountered with James More. He +read the note scrupulously through like a chapter in his Bible.<br> +<br> +“H’m,” says he; “ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, +Mr. Balfour. The bird’s flaen - we hae letten her out.”<br> +<br> +“Miss Drummond is set free?” I cried.<br> +<br> +“Achy!” said he. “What would we keep her for, +ye ken? To hae made a steer about the bairn would has pleased +naebody.”<br> +<br> +“And where’ll she be now?” says I.<br> +<br> +“Gude kens!” says Doig, with a shrug.<br> +<br> +“She’ll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I’m thinking,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“That’ll be it,” said he.<br> +<br> +“Then I’ll gang there straight,” says I.<br> +<br> +“But ye’ll be for a bite or ye go?” said he.<br> +<br> +“Neither bite nor sup,” said I. “I had a good +wauch of milk in by Ratho.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Na, na”, said I. “Tamson’s mear <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a> +would never be the thing for me this day of all days.”<br> +<br> +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:<br> +<br> +<br> +“Gae saddle me the bonny black,<br> +Gae saddle sune and mak’ him ready<br> +For I will down the Gatehope-slack,<br> +And a’ to see my bonny leddy.”<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“My best respects to you, Mistress Grant,” said I, bowing.<br> +<br> +“The like to yourself, Mr. David,” she replied with a deep +courtesy. “And I beg to remind you of an old musty saw, +that meat and mass never hindered man. The mass I cannot afford +you, for we are all good Protestants. But the meat I press on +your attention. And I would not wonder but I could find something +for your private ear that would be worth the stopping for.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Unsigned paper?” says she, and made a droll face, which +was likewise wondrous beautiful, as of one trying to remember.<br> +<br> +“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>gomeral +</i>begs you at this time only for the favour of his liberty,”<br> +<br> +“You give yourself hard names,” said she.<br> +<br> +“Mr. Doig and I would be blythe to take harder at your clever +pen,” says I.<br> +<br> +“Once more I have to admire the discretion of all men-folk,” +she replied. “But if you will not eat, off with you at once; +you will be back the sooner, for you go on a fool’s errand. +Off with you, Mr. David,” she continued, opening the door.<br> +<br> +<br> +“He has lowpen on his bonny grey,<br> +He rade the richt gate and the ready<br> +I trow he would neither stint nor stay,<br> +For he was seeking his bonny leddy.”<br> +<br> +<br> +I did not wait to be twice bidden, and did justice to Miss Grant’s +citation on the way to Dean.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18">{18}</a> +- and a baird there is, and that’s the worst of it yet?” +she added partly to herself.<br> +<br> +I was extremely put out at this reception, and the last remark, which +seemed like a daft wife’s, left me near hand speechless.<br> +<br> +“I see I have fallen under your displeasure, ma’am,” +said I. “Yet I will still be so bold as ask after Mistress +Drummond.”<br> +<br> +She considered me with a burning eye, her lips pressed close together +into twenty creases, her hand shaking on her staff. “This +cows all!” she cried. “Ye come to me to speir for +her? Would God I knew!”<br> +<br> +“She is not here?” I cried.<br> +<br> +She threw up her chin and made a step and a cry at me, so that I fell +back incontinent.<br> +<br> +“Out upon your leeing throat!” she cried. “What! +ye come and speir at me! She’s in jyle, whaur ye took her +to - that’s all there is to it. And of a’ the beings +ever I beheld in breeks, to think it should be to you! Ye timmer +scoun’rel, if I had a male left to my name I would have your jaicket +dustit till ye raired.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +As I knew no other quarter where I could push my inquiries, there was +nothing left me but to return to the Advocate’s. I was well +received by the four ladies, who were now in company together, and must +give the news of Prestongrange and what word went in the west country, +at the most inordinate length and with great weariness to myself; while +all the time that young lady, with whom I so much desired to be alone +again, observed me quizzically and seemed to find pleasure in the sight +of my impatience. At last, after I had endured a meal with them, +and was come very near the point of appealing for an interview before +her aunt, she went and stood by the music-case, and picking out a tune, +sang to it on a high key - “He that will not when he may, When +he will he shall have nay.” But this was the end of her +rigours, and presently, after making some excuse of which I have no +mind, she carried me away in private to her father’s library. +I should not fail to say she was dressed to the nines, and appeared +extraordinary handsome.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“In what manner, Mistress Grant?” I asked. “I +trust I have never seemed to fail in due respect.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“I was so bold as to suppose so upon inference,” said I, +“and it was kindly thought upon.”<br> +<br> +“It must have prodigiously surprised you,” said she. +“But let us begin with the beginning. You have not perhaps +forgot a day when you were so kind as to escort three very tedious misses +to Hope Park? I have the less cause to forget it myself, because +you was so particular obliging as to introduce me to some of the principles +of the Latin grammar, a thing which wrote itself profoundly on my gratitude.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Through all this raillery there was something indulgent in the lady’s +eye which made me suppose there might be better coming.<br> +<br> +“You take a pleasure to torment me,” said I, “and +I make a very feckless plaything; but let me ask you to be more merciful. +At this time there is but the one thing that I care to hear of, and +that will be news of Catriona.”<br> +<br> +“Do you call her by that name to her face, Mr. Balfour?” +she asked.<br> +<br> +“In troth, and I am not very sure,” I stammered.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“I heard she was in prison,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I may have the greater need of her, ma’am,” said +I.<br> +<br> +“Come, this is better!” says Miss Grant. “But +look me fairly in the face; am I not bonnier than she?”<br> +<br> +“I would be the last to be denying it,” said I. “There +is not your marrow in all Scotland.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But, mistress,” said I, “there are surely other things +besides mere beauty.”<br> +<br> +“By which I am to understand that I am no better than I should +be, perhaps?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Bravissimo!” she cried. “There is a word well +said at last, and I will reward you for it with my story. That +same night of your desertion I came late from a friend’s house +- where I was excessively admired, whatever you may think of it - and +what should I hear but that a lass in a tartan screen desired to speak +with me? She had been there an hour or better, said the servant-lass, +and she grat in to herself as she sat waiting. I went to her direct; +she rose as I came in, and I knew her at a look. ‘<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,</i> <i>it was true he said, you +are bonny at all events. - The</i> <i>way God made me, my dear, </i>I +said, <i>but I would be gey and obliged if you could tell me</i> <i>what +brought you here at such a time of the night. - Lady, </i>she said, +<i>we are kinsfolk, we are both come of the blood of the sons of Alpin. +- My dear, </i>I replied, <i>I think no more of Alpin</i> <i>or his +sons</i> <i>than</i> <i>what I do of a kalestock.</i> <i>You have</i> +<i>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.”<br> +<br> +“She is e’en’t!” I cried.<br> +<br> +“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</i> +<i>Mr. David should have given you the name of the bonniest of the bonny, +and I was</i> <i>thinking to myself </i>‘<i>If she is so bonny +she will be good at all events</i>’; <i>and I took up</i> <i>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 notice in +the by-going, and was so kind as to comment on my attractions! +From that hour you may date our friendship, and I began to think with +tenderness upon the Latin grammar.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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</i> +<i>you have been deaved with these days past, </i>said I, <i>she is +come to prove that we</i> <i>spoke true, and I lay the prettiest lass +in</i> <i>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.”<br> +<br> +“He has been a good man to me,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Well, he was a good man to Katrine, and I was there to see to +it,” said she.<br> +<br> +“And she pled for me?” say I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“God reward her for it!” cried I.<br> +<br> +“With Mr. David Balfour, I suppose?” says she.<br> +<br> +“You do me too much injustice at the last!” I cried. +“I would tremble to think of her in such hard hands. Do +you think I would presume, because she begged my life? She would +do that for a new whelped puppy! I have had more than that to +set me up, if you but ken’d. She kissed that hand of mine. +Ay, but she did. And why? because she thought I was playing a +brave part and might be going to my death. It was not for my sake +- but I need not be telling that to you, that cannot look at me without +laughter. It was for the love of what she thought was bravery. +I believe there is none but me and poor Prince Charlie had that honour +done them. Was this not to make a god of me? and do you not think +my heart would quake when I remember it?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“I think you have the largest feet in all broad Scotland,” +says she.<br> +<br> +“Troth they are no very small,” said I, looking down.<br> +<br> +“Ah, poor Catriona!” cries Miss Grant.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Ah well, Mr. David,” she said, “it goes sore against +my conscience, but I see I shall have to be your speaking board. +She shall know you came to her straight upon the news of her imprisonment; +she shall know you would not pause to eat; and of our conversation she +shall hear just so much as I think convenient for a maid of her age +and inexperience. Believe me, you will be in that way much better +served than you could serve yourself, for I will keep the big feet out +of the platter.”<br> +<br> +“You know where she is, then?” I exclaimed.<br> +<br> +“That I do, Mr. David, and will never tell,” said she.<br> +<br> +“Why that?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Well,” she said, “be brief; I have spent half the +day on you already.”<br> +<br> +“My Lady Allardyce believes,” I began - “she supposes +- she thinks that I abducted her.”<br> +<br> +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 -<br> +<br> +“I will take up the defence of your reputation,” she said. +“You may leave it in my hands.”<br> +<br> +And with that she withdrew out of the library.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XX - I CONTINUE TO MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +For about exactly two months I remained a guest in Prestongrange’s +family, where I bettered my acquaintance with the bench, the bar, and +the flower of Edinburgh company. You are not to suppose my education +was neglected; on the contrary, I was kept extremely busy. I studied +the French, so as to be more prepared to go to Leyden; I set myself +to the fencing, and wrought hard, sometimes three hours in the day, +with notable advancement; at the suggestion of my cousin, Pilrig, who +was an apt musician, I was put to a singing class; and by the orders +of my Miss Grant, to one for the dancing, at which I must say I proved +far from ornamental. However, all were good enough to say it gave +me an address a little more genteel; and there is no question but I +learned to manage my coat skirts and sword with more dexterity, and +to stand in a room as though the same belonged to me. My clothes +themselves were all earnestly re-ordered; and the most trifling circumstance, +such as where I should tie my hair, or the colour of my ribbon, debated +among the three misses like a thing of weight. One way with another, +no doubt I was a good deal improved to look at, and acquired a bit of +modest air that would have surprised the good folks at Essendean.<br> +<br> +The two younger misses were very willing to discuss a point of my habiliment, +because that was in the line of their chief thoughts. I cannot +say that they appeared any other way conscious of my presence; and though +always more than civil, with a kind of heartless cordiality, could not +hide how much I wearied them. As for the aunt, she was a wonderful +still woman; and I think she gave me much the same attention as she +gave the rest of the family, which was little enough. The eldest +daughter and the Advocate himself were thus my principal friends, and +our familiarity was much increased by a pleasure that we took in common. +Before the court met we spent a day or two at the house of Grange, living +very nobly with an open table, and here it was that we three began to +ride out together in the fields, a practice afterwards maintained in +Edinburgh, so far as the Advocate’s continual affairs permitted. +When we were put in a good frame by the briskness of the exercise, the +difficulties of the way, or the accidents of bad weather, my shyness +wore entirely off; we forgot that we were strangers, and speech not +being required, it flowed the more naturally on. Then it was that +they had my story from me, bit by bit, from the time that I left Essendean, +with my voyage and battle in the <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.<br> +<br> +We took horse early, and passed first by the house of Shaws, where it +stood smokeless in a great field of white frost, for it was yet early +in the day. Here Prestongrange alighted down, gave me his horse, +an proceeded alone to visit my uncle. My heart, I remember, swelled +up bitter within me at the sight of that bare house and the thought +of the old miser sitting chittering within in the cold kitchen!<br> +<br> +“There is my home,” said I; “and my family.”<br> +<br> +“Poor David Balfour!” said Miss Grant.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I think you will soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie,” +says he, turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup.<br> +<br> +“I will never pretend sorrow,” said I; and, to say the truth, +during his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing the place +in fancy with plantations, parterres, and a terrace - much as I have +since carried out in fact.<br> +<br> +Thence we pushed to the Queensferry, where Rankeillor gave us a good +welcome, being indeed out of the body to receive so great a visitor. +Here the Advocate was so unaffectedly good as to go quite fully over +my affairs, sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in his study, +and expressing (I was told) a great esteem for myself and concern for +my fortunes. To while this time, Miss Grant and I and young Rankeillor +took boat and passed the Hope to Limekilns. Rankeillor made himself +very ridiculous (and, I thought, offensive) with his admiration for +the young lady, and to my wonder (only it is so common a weakness of +her sex) she seemed, if anything, to be a little gratified. One +use it had: for when we were come to the other side, she laid her commands +on him to mind the boat, while she and I passed a little further to +the alehouse. This was her own thought, for she had been taken +with my account of Alison Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself. +We found her once more alone - indeed, I believe her father wrought +all day in the fields - and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk +and the beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.<br> +<br> +“Is this all the welcome I am to get?” said I, holding out +my hand. “And have you no more memory of old friends?”<br> +<br> +“Keep me! wha’s this of it?” she cried, and then, +“God’s truth, it’s the tautit <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19">{19}</a> +laddie!”<br> +<br> +“The very same,” says<br> +<br> +“Mony’s the time I’ve thocht upon you and your freen, +and blythe am I to see in your braws,” <a name="citation20"></a><a href="#footnote20">{20}</a> +she cried. “Though I kent ye were come to your ain folk +by the grand present that ye sent me and that I thank ye for with a’ +my heart.”<br> +<br> +“There,” said Miss Grant to me, “run out by with ye, +like a guid bairn. I didnae come here to stand and haud a candle; +it’s her and me that are to crack.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I never saw you so well adorned,” said I.<br> +<br> +“O Davie man, dinna be a pompous gowk!” said she, and was +more than usually sharp to me the remainder of the day.<br> +<br> +About candlelight we came home from this excursion.<br> +<br> +For a good while I heard nothing further of Catriona - my Miss Grant +remaining quite impenetrable, and stopping my mouth with pleasantries. +At last, one day that she returned from walking and found me alone in +the parlour over my French, I thought there was something unusual in +her looks; the colour heightened, the eyes sparkling high, and a bit +of a smile continually bitten in as she regarded me. She seemed +indeed like the very spirit of mischief, and, walking briskly in the +room, had soon involved me in a kind of quarrel over nothing and (at +the least) with nothing intended on my side. I was like Christian +in the slough - the more I tried to clamber out upon the side, the deeper +I became involved; until at last I heard her declare, with a great deal +of passion, that she would take that answer from the hands of none, +and I must down upon my knees for pardon.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“O Davie!” she said. “Not if I was to beg you?”<br> +<br> +I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is the same as to +say a child, and that upon a point entirely formal.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“There!” she cried. “There is the proper station, +there is where I have been manoeuvring to bring you.” And +then, suddenly, “Kep,” <a name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21">{21}</a> +said she, flung me a folded billet, and ran from the apartment laughing.<br> +<br> +The billet had neither place nor date. “Dear Mr. David,” +it began, “I get your news continually by my cousin, Miss Grant, +and it is a pleisand hearing. I am very well, in a good place, +among good folk, but necessitated to be quite private, though I am hoping +that at long last we may meet again. All your friendships have +been told me by my loving cousin, who loves us both. She bids +me to send you this writing, and oversees the same. I will be +asking you to do all her commands, and rest your affectionate friend, +Catriona Macgregor-Drummond. P.S. - Will you not see my cousin, +Allardyce?”<br> +<br> +I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers say) +that I should have done as I was here bidden and gone forthright to +the house by Dean. But the old lady was now entirely changed and +supple as a glove. By what means Miss Grant had brought this round +I could never guess; I am sure, at least, she dared not to appear openly +in the affair, for her papa was compromised in it pretty deep. +It was he, indeed, who had persuaded Catriona to leave, or rather, not +to return, to her cousin’s, placing her instead with a family +of Gregorys - decent people, quite at the Advocate’s disposition, +and in whom she might have the more confidence because they were of +his own clan and family. These kept her private till all was ripe, +heated and helped her to attempt her father’s rescue, and after +she was discharged from prison received her again into the same secrecy. +Thus Prestongrange obtained and used his instrument; nor did there leak +out the smallest word of his acquaintance with the daughter of James +More. There was some whispering, of course, upon the escape of +that discredited person; but the Government replied by a show of rigour, +one of the cell porters was flogged, the lieutenant of the guard (my +poor friend, Duncansby) was broken of his rank, and as for Catriona, +all men were well enough pleased that her fault should be passed by +in silence.<br> +<br> +I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer. “No,” +she would say, when I persisted, “I am going to keep the big feet +out of the platter.” This was the more hard to bear, as +I was aware she saw my little friend many times in the week, and carried +her my news whenever (as she said) I “had behaved myself.” +At last she treated me to what she called an indulgence, and I thought +rather more of a banter. She was certainly a strong, almost a +violent, friend to all she liked, chief among whom was a certain frail +old gentlewoman, very blind and very witty, who dwelt on the top of +a tall land on a strait close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, and +thronged all day with visitors. Miss Grant was very fond to carry +me there and put me to entertain her friend with the narrative of my +misfortunes: and Miss Tibbie Ramsay (that was her name) was particular +kind, and told me a great deal that was worth knowledge of old folks +and past affairs in Scotland. I should say that from her chamber +window, and not three feet away, such is the straitness of that close, +it was possible to look into a barred loophole lighting the stairway +of the opposite house.<br> +<br> +Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one day alone with Miss +Ramsay. I mind I thought that lady inattentive and like one preoccupied. +I was besides very uncomfortable, for the window, contrary to custom, +was left open and the day was cold. All at once the voice of Miss +Grant sounded in my ears as from a distance.<br> +<br> +“Here, Shaws!” she cried, “keek out of the window +and see what I have broughten you.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +It came in my mind that 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.<br> +<br> +“Catriona!” was all I could get out.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 storeys 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.<br> +<br> +On the way home, as soon as I was set free, I upbraided Miss Grant with +her cruelty.<br> +<br> +“I am sorry you was disappointed,” says she demurely. +“For my part I was very pleased. You looked better than +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.<br> +<br> +“O!” cried I, “leave my feet be - they are no bigger +than my neighbours’.”<br> +<br> +“They are even smaller than some,” said she, “but +I speak in parables like a Hebrew prophet.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Love is like folk,” says she; “it needs some kind +of vivers.” <a name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22">{22}</a><br> +<br> +“Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly!” I pleaded. +“<i>You </i>can - you see her when you please; let me have half +an hour.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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 Ballachulish.<br> +<br> +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 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!<br> +<br> +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, when 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Have I not given you my advice?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“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 <a name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23">{23}</a> to entirely.”<br> +<br> +“I will tell you, then,” said she. “Be you on +board by 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.”<br> +<br> +Since I could make no more of her, I was fain to be content with this.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +Never <i>ask</i> womenfolk. They’re 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.”<br> +<br> +“Since I am so soon to lose my bonny professor,” I began.<br> +<br> +“This is gallant, indeed,” says she curtseying.<br> +<br> +“I would put the one question,” I went on. “May +I ask a lass to marry to me?”<br> +<br> +“You think you could not marry her without!” she asked. +“Or else get her to offer?”<br> +<br> +“You see you cannot be serious,” said I.<br> +<br> +“I shall be very serious in one thing, David,” said she: +“I shall always be your friend.”<br> +<br> +As I got to my horse the next morning, the four ladies were all at that +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +PART II - FATHER AND DAUGHTER<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXI - THE VOYAGE INTO HOLLAND<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 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.<br> +<br> +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="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24">{24}</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 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 +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>.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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:<br> +<br> +<br> +“DEAR DAVIE, - 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</i> <i>ken the answer</i>. +So fill up here with good advice. Do not be too blate, <a name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25">{25}</a> +and for God’s sake do not try to be too forward; nothing acts +you worse. I am<br> +<br> +“Your affectionate friend and governess,<br> +“BARBARA GRANT.”<br> +<br> +<br> +I wrote a word of answer and compliment on a leaf out of my pocketbook, +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Catriona?” said I. It seemed that was the first and +last word of my eloquence.<br> +<br> +“You will be glad to see me again?” says she.<br> +<br> +“And I think that is an idle word,” said I. “We +are too deep friends to make speech upon such trifles.”<br> +<br> +“Is she not the girl of all the world?” she cried again. +“I was never knowing such a girl so honest and so beautiful.”<br> +<br> +“And yet she cared no more for Alpin than what she did for a kale-stock,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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 everyone 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.”<br> +<br> +“Everybody?” says she.<br> +<br> +“Every living soul?” said I.<br> +<br> +“Ah, then, that will be why the soldiers at the castle took me +up!” she cried,<br> +<br> +“Barbara has been teaching you to catch me,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +I told her.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I could say no more than just “O!” the name of James More +always drying up my very voice.<br> +<br> +She was quick to perceive it, and to guess some portion of my thought.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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 enough 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 into 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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 left 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 +Niel. 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 listening. Whiles, 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.<br> +<br> +What we spoke was usually of ourselves or of each other, so that if +anyone 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.<br> +<br> +“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 ‘45. The men marched +with swords and fire-locks, 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 grant 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 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 uncles lay +in the hill, and I was to be carrying them their meat in the middle +night, or at the short sight 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 by 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.”<br> +<br> +“Catriona!” says I, “how do you make out that?”<br> +<br> +“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 awhile to kirk and market; 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 an well as me.”<br> +<br> +“And through all you had no friends?” said I.<br> +<br> +“No,” said she; “I have been pretty chief with two-three +lasses on the braes, but not to call it friends.”<br> +<br> +“Well, mine is a plain tale,” said I. “I never +had a friend to my name till I met in with you.”<br> +<br> +“And that brave Mr. Stewart?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“O, yes, I was forgetting him,” I said. “But +he in a man, and that in very different.”<br> +<br> +“I would think so,” said she. “O, yes, it is +quite different.”<br> +<br> +“And then there was one other,” said I. “I once +thought I had a friend, but it proved a disappointment.”<br> +<br> +She asked me who she was?<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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; ye know the lave <a name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26">{26}</a> +as well as I do.”<br> +<br> +“Will you let me read them, then?” says she.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +When I returned to her again, I had a faint, painful impression as of +a buckle slipped, so coldly she returned the packet.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Did you mean me to read all?” she asked.<br> +<br> +I told her “Yes,” with a drooping voice.<br> +<br> +“The last of them as well?” said she.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“I will be differently made,” said she. “I thank +God I am differently made. It was not a fit letter to be shown +me. It was not fit to be written.”<br> +<br> +“I think you are speaking of your own friend, Barbara Grant?” +said I.<br> +<br> +“There will not be anything as bitter as to lose a fancied friend,” +said she, quoting my own expression.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“This is your fine gratitude!” says I.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +We were side by side again at supper, and what a change was there! +She was like curdled milk to me; her face was 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 anyone except myself.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I have no guess how I have offended,” said I; “it +should scarce be beyond pardon, then. O, try if you can pardon +me.”<br> +<br> +“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 curtsey.<br> +<br> +But I had schooled myself beforehand to say more, and I was going to +say it too.<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Indeed, and I will never be so unjust then,” said I; “nor +yet so ungrateful.”<br> +<br> +And now it was I that turned away.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXII - HELVOETSLUYS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 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.<br> +<br> +Presently a boat, that was backed like a partancrab, 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 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.<br> +<br> +“Your father,” said he, “would be gey an 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.”<br> +<br> +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 fore-castle, 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.<br> +<br> +“But you ken nae French and nae Dutch neither,” said one.<br> +<br> +“It is very true,” says she, “but since the year ‘46 +there are so many of the honest Scotch abroad that I will be doing very +well. I thank you.”<br> +<br> +There was a pretty country simplicity in this that made some laugh, +others looked the more sorry, and Mr. Gebbie fall 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 him to have done so, since it must have involved the lose +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“He is to be inquired of at the house of one Sprott, an honest +Scotch merchant,” says she; and then with the same breath, “I +am wishing to thank you very much - you are a brave friend to me.”<br> +<br> +“It will be time enough when I get you to your father,” +said I, little thinking that I spoke so true. “I can tell +him a fine tale of a loyal daughter.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Yet there are very few that would have made that leap, and all +to obey a father’s orders,” I observed.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“You forget James More, my father, is a poor gentleman,” +said she. “He is a hunted exile.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 see must have fallen, had ruffled +me almost beyond reason.<br> +<br> +“Well, well, well,” said I, “you will have to learn +more sense.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Is James More Macgregor now in Helvoet, sir?” says I.<br> +<br> +“I ken nobody by such a name,” says he, impatient-like.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“Sir,” says he, “he may be in Hell for what I ken, +and for my part I wish he was.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I have nothing to make either with him, or her, or you!” +cries he in his gross voice.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Will you ding me daft?” he cries. “I tell ye +I ken naething and care less either for him or his breed. I tell +ye the man owes me money.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 fellows +- 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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You’re welcome, sir!” said he. “As for +the young leddy (my respects 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 thegether 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 michtnae come for a twalmouth; 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 ca’ her. +She cannae stop here, that’s ae thing certain sure. Dod, +sir, I’m a lone man! If I was to tak her in, its highly +possible the hellicat would try and gar me marry her when he turned +up.”<br> +<br> +“Enough of this talk,” said I. “I will take +the young leddy 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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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 +baubees.”<br> +<br> +“And just this once again,” said I, “I will remind +you it was a blessing that I came alongst with you.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIII - TRAVELS IN HOLLAND<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 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 were 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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +She came out of the ordinary clinging to me close. “Take +me away, David,” she said. “<i>You</i> keep me. +I am not afraid with you.”<br> +<br> +“And have no cause, my little friend!” cried I, and could +have found it in my heart to weep.<br> +<br> +“Where will you be taking me?” she said again. “Don’t +leave me at all events - never leave me.”<br> +<br> +“Where am I taking you to?” 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.”<br> +<br> +She crept close into me by way of a reply.<br> +<br> +“Here,” I said, “is the stillest place 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.”<br> +<br> +That tree (which I am little like to forget) stood hard by the harbour +side. It was like 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.<br> +<br> +“You will have thought of something good,” said she, observing +me to pause.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Can you start now and march all night?” said I.<br> +<br> +“I will do all that you can ask of me,” she said, “and +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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</i> <i>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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I wish we could say as much for our own folk,” says I, +recalling Sprott and Sang, and perhaps James More himself.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +I caught in my breath sharp and came near falling (for my pains) on +the black ice.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“It was a good day when you showed me so much love,” said +she.<br> +<br> +“And yet I think shame to be happy too,” I went on, “and +you here on the road in the black night.”<br> +<br> +“Where in the great world would I be else?” she cried. +“I am thinking I am safest where I am with you.”<br> +<br> +“I am quite forgiven, then?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Is this Miss Grant again?” said I. “You said +yourself she was the best lady in the world.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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 anyone can see that knew us both before +and after.”<br> +<br> +But Catriona stopped square in the midst of the highway.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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, 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.”<br> +<br> +“Well, then, have you done?” said she.<br> +<br> +“I have done,” said I.<br> +<br> +“A very good thing,” said she, and we went on again, but +now in silence.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“You must try to be more patient of your friend,” said I.<br> +<br> +I thought she seemed to lean the least thing in the world against my +bosom, or perhaps it was but fancy.<br> +<br> +“There will be no end to your goodness,” said she.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 lassies were out slestering 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.<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” said I, “I believe you have yet a shilling +and three baubees?”<br> +<br> +“Are you wanting it?” said she, and passed me her purse. +“I am wishing it was five pounds! What will you want it +for?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“And now, Davie,” said she, “what will you do with +me at all events?”<br> +<br> +“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 sweir to +part from me?”<br> +<br> +“It will be more than seeming then,” said she.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“And what for no?” said she, “if you would let me!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And now I will be Catriona Balfour,” she said. “And +who is to ken? They are all strange folk here.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“David, I have no friend here but you,” she said.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“No, but I ought to warn you,” I began; and then bethought +me 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, 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?”<br> +<br> +“Well, and here I am,” said she. “So that’s +soon settled.”<br> +<br> +I know I was in duty bounden to have spoke more plain. I know +this was a great blot on 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I must not be disgracing my brother,” said she, and was +very merry with it all, although her face told tales of her.<br> +<br> +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 preached, +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 being not 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 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.<br> +<br> +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 be 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIV - FULL STORY OF A COPY OF HEINECCIUS<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +The 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 further 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.<br> +<br> +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 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 the 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 curtseys 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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +She dropped me one of her curtseys; 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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 reading these next few 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?<br> +<br> +So the rest of the evening flowed by almost without speech.<br> +<br> +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. <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 fain would hope) like a Christian.<br> +<br> +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 note-book 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 that 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 the 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 she door as I went out.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Are we not to have our walk to-day?” said she.<br> +<br> +I was looking at her in a maze. “Where is your brooch?” +says I.<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I bought it for you, Catriona,” said I.<br> +<br> +She fixed it in the midst of her bosom with the brooch, I could have +thought tenderly.<br> +<br> +“It is none the better of my handling,” said I again, and +blushed.<br> +<br> +“I will be liking it none the worse, you may be sure of that,” +said she.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 places +in the earth; and we spoke together all that time beyond belief for +freedom and sweetness.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 any 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.<br> +<br> +Suddenly she called out aloud. “O, why does not my father +come?” she cried, and fell at once into a storm of tears.<br> +<br> +I leaped up, flung Heineccius fairly in the fire, ran to her side, and +cast an arm around her sobbing body.<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“Hate you!” cries I, and held her firm. “You +blind less, can you not see a little in my wretched heart? Do +you not 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?”<br> +<br> +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 saw in a mere whirl like a man +drunken. Then I heard her voice sound very small and muffled in +my clothes.<br> +<br> +“Did you kiss her truly?” she asked.<br> +<br> +There went through me so great a heave of surprise that I was all shook +with it.<br> +<br> +“Miss Grant?” I cried, all in a disorder. “Yes, +I asked her to kiss me good-bye, the which she did.”<br> +<br> +“Ah, well!” said she, “you have kissed me too, at +all events.”<br> +<br> +At the strangeness and sweetness of that word, I saw where we had fallen; +rose, and set her on her feet.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She turned to obey me like a child, and the next I knew of it, had stopped +in the very doorway.<br> +<br> +“Good night, Davie!” said she.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +The milk was spilt now, the word was out and the truth told. I +had crept like an untrusty man into the poor 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +There came no answer, but the sobbing ceased. I stood a long while +with my hands still clasped as I had spoken; then the cold of the night +laid hold upon me with a shudder, and I think my reason reawakened.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXV - THE RETURN OF JAMES MORE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I was 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 wraprascal +and an extraordinary big laced hat, there stood James More.<br> +<br> +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 hindmost +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.<br> +<br> +“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 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.”<br> +<br> +“I think, sir,” said I, with a very painful air, “that +it will be necessary we two should have an explanation.”<br> +<br> +“There is nothing amiss?” he asked. “My agent, +Mr. Sprott - ”<br> +<br> +“For God’s sake moderate your voice!” I cried. +“She must not hear till we have had an explanation.”<br> +<br> +“She is in this place?” cries he.<br> +<br> +“That is her chamber door,” said I.<br> +<br> +“You are here with her alone?” he asked.<br> +<br> +“And who else would I have got to stay with us?” cries I.<br> +<br> +I will do him the justice to admit that he turned pale.<br> +<br> +“This is very unusual,” said he. “This is a +very unusual circumstance. You are right, we must hold an explanation.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +“Well?” says he.<br> +<br> +And “Well,” I began, but found myself unable to go further.<br> +<br> +“You tell me she is here?” said he again, but now with a +spice of impatience that seemed to brace me up.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.” “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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“But the choice was not between me and somebody else, it was between +me and nobody,” cried I. “Nobody offered in my place, +and I must say I think you show a very small degree of gratitude to +me that did.”<br> +<br> +“I shall wait until I understand my obligation a little more in +the particular,” says he.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“You are a young man,” he began.<br> +<br> +“So I hear you tell me,” said I, with a good deal of heat.<br> +<br> +“You are a very young man,” he repeated, “or you would +have understood the significancy of the step.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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. 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.”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“What I would have looked for at your hands!” says he; and +there was no mistake but what he said it civilly.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“To be frank with you, sir,” says I, “I drink nothing +else but spare, cold water.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I shall make it my business to see you are supplied,” said +I.<br> +<br> +“Why, very good,” said he, “and we shall make a man +of you yet, Mr. David.”<br> +<br> +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, +and cried through the panels, knocking thereon at the same time: “Miss +Drummond, here is your father come at last.”<br> +<br> +With that I went forth upon my errand, having (by two words) extraordinarily +damaged my affairs.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVI - THE THREESOME<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Whether 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 awaked 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!<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +But this was not for long. As I behold 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 farther 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.<br> +<br> +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 anyone 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 (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 upon 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.<br> +<br> +“Can I do anything for <i>you</i>, Mr. Drummond?” says I.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +There was no more to say, and I got my hat and cloak to bear him company.<br> +<br> +“And as for you,” say 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>.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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 would not delay too long neither; and got to my cold +bed with a full heart.<br> +<br> +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 awhile, then knocked +upon her door.<br> +<br> +“Catriona!” said I.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Are we not to have our walk to-day either?” so I faltered.<br> +<br> +“I am thanking you,” said she. “I will not be +caring much to walk, now that my father is come home.”<br> +<br> +“But I think he has gone out himself and left you here alone,” +said I.<br> +<br> +“And do you think that was very kindly said?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 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.”<br> +<br> +“I am thanking you,” said she.<br> +<br> +We stood awhile 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.<br> +<br> +“Well,” said I, “we shall be friends always, that’s +a certain thing. But this is a kind of 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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 because the words of it are beyond all expression, and +it is mere mockery to tell you it in English.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVII - A TWOSOME<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I believe 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Is that not Alan Breck that was suspected of the Appin accident?” +he inquired.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Meanwhile, I had opened Miss Grant’s, and could not withhold an +exclamation.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 new friend, and we should first condole with him on +his bereavement.”<br> +<br> +“Troth, sir,” said I, turning to him in a kind of anger, +“I can make no such great faces. His death is as blithe +news as ever I got.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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 anyone is to be bettered by this change.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 one 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I am rather glad to have a word alone with you,” says he, +“because in our first interview there were 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.<br> +<br> +“To what effect, Mr. Drummond?” said I. “I would +be obliged to you if you would approach your point.”<br> +<br> +“Ay, ay,” said 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.”<br> +<br> +“I thank you for that,” said I, pretty close upon my guard.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I am afraid I am dull,” said I. “What ways +are these?”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“You are pleased to be quite plain at last,” said I.<br> +<br> +“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 deleeborate 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 - ”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Why, very true,” says he, with an immediate change. +“And you must excuse the agitations of a parent.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“It is not possible to express my meaning better,” said +he, “and I see we shall do well together.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I was sure of it, I felt certain of you, David,” he cried, +and reached out his hand to me.<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“This is all beside the mark,” says he. “I will +engage for her acceptance.”<br> +<br> +“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 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.”<br> +<br> +He sat and glowered at me like one in doubt and a good deal of temper.<br> +<br> +“So that 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.”<br> +<br> +“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 - ”<br> +<br> +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.”<br> +<br> +“Upon my word, sir!” he exclaimed, “and who are you +to be the judge?”<br> +<br> +“The bridegroom, I believe,” said I.<br> +<br> +“This is to quibble,” he cried. “You turn your +back upon the fact. The girl, my daughter, has no choice left +to exercise. Her character is gone.”<br> +<br> +“And I ask your pardon,” said I, “but while this matter +lies between her and you and me, that is not so.”<br> +<br> +“What security have I!” he cried. “Am I to let +my daughter’s reputation depend upon a chance?”<br> +<br> +“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 browbeat 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 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.”<br> +<br> +He leaped out of his chair like a man stung. “I can spy +your manoeuvre,” he cried; “you would work upon her to refuse!”<br> +<br> +“Maybe ay, and maybe no,” said I. “That is the +way it is to be, whatever.”<br> +<br> +“And if I refuse?” cries he.<br> +<br> +“Then, Mr. Drummond, it will have to come to the throat-cutting,” +said I.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +A little while longer he continued to dispute with me, until I hit upon +a word that silenced him.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +He gabbled some kind of an excuse.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXVIII - IN WHICH I AM LEFT ALONE<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +I opened the door to Catriona and stopped her on the threshold.<br> +<br> +“Your father wishes us to take our walk,” said I.<br> +<br> +She looked to James More, who nodded, and at that, like a trained soldier, +she turned to go with me.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 through first of all, and not to +interrupt me till I have done.”<br> +<br> +She promised me that simply.<br> +<br> +“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 exagerate, and if I were you I would not wear 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 - ”<br> +<br> +“I will look neither back nor forward,” she interrupted. +“Tell me the one thing: this is my father’s doing?”<br> +<br> +“He approves of it,” said I. “He approved I +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.<br> +<br> +“He told you to!” she cried. “It is no sense +denying it, you said yourself that there was nothing farther from your +thoughts. He told you to.”<br> +<br> +“He spoke of it the first, if that is what you mean,” I +began.<br> +<br> +She was walking ever the faster, and looking fain in front of her; but +at this she made a little noise in her head, and I thought she would +have run.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +She stopped and turned round upon me.<br> +<br> +“Well, it is refused at all events,” she cried, “and +there will be an end of that.”<br> +<br> +And she began again to walk forward.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I am not thinking of you,” she said, “I am thinking +of that man, my father.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She stopped again. “It is because I am disgraced?” +she asked.<br> +<br> +“That is what he is thinking,” I replied, “but I have +told you already to make nought of it.”<br> +<br> +“It will be all one to me,” she cried. “I prefer +to be disgraced!”<br> +<br> +I did not know very well what to answer, and stood silent.<br> +<br> +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?”<br> +<br> +“My dear,” said I, “what else was I to do?”<br> +<br> +“I am not your dear,” she said, “and I defy you to +be calling me these words.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Ay,” said she. There sprang a patch of red in either +of her cheeks. “Was he for fighting you?” said she.<br> +<br> +“Well, he was that,” said I.<br> +<br> +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 will not scorn you.”<br> +<br> +I had borne a good deal pretty patiently, but this was over the mark.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She kept looking at me with a hateful smile. “Coward!” +said she.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She shook her head at me with that same smile I could have struck her +for.<br> +<br> +“O, smile away!” I cried. “I have seen your +bonny 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.”<br> +<br> +“What is this?” she asked.<br> +<br> +“When I offered to draw with him,” said I.<br> +<br> +“You offered to draw upon James More!” she cried.<br> +<br> +“And I did so,” said I, “and found him backward enough, +or how would we be here?”<br> +<br> +“There is a meaning upon this,” said she. “What +is it you are meaning?”<br> +<br> +“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>?’ said 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</i> <i>what I would have +a wife forced upon myself</i>.’ These were my words, they +were a friend’s words; bonnily have I 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!”<br> +<br> +“Davie, how would I guess?” she cried. “O, this +is a dreadful business! Me and mine,” - she gave a kind +of a 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 forgiveness!”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What can you be thinking of this miserable girl?” says +she.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +She turned, and began to go home and I to accompany her. At which +she stopped.<br> +<br> +“I will be going alone,” she said. “It is alone +I must be seeing him.”<br> +<br> +Some little time 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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 likely to fare when Davie Balfour +was no longer by to be their milk-cow; at which, to my very own great +surprise, the disposition of my mind turned bottom up. I was still +angry; I still hated her; and yet I thought I owed it to myself that +she should suffer nothing.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 an events, +beggar-folk and sorners.”<br> +<br> +“By your leave, Miss Drummond,” said I, “I must speak +to your father by myself.”<br> +<br> +She went into her own room and shut the door, without a word or a look.<br> +<br> +“You must excuse her, Mr. Balfour,” says James More. +“She has no delicacy.”<br> +<br> +“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 mine. I know you have had more since you were +here in Leyden, though you concealed it even from your daughter.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“If you would have let me finish,” says I, “you would +have found I spoke for your advantage.”<br> +<br> +“My dear friend,” he cried, “I know I might have relied +upon the generosity of your character.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 - ”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 she +had ever 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.<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXIX - WE MEET IN DUNKIRK.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Altogether, then, I was scare 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 soups with the de’il, +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:<br> +<br> +<br> +“My dear Sir, - Your esteemed favour came to hand duly, and I +have to acknowledge the inclosure 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 up 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 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.<br> +<br> +“My dear Sir,<br> +“Your affectionate, obedient servant,<br> +“JAMES MACGREGOR DRUMMOND.”<br> +<br> +<br> +Below it began again in the hand of Catriona:-<br> +<br> +<br> +“Do not be believing him, it is all lies together, - C. M. D.”<br> +<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I cannae make heed 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.”<br> +<br> +“There are whiles that I am of the same mind,” said I.<br> +<br> +“The strange thing is that ye seem to have a kind of fancy for +her too!” said Alan.<br> +<br> +“The biggest kind, Alan,” said I, “and I think I’ll +take it to my grave with me.”<br> +<br> +“Well, ye beat me, whatever!” he would conclude.<br> +<br> +I showed him the letter with Catriona’s postscript. “And +here again!” he cried. “Impossible to deny a kind +of decency to this Catriona, and sense forby! 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.”<br> +<br> +“Ye see, Alan,” said I, “it goes against the grain +with me to leave the maid in such poor hands.”<br> +<br> +“Ye couldnae 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 weemenfolk 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 gomeral that ye cannae tell the tane frae the tither.”<br> +<br> +“Well, and I’m afraid that’s true for me,” said +I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“And can <i>you</i> no help me?” I asked, “you that +are so clever at the trade?”<br> +<br> +“Ye see, David, I wasnae 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.”<br> +<br> +“Would ye so, man Alan?” said I.<br> +<br> +“I would e’en’t,” says he.<br> +<br> +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; abounded in kind expressions to myself; and finally +proposed that I should visit them at Dunkirk.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“What does the man want with me?” cried Alan, when he had +read. “What he wants with you in clear enough - it’s +siller. But what can he want with Alan Breck?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Well, I wish that I kent,” 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 +divertisement to gang and see what he’ll be after! Forby +that I could see your lassie then. What say ye, Davie? Will +ye ride with Alan?”<br> +<br> +You may be sure I was not backward, and Alan’s furlough running +towards an end, we set forth presently upon this joint adventure.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“<i>Voilà l’auberge à Bazin</i>,” says +the guide.<br> +<br> +Alan smacked his lips. “An unco lonely bit,” said +he, and I thought by his tone he was not wholly pleased.<br> +<br> +A little after, and we stood in the lower storey of that house, which +was all in the one apartment, with a stairs 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“My father, James More, will be here soon. He will be very +pleased to see you,” she said. And then of a sudden 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.”<br> +<br> +“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, +ye’re an awful poor hand of a description.”<br> +<br> +I do not know that ever I heard him speak so straight to people’s +hearts; the sound of his voice was like song.<br> +<br> +“What? will he have been describing me?” she cried.<br> +<br> +“Little else of it since I ever came out of France!” says +he, “forby 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 bonnie, my dear, but he’s leal to them he loves.”<br> +<br> +“I thank you from 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.”<br> +<br> +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 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 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.<br> +<br> +But if that was like to be my part, I found that at least 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +It was the more easy to be put off, because Alan and I were pretty weary +with four day’s ride, and sat not very late after Catriona.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Ye muckle ass!” said he.<br> +<br> +“What do ye mean by that?” I cried.<br> +<br> +“Mean? What do I mean! It’s extraordinar, David +man,” say he, “that you should be so mortal stupit.”<br> +<br> +Again I begged him to speak out.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +I told him.<br> +<br> +“I thocht it was something thereabout” said he.<br> +<br> +Nor would he say another word though I besieged him long with importunities.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CHAPTER XXX - THE LETTER FROM THE SHIP<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Daylight 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.<br> +<br> +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, and I thought this dreary, desert +place was like a paradise.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 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 +with much inclination.<br> +<br> +“I am caring less and less about this man James,” said Alan. +“There’s something no right with the man James, and I shouldnae +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 o’ 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’ weemenfolk likes that.”<br> +<br> +“I cannae lee, Alan, I cannae do it naitural,” says I, mocking +him.<br> +<br> +“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 wouldnae wonder but what that was the next best. But see +to the pair of them! If I didnae feel just sure of the lassie, +and that she was awful pleased and chief with Alan, I would think there +was some kind of hocus-pocus about you.”<br> +<br> +“And is she so pleased with ye, then, Alan?” I asked.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +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 +further 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 further +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 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?<br> +<br> +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 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +I gave her “good morning” as she came up, which she returned +with a good deal of composure.<br> +<br> +“Will you forgive my having followed you?” said I.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I never sent it for him,” said I, “but for you, as +you know well.”<br> +<br> +“And you have no right to be sending it to either one of us,” +she said. “David, it is not right.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Do not be speaking of him, even!” was her cry.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +I stepped before her so as to intercept her walking on.<br> +<br> +“Try to put up with me,” I was saying, “try and bear +me with a little.”<br> +<br> +Still she had never the word, and a fear began to rise in me like a +fear of death.<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” I cried, gazing on her hard, “is it a +mistake again? Am I quite lost?”<br> +<br> +She raised her face to me, breathless.<br> +<br> +“Do you want me, Davie, truly?” said she, and I scarce could +hear her say it.<br> +<br> +“I do that,” said I. “O, sure you know it - +I do that.”<br> +<br> +“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,<br> +<br> +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. +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.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +With that she wept also, and our tears were commingled in a perfect +gladness.<br> +<br> +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 those bents by Dunkirk; and +the windmill sails, as they bobbed over the knowe, were like a tune +of music.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +There came a sudden whiteness in her face, she plucked her hands from +mine.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I took it, and looked at it, and shook my head.<br> +<br> +“No,” said I, “it goes against me, I cannot open a +man’s letter.”<br> +<br> +“Not to save your friend?” she cried.<br> +<br> +“I cannae tell,” said I. “I think not. +If I was only sure!”<br> +<br> +“And you have but to break the seal!” said she.<br> +<br> +“I know it,” said I, “but the thing goes against me.”<br> +<br> +“Give it here,” said she, “and I will open it myself.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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 sand-hills. +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.<br> +<br> +“There,” said I, “there is the man that has the best +right to open it: or not, as he thinks fit.”<br> +<br> +With which I called upon his name, and we both stood up to be a mark +for him.<br> +<br> +“If it is so - if it be more disgrace - will you can bear it?” +she asked, looking upon me with a burning eye.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +The blood rose in her face; she came close up and pressed upon me, holding +my hand: and it was so that we awaited Alan.<br> +<br> +He came with one of his queer smiles. “What was I telling +ye, David?” says he.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“I have been upon a fool’s errand,” said he.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“A letter to James More?” said he.<br> +<br> +“The same,” said I.<br> +<br> +“Well, and I can tell ye more than that,” said Alan. +“For the 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.”<br> +<br> +“Alan!” cried I, “you slept all night, and I am here +to prove it.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I gave it him.<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” said he, “you 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.”<br> +<br> +“It is my wish,” said Catriona.<br> +<br> +He opened it, glanced it through, and flung his hand in the air.<br> +<br> +“The stinking brock!” says he, and crammed the paper in +his pocket. “Here, let’s get our things together. +This place is fair death to me.” And he began to walk towards +the inn.<br> +<br> +It was Catriona that spoke the first. “He has sold you?” +she asked.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +“Are ye there with it?” says Alan, looking back. “The +best day’s work that ever either of you did yet! And I’m +bound to say, my dawtie, ye make a real, bonny couple.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“See, Alan!”<br> +<br> +“Wheesht!” said, he, “this is my affairs.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“I think, sir,” says Alan, “that you speak the English?”<br> +<br> +“<i>Non, monsieur</i>,” says he, with an incredible bad +accent.<br> +<br> +“<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!”<br> +<br> +And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt the man a kick +that laid him on his nose. Then he stood, with a savage smile, +and watched him scramble to his feet and scamper off into the sand-hills.<br> +<br> +“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 backdoor of Bazin’s inn.<br> +<br> +It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came face to face with +James More entering by the other.<br> +<br> +“Here!” said I to Catriona, “quick! upstairs with +you and make your packets; this is no fit scene for you.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +Time pressed. Alan’s situation in that solitary place, and +his enemies about him, might have daunted Caesar. It made no change +in him; and it was in his old spirit of mockery and daffing that he +began the interview.<br> +<br> +“A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond,” said he. +“What’ll yon business of yours be just about?”<br> +<br> +“Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long story,” +says James, “I think it will keep very well till we have eaten.”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +I saw a little surprise in James’s eye; but he held himself stoutly.<br> +<br> +“I have but the one word to say to cure you of that,” said +he, “and that is the name of my business.”<br> +<br> +“Say it then,” says Alan. “Hout! wha minds for +Davie?”<br> +<br> +“It is a matter that would make us both rich men,” said +James.<br> +<br> +“Do you tell me that?” cries Alan.<br> +<br> +“I do, sir,” said James. “The plain fact is +that it is Cluny’s Treasure.”<br> +<br> +“No!” cried Alan. “Have ye got word of it?”<br> +<br> +“I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there,” +said James.<br> +<br> +“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?”<br> +<br> +“That is the business, sir,” said James.<br> +<br> +“Well, well,” said Alan; and then in the same tone of childlike +interest, “it has naething to do with the <i>Seahorse, </i>then?” +he asked,<br> +<br> +“With what?” says James.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +James was taken all aback with it. He stood a second, motionless +and white, then swelled with the living anger.<br> +<br> +“Do you talk to me, you bastard?” he roared out.<br> +<br> +“Ye glee’d swine!” cried Alan, and hit him a sounding +buffet on the mouth, and the next wink of time their blades clashed +together.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Keep back, Davie! Are ye daft! Damn ye, keep back!” +roared Alan. “Your blood be on your ain heid then!”<br> +<br> +I beat their blades down twice. I was knocked reeling 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 +some thing yielding. It came back to me reddened. I saw +the blood flow on the girl’s kerchief, and stood sick.<br> +<br> +“Will you be killing him before my eyes, and me his daughter after +all!” she cried.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +Awhile she stood before the man, panting, with big eyes, then swung +suddenly about and faced him.<br> +<br> +“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!”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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 +- ”<br> +<br> +“There goes no pockmantie out of this place except with me,” +says Alan.<br> +<br> +“Sir!” cries James.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +“Be damned, sir, but my money’s there!” said James.<br> +<br> +“I’m vexed about that, too,” says Alan, with his funny +face, “but now, ye see, it’s mines.” And then +with more gravity, “Be you advised, James More, you leave this +house.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +At the same time a spell was lifted from me.<br> +<br> +“Catriona,” I cried, “it was me - it was my sword. +O, are you much hurt?”<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +Joy that she should be so little hurt, and the love of her brave nature, +supported me. I embraced her, I kissed the wound.<br> +<br> +“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’s a king’s name and speak the truth.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.”<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“Here,” I cried, “pay yourself,” and flung him +down some Lewie d’ors; for I thought it was no time to be accounting.<br> +<br> +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 +his hands, were the sails of the windmill turning.<br> +<br> +Alan gave but 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.<br> +<br> +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 manoeuvre, I could very well understand the word that Alan had.<br> +<br> +He stopped running at once; and mopping at his brow, “They’re +a real bonny folk, the French nation,” says he.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +CONCLUSION<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +No 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 jail; +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 other.<br> +<br> +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 the 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.<br> +<br> +“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 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.”<br> +<br> +Upon this we 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.<br> +<br> +“And let us go see him, then,” said I.<br> +<br> +“If it is your pleasure,” said Catriona. These were +early days.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +“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.<br> +<br> +I could not trace even a hint of shame 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.<br> +<br> +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.<br> +<br> +<br> +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 you 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</i> <i>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.<br> +<br> +As for Davie and Catriona, I shall watch you pretty 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.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +Footnotes<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a> Conspicuous.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a> Country.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a> The Fairies.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a> Flatteries.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a> Trust to.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a> This must +have reference to Dr. Cameron on his first visit. - D. B.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a> Sweetheart.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a> Child.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a> Palm.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a> Gallows.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a> My Catechism.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a> Now Prince’s +Street.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{13}</a> A learned +folklorist of my acquaintance hereby identifies Alan’s air. +It has been printed (it seems) in Campbell’s <i>Tales of the West +Highlands</i>, Vol. II., p. 91. Upon examination it would +really seem as if Miss Grant’s unrhymed doggrel (see Chapter V.) +would fit with little humouring to the notes in question.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14">{14}</a> A ball +placed upon a little mound for convenience of striking.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a> Patched +shoes.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a> Shoemaker.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a> Tamson’s +mere - to go afoot.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18">{18}</a> Beard.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19">{19}</a> Ragged.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20">{20}</a> Fine things.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21">{21}</a> Catch.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22">{22}</a> Victuals.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23">{23}</a> Trust.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24">{24}</a> Sea fog.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25">{25}</a> Bashful.<br> +<br> +<a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26">{26}</a> Rest.<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, CATRIONA ***<br> +<pre> + +******This file should be named ctrna11h.htm or ctrna11h.zip****** +Corrected EDITIONS of our EBooks get a new NUMBER, ctrna12h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, ctrna10ah.htm + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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