'^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) h /, A % ^ 1.0 !^ I.I ■^ 116 i u Hi us Li a IM K RIRi 2.5 2.2 2.0 1.8 IL25 i 1.4 III 1.6 ^ 72 ^>. Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WiBSTH.N.Y. MSM (716) •73-4S03 ^ m % CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICIVIH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiquas X' Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibllographiques The Institute has attempted to obtain the best original copy available for filming. Features of this copy which may be bibliographically unique, which may alter any of the images in the reproduction, or which may significantly change the usual method of filming, are checked below. L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire qu'il lui a dt6 possible de se procurer. Les details de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une modification dans la methods normals de filmage sont indiqu^s ci-dessous. Coloured covers/ Couverture de couleur Coloured pages/ Pages de couleur Covers damaged/ Couverture endommagde Pages damaged/ Pages endommagdes Covers restored and/or laminated/ Couverture restaur6e et/ou pellicul6e Pages restored and/or laminated/ Pages restaur6es et/ou pellicul6es Cover title missing/ Le titre de couverture manque 1/ Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ Pages d6color6es, tachetdes ou piqu6es Coloured maps/ Cartes gdographiques en couleur Pages detached/ Pages ddtach^es / Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) u/ Showthrough/ Transparence Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur Quality of print varies/ Quality !n6gale de I'impression Bound with other material/ 1 1 Relid avec d'autres documents Includes supplementary material/ Comprend du materiel suppl^mentaire The tothi Thei possi of th fllmir^ Origii begin the sion, other first sion, or illi D D D Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion along interior margin/ La re Mure snrr6e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la distortion le long de la marge int^rieure Blank leaves added during restoration may appear within the text. Whenever possible, these have been omitted from filming/ II se peut que certaines pages blanches ajouties lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, mais, lorsque cela 6tait possible, ces pages n'ont pas 6t6 filmdes. Additional comments:/ Commentaires suppl6mentaires; I I Only edition available/ Seule Edition disponible Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to ensure the best possible image/ Lds pages totalement ou partiellement obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, etc., ont 6x6 film6es d nouveau de fapon 6 obtenir la meilleure image possible. This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/ Ce document est filmd au taux de rMuction indiquA ci-dessous. 10X 14X 18X 22X 26X 30X 7 12X 16X 20X 24X 28X 32X Theli shall I TINUI which Maps, diffen entire begini right i requir metho >laire IS details ques du nt modifier Kiger une le filmage The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanlts to the generosity of: National Library of Canada The images appearing here are the best quality possible considering the condition and legibility of the original copy and in keeping with the filming contract specifications. L'exemplaire filmi fut reproduit grdce d la gAn6rosit6 de: Bibliothdque nationale du Canada Las images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at de la nettetd de l'exemplaire film6, et en conformity avec las conditions du contrat de filmage. d/ |u6es Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. The last recorded frame on each microfiche shall contain the symbol ^^- (meaning "CON- TINUED"), or the symbol y (meaning "END"), whichever applies. Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en papier est imprimde sont film6s en commenpant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, salon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires originaux sont filmis en commenpant par la premiere page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par la dernidre page qui comporte une telle empreinte. Un des symboles suivants apparaftra sur la dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le cas: le symbole — ► signifie "A SUIVRE", le symbole V signifie "FIN". lire IVIaps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, an iiwny frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atre fiim^s A des taux de rMuction diff6rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichi, 11 est film6 d partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mithode. by errata led to ent jne pelure, aqon & 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 6 6 She dropped me one of her curtseys, which were extraordinary taking " {see page 291). f l\ f ^TT"** r R 1 O N A ^•f>T'P •rrHER AUVhNTURFS vl'r.« , h< > . '>t;BLfc,S WITH LORD .... fApTIViTY ON THE BASS rO HOi.LA.>JI AND FRANCE; ' '*mn WITH JAMKS MORF. M..- . REflOR, A SON OF THE k.)b roy, asd mis daughter ■■^'.mttek "ry thmisflf, and NOAV set forth yM:\: LOlJlb STKVKNSON M TOP ON"? re LONDfv ;1'A; 1>. 'C^s -f> M I ^ CATRION A ^ SEQUEL TO ''KIDNAPPED'' RFING MEMOIRS OF THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF DAVID BALFOUR AT HOME AND ABROAD IN WHICH ARE SET FORTH HIS MISFORTUNES ANENT THE APPIN MURDER ; HIS TROUBLES WITH LORD ADVOCATE GRANT ; CAPTIVITY ON THE BASS ROCK ; JOURNEY INTO HOLLAND AND FRANCE ; AND SINGULAR RELATIONS WITH JAMES MORE DRUMMOND OR MACGREGOR, A SON OF THE NOTORIOUS »^'^ ROY, AND HT DAUGHTER CATRIONA. >/KirTEN BY HIMSELF, AND NOW SET FORTH BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVFNSON TORONTO THE MUSSON HOOK COMPANY LIMITED LONDON : CASSELL & COMPANY, Ltd. PR5U4- T>3 %°l1^ CHAPTRR L AI n. Th( in. I gG IV. Lof< V. In ! VI. Um vn. Itn vm. The IX. Th. X. Tilt XI. Th xn. On xm. Gill XIV. Tb XV. BU XVL Th CONTENTS PART I The Lord Advocate, CHAPTRR L A Beggar on Horseback • n. The Highland Writer . in. I go to Pilrig • IV, Lord Advocate Prestongrange V, In the Advocate's House • VL Umquile the Master of Lovat Vn, I make a Fault in Honour Vm. The Bravo EX. The Heather on Fire . X, The Red-headed Man XI. The Wood by Silvermills Xn. On the March again with Alan XIII. Gillane Sands • • • XIV. The Bass . . . . XV. Black Andie's Talc of Tod Lapraik XVL The Missing Witness PAGE \ M 26 36 51 61 n S6 98 )08 120 J29 H\ 154 165 180 VI CONTENTS CHAPTBK XVII. The Memorial PACK J 92 XVm. The Tcc'd BaU . . . . . . 208 XDC. I am much in the liands of the Ladies . 22 J XX, I contiaue to move in Good Society. • 234 PART n Father and Daughter. XXI. The Voyage into Holland. XXII. Hclvoetsluys .... XXm. Travels in Holland . . XXIV. Full Story of a Copy of Heineccius XXV. The Return of James More XXVI. The Threesome . , , . XXVII. A Twosome .... XXVm. In which I am Left Alone . XXIX. We meet in Dunkirk . . . XXX. The Letter from the Ship . . * Conclusioa 248 263 274 238 303 zn 322 33J 344 364 372 'Hi; '\ I BcMcatlon So CHARLES BAXTER, Writer to the Signet My dear Charles, ^ It is the fate of sequels to disappoint those who have waited for them ; and my David, having been left to kick his heels for more than a lustre in the Britisl 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 vin DEDICATION or the Bass. So, perhaps, his eye shall be opened to behold the series of the generations, and he shall weigh with surprise his momentous and nugatory gift of life. You are still— as when first I saw, as when I last addressed you — in the venerable city which I must always think of as my home. And I have come so far ; and the sights and thoughts of my youth pursue me ; and I see like a vision the youth of my father, and of his father, and the whole stream of lives flowing down there far in the north, with the sound of laughter and tears, to cast me out in the end, as by a sudden freshet, on these ultimate islands. And I admire and bow my head before the romance of destiny. R. L. S. ■J ' I J ! yailima, Upolu. Samoa, 189a. U ' •« ' J i : > ,. ) ,• ■ ' 1 ■ . '. • i:-'Oii^:J :;>•/ > ,'K :.*•■• i ^ .< ', ./ ^ -ii' ned he and in I :h I lave my •uth lole Tth, me tiese lead ' • ,i: CATRIONA r PART I THE LORD ADVOCATE CHAPTER L . A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. The 25th day of August, 1751, about two in the afternoon, I, David Balfour, came forth of the British Linen Company, a porter attending me with a bag of money, and some of the chief of these merchants bowing me from their doors. Two days before, and even so late as yestermorning, 1 was like a beggar-man by the wayside, clad in rags, brought down to my last shillings, my companion a condemned traitor, a price set on my own head for a crime with the news of which the country rang. To-day I was served heir to my position in life, a landed laird, a bank porter by me carrying my gold, recommendations in my pocket, and (in the words of the saying) the ball directly at my foot. There were two circumstances that served me as ballast to so much sail. The first was the very difficult and deadly business I had still to handle ; A* % CATRIONA. 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 tbe girth ; his clothes scarce held on nie ; and it waii plain I was ill qualified to strut in the front of a bank- porter. It was plain, if I did so, I should but set folk laughing, and (what was worse in my case) set them asking questions. So that I behooved to come by some clothes of my own, and in the meanwhile to walk by the porter *s side, and put my hand on his arm as though we were a pair of friends. At a merchant's in the Luckenbooths I had myself fitted out : none too fine, for I had no idea to appear like a beggar on horseback ; but comely and responsible, so that servants should respect me. Thence to an armourer's, where I got a plain sword, to suit 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 experiencej judged my accoutrement to be well chosen. " Naething kenspeckle," * said he ; " plain dacent claes. As for the rapier, nae doubt it sits wi' your degree ; but an I had been you, I would hae waired my siller better-gates than that." And he proposed I should buy winter-hosen from a wife • Conspicuous. CATRIONA. m the Cowgate-back, that was a cousin of his own, and made them " extraordinar endurable." But I had other matters on my hand more pressing. Here I was in this old, black city, which was for all the world like a rabbit-warren, not only by the number of its indwellers, but the complication of its passages and holes. It was, indeed, a place where no stranger had a chance to find a friend, let be another stranger. Suppose him even to hit on the right close, people dwelt so thronged in these tall houses, he might very well seek a day before he chanced on the right door. The ordinary course was to hire a lad they called a caddie^ who was like a guide or pilot, led you where you had occasion, and (your errands being done) brought you again where you were lodging. But these caddies, being always employed in the same sort of services, and having it for obligation to be well informed of every house and person in the city, had grown to form a brotherhood of spies : and I knew from tales of Mr. Campbell's how they communicated one with another, what a rage of curiosity they conceived as to their employer's business, and how they were like eyes and fingers to the police, it would be a piece of little wisdom, the way I was now placed, to take such a ferret to my tails. I had three visits to make, all immediately needful : to my kinsman Mr. Balfour of Pilrig, to Stewart the Writer that was Appin's agent, and to William Grant Esquire of Prestongrange, Lord Advocate of Scotland. Mr. Balfour's was a non-committal visit ; and besides (Pilrig being in the country) I made 4 CATRIONA. bold to find the way to it myself, with the help or 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 ':i- consistent 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 deter- mined, therefore, to be done at once with Mr. Stewart and the whole Jacobitical side of my business, and to profit for that purpose by the guidance of the porter at my side. But it chanced I had scarce given him the address, when there came a sprinkle of rain— nothing to hurt, only for my new clothes — and we took shelter under a pend at the head of a close or alley. Being strange to what I saw, I stepped a little farther in. The narrow paved way descended swiftly. Prodigious tall houses sprang upon each side and bulged out, one storey beyond another, as they rose. At the top only a ribbon of sky showed in. By what I could spy in the windows, and by the respectable persons that passed out and in, I saw the houses to be very well occupied ; and the whole appearance of the place interested me like a tale, I was still gazing, when there came a sudden CATRIONA. 5 brisk tramp of feet in time and clash of steel behind me. Turning quickly, I was aware of a party of armed soldiers, and in their midst, a tall man in a great coat. He walked with a stoop that was like a piece of courtesy, genteel and insinuating : he waved his hands plausibly as he went, and his face was sly and handsome. I thought his eye took me in, but could not meet it» This procession went by to a door in the close, which a serving-man in a fine livery set open ; and two of the soldier-lads carried the prisoner within, the rest lingering with their firelocks by the door. There can nothing pass in the streets of a city without some following of idle folk and children. It was so now ; but the more part melted away incontinent until but three were left. One was a girl ; she was dressed like a lady, and had a screen of the Drummond colours on her head ; but her comrades or (I should say) followers were ragged gillies, such as I have 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 chiefs 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 6 CATRIONA. Highland folk alike for fine obeisances and empt}' sporrans. It chanced the girl turned suddenly about, so that I saw her face for the first time. There is no greater wonder than the way the face of a young woman fits in a man's mind, and stays there, and he could never tell you why ; it just seems it was the thing he wanted. She had wonderful bright eyes like stars, and I daresay the eyes had a part in it ; but what I remember the most clearly was the way her lips were a trifle open as she turned. And, whatever was the cause, I stood there staring like a fool. On her side, as she had not known there was anyone so near, she looked at me a little longer, and perhaps with more surprise, than was entirely civil. It went through my country head she might be wondering at my new clothes ; with that, I blushed to my hair, and at the sight of my colouring it is to be supposed she drew her own conclusions, for she moved her gillies farther down the close, and they fell again to this dispute, where I could hear no more of it. I had often admired a lassie before then, if scarce so sudden and strong ; and it was rather my disposition to withdraw than to come forward, for I was much in fear of mockery from the womenkind. You would have thought I had now all the more reason to pursue my common practice, since I had met this young lady in the city street, seemingly following a prisoner, and accompanied with two very ragged indecent - like Highlandmen. But CATRIONA. had ingly two But t there was here a different ingredient ; it was plain the girl thought I had been prying in her secrets ; and with my new clothes and sword, and at the top of my new fortunes, this was more than I could swallow. The beggar on horseback could not bear to be thrust down so low, or, at least of it, not by this young lady. I followed, accordingly, and took off my new hat to her the best that I was able. " Madam," said I, " I think it is only fair to myself to let you understand I have no Gaelic. It is true I was listening, for I have friends of my own across the Highland line, and the sound of that tongue comes friendly ; but for your private affairs, if you had spoken Greek, I might have had more guess at them." She made me a little, distant curtsey. " There is no harm done," said she, with a pretty accent, most like the English (but more agreeable). A cat may look at a king." " I do not mean to offend," said I. " I have no skill of city manners ; I never before this day set foot inside the doors of Edinburgh. Take me for a country lad — it*s what I am ; and I would rather I told you than you found it out." " Indeed, it will be a very unusual thing for strangers to be speaking to each other on the causeway," she replied. " But if you are landward^ bred it will be different. I am as landward as yourself ; I am Highland, as you see, and think myself the farther from my home." « * Country. 8 CATRIONA. " It is not yet a week since I passed tfie line/' said I. " Less than a week ago I was on the braes of Balwhidder/' "Balwhither ?" she cries. "Come ye from Balwhither. The name of it makes all there is of me rejoice. You will not have been long there, and not known some of our friends or family ? " " I lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan Dhu Maclaren," I replied. " Well, I know Duncan, and you give him the true name ! " she said ; " and if he is an honest man, his wife is honest indeed." "Ay," said I, "they are fine people, and the place is a bonny place." " Where in the great world is such another ? " she cries ; " I am loving the smell of that place and the roots that grow there." I was infinitely taken with the spirit of the maid. " I could be wishing I had brought you a spray of that heather," says I. " And, though I did ill to speak with you at the first, now it seems we have common acquaintance, I make it my petition you will not forget me. David Balfour is the name I am known by. This is my lucky day, when I have just come into a landed estate, and am not very long out of a deadly peril. I wish you would keep my name in mind for the sake of Balwhidder," said I, " and I will yours for the sake of my lucky day." " My name is not spoken " she replied, with a great deal of haughtiness. " More than a hundred years it has not gone upon men's tongues, save for a t( CATRIONA. n my blink. 1 am nameless, like the Folk of Peace.* Catriona Drummond is the one I use." Now, indeed, I knew where I was standing. In all broad Scotland there was but the one name proscribed, and that was the name of the Mac- gregors. Yet so far from fleeing this undesirable acquaintancy, I plunged the deeper in. " I have been sitting with one who was in the same case with yourself," said I, " and I think he will be one of your friends. They called him Robin Oig." '* Did ye so ? " cries she. " Ye met Rob ? " " I passed the night with him," said I, " He is a fowl of the night," said she. "There was a set of pipes there," I went on, " so you may judge if the time passed." ** You should be no enemy, at all events," said she. "That was his brother there, a moment since, with the red soldiers round him. It is him that I call father." " Is it so ? " cried I. " Are you a daughter of James More's ? " " All the daughter that he has," says she : " the daughter of a prisoner ; that I should forget it so, even for one hour, to talk with strangers I " 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 wa?* to know more of to my cost. * The Fairies. to CATRIONA, " There can be none the day, Neil," she replied. " How will you get * sneeshin,' wanting siller ? It will teach you another time to be more careful ; and I think James More will not be very well pleased with Neil of the Tom." " Miss Drummond," I said, " I told you I was in my lucky day. Here I am, and a bank-porter at my tail. And remember I have had the hospitality of your own country of Balwhidder." "It was not one of my people gave it," said she. " Ah, well," said I, " but I am owing your uncle at least for some springs upon the pipes. Besides which, I have offered myself to be your friend, and you have been so forgetful that you did not refuse me in the proper time." " If it had been a great sum, it might have done you honour," said she ; " but I will tell you what this is. James More lies shackled in prison ; but this time past they will be bringing him down here daily to the Advocate's. . . ." "The Advocate's?" I cried. "Is that . . . ?" " It is the House of the Lord Advocate Grant of Prestongrange," said she. " There they bring my father one time and another, for what purpose I have no thought in my mind ; but it seems there is some hope dawned for him. All this same time they will not let me be seeing him, nor yet him write ; and we wait upon the King's street to catch him ; and now we give him his snufF as he goes by and now something else And here is this son of trouble, Neil, son of Duncan, has lost my four-penny tT// CATRIONA. II piece that was to buy that snuff, and James More must go wanting^ and will think his daughter has forgotten him." I took sixpence from my pocket, gave it to Neil, and bade him go about his errand. Then to her, **That sixpence came with me by Balwhidder," said 1. " Ah ! " she said, " you are a friend to the Gregara ! " " I would not like to deceive you, either," said I. " I know very little of the Gregara and less of James More and his doings, but since the while I have been standing in this close, I seem to know something of yourself ; and if you will just say * a friend to Miss Catriona ^ I will see you are the less cheated." " The one cannot be without the other," said she. " I will even try," said I. " And what will you be thinking of myself ? " she cried, *' to be holding my hand to the first stranger ! " '* I am thinking nothing but that you are a good daughter," said I. " I must not be without repaying it," she said ; " where is it you stop ? " ** To tell the truth, I am stopping nowhere yet," said I, " being not full three hours in the city ; but if you will give me your direction, I will be so bold as come seeking my sixpence for myself." " Will I can trust you for that ? " she asked. " You need have little fear," said 1. 12 CATRIONA. " James More coujd 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 AUardyce, who is my near friend and will be glad to thank you." " You are to see me, then, so soon as what I have to do permi aid I ; and, the remembrance of Alan rolling in again upon my mind, I made haste to say farewell. I could not but think, even as I did so, that we had made extraordinary free upon short acquaint- ance, and that a really wise young lady would have shown herself more backward. I think it was the bank-porter that put me from this ungallant train of thought. " I thoucht ye had been a lad of some kind o* sense," he began, shooting out his lips. " Ye're no likely to gang far this gate. A fule and his siller's shune parted. Eh, but ye're a green callant I " he cried, ** an' a veecious, tae I Cleikin* up wi* bau- beejoes ! " " If you dare to speak of the young lady. . , I began. " Leddy ! " he cried. " Hand us and safe us, whatten leddy ? Ca' than a leddy ? The toun's fu o* them. Leddies I Man, its weel seen ye're no very acquant in Embro I " A clap of anger took roe. " Here," said I, *' lead me where I told you, and keep your foul mouth shut ! " He did not wholly obey me, for, though he no more addressed me directly, he sang at me as he » we wil S CATRIONA. 13 went in a very impudent manner of innuendo, and with an exceedingly ill voice and ear — •• As Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee, She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee. And we're a' gaun east and wast, we're a' gaun ajee, We're a' gaun east and wast courtin' Mally Lee.'* I M CHAPTER IL THE HIGHLAND WRITER. Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair that ever mason set a hand to ; fifteen flights of it, no less ; and when I had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his master was within, I had s»jarce breath enough to send my porter packing. " Awa' east and wast wi' ye I " said I, took the money bag out of his hands, and followed the clerk in. The outer room was an office with the clerk^s chair at a table spread with law papers. In the inner chamber, which opened from it, a little brisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raised his eyes on my entrance ; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, as though pre- pared to show me out and fall again to his studies. This pleased me little enough ; and what pleased me less, I thought the clerk was in a good posture to overhear what should pass between us. I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer. " The same," says he ; " and, if the question IS equally fair, who may you be yourself ? *' " You never heard tell of my name nor of me either," said I, " but I bring you a token from a CATRIONA. 15 ' the friend that you know well. That you know well," I repeated, lowering my voice, " but maybe are noi 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 confiden- tial. In short, I would like to think we were quite private.'* He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man ill-pleased, sent forth his clerk on an errand, and shut to the house-door behind him. " Now, sir," said he, returning, " speak out your mind and fear nothing ; though before you begin," he cries out, " I tell you mine misgives me ! I tell you beforehand, ye're either a Stewart or a Stewart sent ye. A good name it is, and one it would ill- become my father's son to lightly. But I begin to grue at the sound of it." "My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for him that sent me, I will let his token speak." And I showed the sil- ver button. " Put it in your pocket, sir I " cries he. " Ye need name no names. The deevil's buckie, I ken the button of him I And de'il hae't 1 Where is he now ? " I told him I knew not wnere 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 ap- pointed to be spoken with. " It's been always my opinion that I would l€ CATRIONA. hang in a tow for this family of mine," he cried, " and, dod ! I believe the day^s come now I Get a ship for him, quot' he 1 And who^s to pay for it? The man's daft!" "That is my part of the affair, Mr. Stewart/* said I. "Here is a bag of good money, and if more be wanted, more is to be had where it came from." " I needn't ask your politics," said he. " Ye need not," said I, smiling, " for I'm as big a Whig as grows." "Stop a bit, stop a bit,'* says Mr. Stewart. "What's all this? A Whig? Then why are you here with Alan's button ? and what kind of a black-foot traffic is this that I find ye out in, Mr. Whig ? Here is a forfeited rebel and an accused murderer, with two hundred pounds on his life, and ye ask me to meddle in his business, and then tell me ye're a Whig ! I have no mind of any such Whigs before, though I've kent plent)' of them." "He's a forfeited rebel, the more's the pity," said I, "for the man's my friend. I can only wish he had been better guided. And an accused murderer, that he is too, for his misfortune ; but wrongfully accused." " I hear you say so," said Stewart. " More than you are to hear me say so, before long," said I. " Alan Breck is innocent, and so is James." " Oh ! " says he, " the two cases hang together. If Alau is out, James can never be in." .V CATRIONA. 17 in. Hereupon I told him briefly of my acquaintance with Alan, of the accident that brought me present at the Appin murder, and the various passages of our escape among the heather, and my recovery of my estate. " So, sir, you have now the whole train of these events," I went on, ** and can see for yourself how I come to be so much mingled up with the affairs of your family and friends, which (for all of our sakes) I wish had been] plainer and less bloody. You can see for yourself, too, that I have certain pieces of business depending, which were scarcely fit to lay before a lawyer chosen at random. No more remains, but to ask you if you will undertake my service." " I have no great mind to it ; but coming as you do with Alan's button, the choice is scarcely left me," said he. " What are your instructions ? " he added, and took up his pen. **The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this country," said I, " but I need not be repeating that." " I'm little likely to forget it," said Stewart " The next thing is the bit money I am owing to Cluny," I went on. " It would be ill for me to find a conveyance, but that should be no stick to you. It was two pounds five shillings and three- halfpence farthing sterhng." , He noted it. "Then," said I, "there's a Mr. Henderland, a licensed preacher and missionary in Ardgour, that I would like well to get some snuff into the hands of ; and, as I daresay you keep touch with your i8 CATRIONA. friends in Appin (so near by), it*s a job you could doubtless overtake with the other." " Hew much snufF are we to say ? '* he asked. ** I was thinking of two pounds," said I. " Two," said he. " Then there's the lass Alison Hastie, in Lime Kilns," said I. "Her that helped Alan and me across the Forth. I was thinking if I could get her a good Sunday gown, such as she could wear with decency in her degree, it would be an ease to my conscience ; for the mere truth is, we owe her our two lives." " I am glad to see you are thrifty, Mr. Balfour," says he, making his notes. " I would think shame to be otherwise the first day of my fortune," said I. " And now, if you wiU compute the outlay and your own proper charges, I would be glad to know if I could get some spend- ing money back. It's not that I grudge the whole of it to get Alan safe ; it's not that I lack more ; but having drawn so much the one day, I think it would have a very ill appearance if I was back again seeking, the next. Only be sure you have enough," I added, "for I am very undesirous to meet with you again." " Well, and I'm pleased to see you're cautious, ^ too," said the Writer. " But I think ye take a risk to lay so considerable a sum at my discre- tion." He said this with a plain sneer. " I'll have to run the hazard," I replied. " O, and there's another service I would ask, and that's • CATRIONA. 19 »» lOUS, i to direct me to a lodging, for I have no roof to my head. But it must be a lodging I may seem to have hit upon by accident, for it would never do if the Lord Advocate were to get any jealousy of our acquaintance." **Ye may set your weary spirit at rest," said he. " I will never name your name, sir ; and it's my belief the Advocate is still so much to be sympathised with that he doesnae ken of your existence." I saw I had got to the wrong side of the man. " There's a braw day coming for him, then," said I, " for he'll have to learn of it on the deaf side of his head no later than to-morrow, when I call on him." " When ye call on him ! " repeated Mr. Stewart. " Am I daft, or are you ? What takes ye near the Advocate ? " " O, just to give myself up," said 1. " Mr. Balfour," he cried, " are ye making a mock of me ? " "No, sir," said I, "though I think you have allowed yourself some such freedom with myself. But I give you to understand once and for all that I am in no jesting spirit." " Nor yet me," says Stewart. " And I give you to understand (if that's to be the word) that I like the looks of your behaviour less and less. You come here to me with all sorts of propositions, which will put me in a train of very doubtful acts and bring me among very undesirable persons this many a %\ flO CATRIONA. day to come. And then you tell me youVe going straight out of my office to make your peace with the Advocate I Alaa's button here or Alan's button there, the four quarters of Alan wouldnae bribe me further in." "I would take it with a little more temper," said I, " and perhaps we can avoid what you object to. I can see no way for it but to give myself up, but perhaps you can see another ; and if you could, I. could never deny but what I would be rather -relieved. For I think m)' traffic with his lordship is little likely to agree with my health. There's just the one thing clear, that I have to give my evidence ; for I hope it'll save Alan's character (what^s left of it), and James's neck, which is the more immediate." He was silent for a breathing-space, and then, "Aly man," said he, "you'll never be allowed to give such evidence." ''We'll have to see about that," said I; "I'm stiff-necked when I like." ''Ye muckle ass!" cried Stewart, "it's James they want ; James has got to hang — Alan, too, if they could catch him — but James whatever I Go near the Advocate with any such business, and you'll see I he'll find a way to muzzle ye." "I think better of the Advocate than that," said I. ** The Advocate be dammed 1 " cries he. " It's the Campbells, man 1 You'll have the whole clanjamfry of them on your back ; and so will the Advocate too, poor body 1 It's extraordinar ye and CATRIONA. 31 ' going :e with button ibe me ?> uper, object elf up, could, rather rdship "here^s ve my iracter is the then, i^ed to "Pm James , too, ever I s, and that," " It's vhole 1 the IT ye cannot see where ye stand I If there's no fair way to stop your gab, there's a foul one gaping. They can put ye in the dock, do ye no see that ? " he cried, and stabbed me with one finger in the leg. " Ay," said I, " I was told that same no further back than this morning by another lawyer." " iVnd who was he ? " asked Stewart. ** He spoke sense at least." I told him I must be excused from naming him, for he was a decent stout old Whig, and had little mind to be mixed up in such affairs. " I think all the world seems to be mixed up in it ! " cries Stewart. " But what said you ? " I told him what had passed between Rankeillor and myself before the house of Shaws. " Well, and so ye will hang ! " said he. *' Ye'll hang beside James Stewart. There's your fortune told." " I hope better of it yet than that," said I ; " but I could never deny there was a risk." ** Risk 1 " says he, and then sat silent again. " I ought to thank you for your staunchness to my friends, to whom you show a very good spirit," he says, " if you have the strength ♦ o 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." as CATRIONA. "It^s a different way of thinking, I suppose," said I ; " I was brought up to this one by my father before me." " Glory to his bones ! he has left a decent son to his name," says he. " Yet I would not have you judge me over-sorely. My case is dooms hard. See, sir, ye tell me yeVe a Whig ; I wonder what I am. No Whig to be sure ; I couldnae be just that. But — laigh in your ear, man — I'm maybe no very keen on the other side." " Is that a fact ? " cried I. *' It's what I would think of a man of your intelligence." " Hut I none of your whilly whas ! " * 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 1 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 com« in with your Hieland plaids and claymores ? " " Well," said I, *' it's a fact ye have little of the wild Highlandman." " Little ? " quoth he. " Nothing, man 1 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 ♦ Flatteries. CATRIONA. as smuggling of them out and in ; and the French recruiting, weary fall it I 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 cousm ; claimed the estate under the marriage contract — a forfeited estate I I told them it was nonsense : muckle they cared I And there was I cocking behind a yadvocate that liked the business as little as myself, for it was fair ruin to the pair of us — a black mark, disaffected^ branded on our hurdies, like folk's names upon their kye ! And what can I do? I'm a Stewart^ ye see, and must fend for my clan and family. Then no later by than yesterday there was one of our Stewart lads carried to the Castle. What for ? I ken fine : Act of 1736 : recruiting for King Lewie. And you'll see, he'll whistle me in to be his lawyer, and there'll be another black mark on my chara'ter ! I tell you fair : if I but kent the heid of a Hebrew word from the hurdies of it, be dammed but I would fling the whole thing up and turn minister I " ** It's rather a hard position," said I. " Dooms hard I " cries he. " And that's what makes me think so much of ye — you that's no Stewart — to stick your head so deep in Stewart business. And for what, I do not know : unless it was the sense of duty." " I hope it will be that," said I. " Well," says he, *' it's a grand quality. But here is my clerk back ; and, by your leave, we'll pick a bit of dinner, all the three of us. When ^4 CATRIONA. that^s done, FU give you the direction of a very decent man, that'll be very fain to have you for a lodger. And 1*11 fill your pockets to ye, forbye, out of your ain bag. For this business '11 not be near as dear as ye suppose — not even the ship part of it." I made him a sign that his clerk was within hearing. " Hoot, ye neednae mind for Robbie," cries he. " A Stewart, too, puir deevil I and has smuggled out more French recruits and trafficking Papists than what he has hairs upon his face. Why, it's Robin that manages that branch of my affairs. Who will we have now, Rob, for across the water ? " "There'll be Andie Scougal, in the Thristle^^ replied Rob. " I saw Hoseason the other day, but it seems he's wanting the ship. Then there'K be Tam Stobo ; but I'm none so sure of Tarn. I've seen him colloguing with some gey queer acquaintances ; and if was anybody important, I would give Tam the go-by." " The head's worth two hundred pounds, Robin," said Stewart. " Gosh, that'll no be Alan Breck ? " cried the clerk. ^ Just Alan," said his master. •'Weary winds! that's sayrious," cried Robin. « I'll try Andie, then ; Andie '11 be the best." " It seems it's quite a big business," I observed. "Mr. Balfour, there's no end to it," said Stewart. [went [think I you s Isaid ] gener on be he wc Rob? "1 Eli," word- himse! "^ wasnai *♦! Stewa: ''A "And '"\ said I. "1 |Mr. Bj *Tr tTt dsit.— ] CATRIONA. 25 ►n of a very lave you for o ye, forbye, ;ss Ul not be :he ship part : was within le »> cries he. las smuggled king Papists 5. Why, it's f my affairs. r across the he Thristle^^ ther day, but t'hen there'U ure of Tarn, gey queer important, I red pounds, ? " cried the cried Robin. ; best." ' I observed. to it," said "There was a name your clerk mentioned,-* I went on : " Hoseason. That must be my man, I think : Hoseason, of the brig Covenant Would you set your trust on him ? " ** He didnae behave very well to you and Alan," said Mr. Stewart ; '* but my mind of the man in general is rather otherwise. If he had taken Alan on board his ship on an agreement, it's my notion he would have proved a just dealer. How say ye, Rob ? " " No more honest skipper in the trade than Eli," said the clerk. "I would lippen to* Eli's word — ay, if it was the Chevalier, or Appin himsel'," he added. "And it was him that brought the doctor, wasnae't ? " asked the master. *♦ He was tl# very man," said the clerk. ^* And I think he took the doqtor back ? " says Stewart. " Ay, with his sporran full I " cried Robin. I" And Eli kent of that ! " t "Well, it seems it's hard to ken folk rightly," aid I. " That was just what I forgot when ye came in, r. Balfour ! " says the Writer. • Trust to. t This must have reference to Dr. Cameron on his first nsit.— D. B. : If.) ^1 B CHAPTER III. I GO TO PILRIG. The next morning, I was no sooner awake in my new lodging than I was up and into my new clothes ; and no sooner the breakfast swallowed, than I was forth on my adventures. Alan, I could hope, was fended for ; James was like to be a more difficult affair, and I could not but think that en- terprise 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 ricli, t^.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 banged at the King's charges. What was I doing it for ? I asked, as I went down the High Street and out north by Leith Wynd. First I said it was to save James Stewart ; and no doubt the memory of his distress, and his wife's cries, and a word or so I had let drop on that occasion worked upon me strongly. At the same time I reflected that it was (or ought to be) tha^ 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 AUn, the bsst thing would be to lie low, and let the crowsi way. in thl particj N( of JUJ reasoi some of all I innoci Next,! that think these vain c and t< vanity he hit accuse about great* and ( Mun^ recog by t] mana breat look* noth are 1 the CATRIONA. ay the King, and his Grace of Argyll, and the corbie crows, pick the boneS of his kinsman their own way. Nor could I forget that, while we were all in the pot together, James had shown no such particular anxiety whether for Alan or me. Next it came upon me I was acting for the sake of justice : and I thought that a fine word, and reasoned it out that (since we dwelt in polities, at some discomfort to each one of us) the main thing of all must still be justice, and the death of any innocent man a wound upon the whole community. Next, again, it was the Accuser of the Brethren that gave me a turn of his argument ; bade me think shame for pretending myself concerned in these high matters, and told me I was but a prating vain child, who had spoken big words to Rankeillor and to Stewart, and held myself bound upon my vanity to make good that boastfulness. Nay, and he hit me with the other end of the stick ; for he accused me of a kind of artful cowardice, going about at the expense of a little risk to purchase greater safety. No doubt, until I had declared and cleared myself, I might any day encounter Mungo Campbell or the sheriff's officer, and be recognised, and dragged into the Appin murder by the heels ; and, no doubt, in case I could manage my declaration with success, I should breathe more free for ever after. But when I looked this argument lull 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 28 CATRIONA. hang if I can save him ; and it would be ridiculous in me to have talked so much and then do nothing. It's lucky, for James of the Glens that I have boasted beforehand ; and none so unlucky for myself, because now I*m committed to do right. I have the name of a gentleman and the means of one ; it would be a poor discovery that I was wanting in the essence." And then I thought this was a Pagan spirit, and said a prayer in to myself, asking for what courage I might lack, and that I might go straight to my duty like a soldier to battle, and come off again scatheless, as so many do. This train of reasoning brought me to a more resolved complexion ; though it was far from closmg 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 n "^ the customary time of year for that diversion, some children were crying and running with their kites. These toys appeared very plain against the sky ; I remarked a great one soar on the wind to a high altitude and then plump among the whins ; and I thought to myself at sight of it, " There goes Davie." My way lay over M outer's Hill, and through an end of a clachan on the braeside among fields. There to houj neighb( in a sti this WJ weaversi I got al and a II gibbet were di] span th hung s cried, an illus done w comfort, about t a weird and no( becks ai i«W] pointed "A cried, old joes "W I spaec Twa si are tw2 it fraf J '■■•4fp0tttffumutmematmif»aAui ■ -L i liJJJL i ..^.iP] i aL.t ! .L l iJW.!! CATRIONA. «9 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 dis- comfort. And, as I thus turned and turned about the gibbet, what should I strike on, but a weird old wife, that sat behind a leg of it, and nodded, and talked aloud to herself with becks and courtesies. "Who are these two, mother?" I asked, and pointed to the corpses. " A blessing on your precious face I " she cried. " Twa joes * o* mine : just two o* my old joes* my hinny dear.'* " What did they suffer for ? " I asked. ** Ou, just for the guid cause," said she. " Aften I spaed to them the way that it would end. Twa shillin' Scots : no pickle mair ; and there are twa bonny callants hingin* for *t I They took it fraf a wean t belanged to Brouchton." * Sweetheart t Child, W, |:| 30 CATRIONA " 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." " Gic's your loof,* hinny," says she, " and let me apae your weird to ye." " No, mother," said I, " I see far enough the way I am. It's an unco thing to see too far in front." ♦* I read it in your brce," 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,t joe, that lies braid across your path. Gie*s your loof, hinny, and let Auld Merren spae it to ye bonny." The two chance shots that seemed to point at Alan and the daughter of James More struck me hard ; and I fled from the eldritch creature, casting her a baubee, which she continued to sit and play with under the moving shadows of the hanged. My way down the causeway of Leith Walk \yould 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 f: in the still countryside ; but the shackles of the gibbet clattered in my head ; and the pops 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 ; •Palm. tGallowi. ■ « this CATRIONA. 31 the daft a figure indeed." ^and let ugh the o far in ' There's there's lan in a of the ir path. en spae point at [Uck me reature, to sit of the Walk 3ut for among en for resides, ut the i ; and id the spirits. case : and wh,<^ther a man came to hang there for two shillings Scots, or (as Mr. Stewart had it) from the sensQ q{ duty, once he was tarred and shackled and hung up, the difference seemed small. There might David Balfour hang, and other lads pass on their errands and think light of him ; and old daft limmers sit at a leg-foot and spae their fortunes ; and the clean genty maids go by, and look to the other side, and hold a nose. I saw them plain, and they had grey eyes, and their screens upon their heads were of the Drummond colours. I was thus in the poorest of spirits, though still pretty resolved, when I came in view of Pilrig, a pleasant gabled house set by the walk- side among some brave young woods. The laird's horse was standing saddled at the door as I came up, but himself was in the study, where he received me in the midst of learned works and musical in- struments, 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 RankeilJor's letter, placed himself obligingly at my disposal. "And what is it, cousin David?" said he — "since it appears that we are cousins — what is this that I can do for you ? A word to Preston- grange ? Doubtless that is easily given. But what should be the word ? " " Mr. Balfour," said I, " if 1 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." 3i CATRIONA. fi "I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman," says he. "I must not take that at your hands, Mr. Balfour/' said I ; " I have nothing to my charge to make me sorry, or you for me, but just the common infirmities of mankind. *The guilt of Adam's first sin, the want oi" original righteous- ness, and the corruption of my whole nature,* so much I must answer for, and I hope I have been taught where to look for help," I said ; for I judged from the look of the man he would think the better of me if I knew my questions.* " But in the way of worldly honour I have no great stumble to reproach myself with ; and my difS- culties have befallen me very much against my will and (by all that I can see) without my fault. My trouble is to have become dipped in a political complication, which it is judged you would be blythe to avoid a knowledge of." '*Why, very well, Mr. David," he replied, "I am pleased to see you are all that Rankeillor represented. And for what you say of political complications, you do me no more than justice. It is my study to be beyond suspicion, and indeed outside the field of it. The question is," says he, "how, if I am to know nothing of the matter, I can very well assist you ? " *| Why, sir," said I, " I propose you should write to his lordship, that I am a young man of reasonable good family and of good means ; both of which ] believe to be the case." Mr. ♦ My Csi,techisn;^ he. CATRIONA. 33 **I have Rankeillor's word for it," said Mr. Balfour, " and I count that a warrandice against all deadly." " To which you might acfd (if you will take my word for so much) that I am a good churchman, loyal to King George, and so brought up," I went on. " None of which will do you any harm," said Mr. Balfour. " Then you ir ight go on to say that I sought his lordship on a matter of great moment, connected with His Majesty's service and the administration of justice," I suggested. **As I am not to hear the matter," says the laird, "I will not take upon myself to qualify its weight. * Great moment' therefore falls, and * moment' along with it. For the rest I might express myself much as you propose." " And then, sir," said I, and rubbed my neck a little with my thumb, " then I would be very desirous if you could slip in a word that might perhaps tell for my protection." " Protection ? " says he, " for your protection ? Here is a phrase that somewhat dampens me. If the matter be so dangerous, I own I would be a little loath to move in it blindfold." " I believe I could indicate in two words where the thing sticks," said I. " Perhaps that would be the best," said he. " Well, it's the Appin murder." He held up both his hands. " Sirs 1 sirs i " cried he. \ y» I '- •I r4 CATRIONA. I thought by the expression of his face and voice that I had lost my helper. " Let me explain. . .'' I began. "I thank you kindly, I will hear no more of it " says he. " I decline tn toto to hear more of it. For your name's sake and Rankeillor'S, and perhkps a little for your own, I will do what I can to help you, but I will hear no more upon the facts. And it is my first clear duty to warn you. These are deep waters, Mr. David, and you are a young man. Be cautious and think twice." "It is to be supposed I will have thought oftener than that, Mr. Balfour," said I, " and I will direct your attention again to Rankeillor^s letter, where (I hope and believe) he has registered his approval of that which I design." " Well, well," said he ; and then agaih, " Well, well 1 1 wiirdo what I can for you." Therewith he took a pen and paper, sat awhile in thought, and began to write with much consideration. " I under- stand that Rankeillor approves of what you have in mind ? " he asked presently. "After some discussion, sir, he bade me to go forward in God's name/' said I. " That is the name to go in," said Mr. Balfouf , and resumed his writing. Presently, he sighed, 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 — I* and ( man besid his p< I am to ha and t Lords gentle his fr his sv u subsc obsei you \ " appn lettei all I from medc suffic CATRIONA. $S " PiLRiG, August ^fith^ 1751. '* My Lord, — This is to bring to your notice my namesake and cousin, David Balfour Esquire of Shaws, a young gentle- man 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 youi Lordship's zeal is known. I should add that the young gentleman's ihtetition is known to and approved by some of his friends, who will watch with hopeful anxiety the event of his success or failure." " Whereupon," continued Mr. Balfour, " I have subscribed myself with the usual compliments. You observe I have said * some of your friends ' ; I hope you can justify my plural ? " " Perfectly, sir ; my purpose is known and approved by more than one," said I. " And your letter, which I take a pleasure to thank you for, is all I could have hoped." " It was all I could squeeze out," said he ; " and from what I know of the matter you design to meddle in, I can only pray God chat it may prove sufficient." 'h. A in a chor me CHAPTER IV. LORD ADVOCATE PRESTONG RANGE. 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 Preston- grange'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 Ad- vocate came home again, and enjoyed himself in a neighbouring cliamber 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 CATRIONA. 37 tli in a near chamber^ the pleasant note of a harpsi- chord^ and once the voice of a lady singing, bore me a kind of company. I do not know the hour, but the darkness was long come, when the door of the cabinet opened, and I was aware, by the light behind him, of a tall figure of a man upon the threshold. I rose at once. " Is anybody there ? " he asked. " Who is that ? " " I am bearer of a letter from the laird of Pilrig to the Lord Advocate," said I. " Have you been here long ? " he asked. " I would not like to hazard an estimate of how many hours," said I. " It is the first I hear of it," he replied, with a chuckle. " The lads must have forgotten you . But you are in the bit at last, for I am Prestongrange." So saying, he passed before me into the next room, whither (upon his sign) I followed him, and where he lit a candle and took his place before a business-table. It was a long room, of a good proportion, wholly lined with books. That small spark of light in a corner struck out the man's handsome person and strong face. He was flushed, his eye watered and sparkled, and before he sat down I observed him to sway back and forth. No doubt, he had been supping liberally ; but his mind and tongue were under full control. •*Well, sir, sit ye down," said he, "and let us see Pilrig's letter." He glanced it through in the beginning care- i;J.i a§ CATR10?^A. Ies3ly, looking up an4 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 Rubicv^ and )vas come fairly on the field of battle. ** I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Balfour," he said, when he had done. **Let me offer ypu a gla$s of claret." " Under your favour, my lord, I think it would scarce hp fair oi^ me," §aid I. " I have come here, as the letter will have mentioned, on a business of some gravity to myself; and, as I am httle used with wine, I might be the sooner affected." ** You shall be the judge," said Jie. " But if you will permit, I believe I \triU even have the bottle in myself." He touched a bell, and a footman came, as at a signal, bringing wine and glasses. ** You are sure you will not join pie ? " a^kcd the Advocate. " Well, hei v^ is to our better acquaint- ance I In what way caii I s^^.rve yor ? " " I should, perhaps, begin by telling you, my lord, that I am here ait your own pressing invita- tion," said I. " You have the advantage of me somewhere," said he, " for I profess I think I |>aye never heard of you before this evening." " Right, my lord j the name is, indeed, new to you," said I. " And yet you havfs been for some time extremely wishful to make my acquaii^^^ca and have declared the same in public." CATRXQNA. 59 to my served B read >se my jbiqcn ;e, Mr. et me would I here, ness of s used if you >ttle in sis at a asH^d uaint- I, my nvita- lere," ard of 3W to some *' I wish you would afford me a clue/' said he. ** I am no Daniel." "It will perhaps serve for m^ich," said I, "that if I was in a jesting humour — whi':h is far from the case — I believe I might lay a claim on your lordship for two hundred pounds." " In what sense ? " he inquired. " In the sense of rewards offered for my person," said I. He thrust away bis glass once and for all, and sat straight up in the chair where he had been pre- viously lolling. What am I to understand ? " said he. "^ tall strong lad of about eighieen^^ I quoted, '^ speaks like a Lowlander and has no beardP "I recognise those words," said he, "which if you have come here with any ill-judged. intention of amusing ypurse|lf, are like to prove extremely pre- judicial to your safety." " My purpose in this," I replied, " is just entirely as serious as life and death, and you have understood me perfectly. I am the boy who was speaking with Glenure vhen he was shot/V " I can only suppose (seeing you here) that you claim to be innocent," said he. " The inference is clear," I said. " I am a very loyal subject to King George, but if I had anything to reproach myself with, I would have had more discretion than to walk into your den." " I am glad of that," said he. " This horrid crime, Mr. Balfour, is of a dye which cannot permit any clemency. Bk>od has been barbarously shed. It has been shed in direct opposition to his Majesty m 40 CATRIONA. I"' and our whole frame of laws, by those who are their known and public oppugnants. I take a very high sense of this. I will not deny that I consider the crime as directly personal to his Majesty." " And unfortunately, my lord," I added, a little drily, " directly personal to another great personage who may be nameless." " If you mean anything by those words, I must tell you I consider them unfit for a good subject ; and were they spoken publicly I should make it my business to take note of them," said he. " You do not appear to me to recognise the gravity of your situation, or you would be more careful not to pejorate the same by words which glance upon the purity of justice. Justice, in this country, and in my poor hands, is no respecter of persons.'* "You give me too great a share in my own speech, my lord," said I. " I did but repeat the common talk of the country, which I have heard everywhere, and from men of all opinions as I came along." "When you are come to more discretion you wir understand such talk is not to be listened to, how much less repeated," says the Advocate. " But I acquit you of an ill intention. That noble- man, 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 j and I could wish that all CATRIONA. 4« hands, in this ill age, were equally ctean of family rancour. But from the accident that this is s>' Campbell who has fallen martyr to his duty — a» who else but the Campbells have ever put them- selves foremost on that path ? — I may say it, who am no Campbell — and that the chief of that great house happens (for all our advantages) to be the present head of the College of Justice, small minds and disaffected tongues are set agog in every changehouse in the country ,* and I find a young gentleman like Mr. Balfour so ill-advised as to make himself their echo." So much he spoke with a- very oratorical delivery, as if in court, and then declined again upon the manner of a gentleman; " All this apart," said he. " It now remains that. I should learn what I am to do with you." " I had thought it was rather I that should^ le:irn the same from your lordship," said I. ** Ay, true," says the Advocate. "But, you see, you come to me well recommended. There is &' 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 1 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- powerfu'i than the king^s Majesty ; and should you please me — and of course satisfy my conscience — in what remains to be held of our interview, I tell- you it may remain between ourselves." ** Meaning how ? " I asked. If. ^^^1. N ' I'm 42 CATRIONA. *! Why, I mean it thus, Mr. Balfour," said he, " that if you give satisfaction, no soul need know so much as that you visited my house ; and you may observe that I do not even call my clerk." I saw what way he was driving. "I suppose it is needless anyone should be informed upon my visit," said I, ** though the precise nature of my gains by that I cannot see. I am not at all ashamed of coming here." " And have no cause to be," says he, en- couragingly. " Nor yet (if you are careful) to fear the consequences." " My lord," said I, " speaking under your cor- rection, I am not very easy to be frightened." " And I am sure I do not seek to frighten you," says he. "But to the interrogation ; and let me warn you to volunteer nothing beyond the questions I shall ask you. It may consist very immediately with your safety. I have a great discretion, it is true, but there are bounds to it." "I shall try to follow your lordship's advice," said I. He spread a sheet of paper on the table and wrote a heading. "It appears you were present, by the way, in the wood of Lettermore at the moment of the fatal shot," he began. *'Wa| this by accident ? " " By accident," said I. "How came you in speech with Colin Campbell ? " he asked. " I was inquiring my way of him to Aucharn," I replied. »> V n CATRIONA. 43 I observed he did not write this answer down. " H'm, tru«/' said he, ** I had forgotten that. And do you know, Mr. Balfour, I would dwell, if 1 were you, as little as might be on your relations with these Stewarts. It might be found to com- plicate our lousiness. I am not yet inclined to regard these matters as essential." " I had thought, my lord, that all points of fact were equally material in such a case," said I. " You forget \ye are now trying these Stewarts," he replied, with great significance. " If we should ever come to be trying y u, it will be very different ; and I shall press these very questions that I am now willing to glide upon. But to resume : I have it here in Mr. Mungo Campbell's precognition that you ran immediately up the brae. How came that ? " " Not immediately, my lord, and the cause was my seeing of the murdereii"," " You saw him, then ? " " As plain as I see your lordship, though not so near hand." " You know him ? " ** I should know him again." "In your pursuit you were not so fortunate, then, as to overtake him ? " " I was not." " Was he alone ? " " He was alone." " There was no one else in that neighbourhood ?'^ " Alan Breck Stewart was not far pff, in a piece of ft woo^" 11- I 44 CATRIONA, The Advocsite laid his pen down. "I think we are playing at cross purposes," said he, " which you will find to prove ^ very ill amusement for yourself." ** I content myself with following your lordship's advice, and answering what I am asked," said I. **Be so wise as to bethink yourself in time," said he, " I use you with the most anxious tender- ness, which you scarce seem to appreciate, and which (unless you be more careful) may prove to be in vain." " I do appreciate your tenderness, but conceive it to be mistaken," I replied, with something of a falter, for I saw we were come to grips at last. " I am here to lay before you certain information, by which I shall convince you Alan had no hand whatever in the killing of Glenure." The Advocate appeared for a moment at a stick, sitting with pursed lips, and blinking his eyes upon me like an angry cat. " Mr. Balfour," he said at last, " I tell you pointedly you go an ill way for your own interests." " My lord," I said, " I am as frer of the charge of considering my own interests in this matter as your lordship. As God judges me, I have but the one design, and that is to see justice executed and the innocent go clear, if in pursuit of that I come to fall under your lordship's displeasure, I must bear it as I may." At this he rose from his chair, lit a second candle, and for a while gazed upon me steadily. I was surprised to see a great change of gravity fallen CATRIONA, 45 1: » upon his face, and I could have almost thought he was a little pale. ** You are either very simple, or extremely the reverse, and I see that I must deal with you more confidentially," says he. " This is a political case — ah, yes, Mr. Balfour I 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. Sa/us populi suprema lex is a maxim susceptible of great abuse, but it has that force which we find elsewhere only in the laws of nature : I mean it has the force of ne- cessity. I will open this out to you, if you will allow me, at more length. You would have me believe— >» "Under your pardon, my lord, I would have you to believe nothing but that which I can prove," said I. " Tut ! tut ; young gentleman," says he, " be not so pragmatical, and suffer a man who might be your father (if it was nothing more) to employ his own imperfect language, and express his own poor thoughts, even when they have the misfor- tune 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 presump- tions of our case against another and a very i f 46 CATRtONA. different criminal ; a man grown ^old in 'treason, already twice in arms against his king ahd already twice forgiven; a fomenter of discontent, and (whoever may have fired tliC shot) the unmis- takable original of the deed in question. I need not tell you that I mean Jjrmes Stewart." " And I can just say plainly that the innocence of Alan and of James is what I am here to declare in private to your lordship, and what I am prepared to establish at the trial by my testimony," said I. " To which I can only answer by an equal plain- ness, Mr. Balfour," said he, "that (in that case) your testimony will not be called by me, and I desire you to withhold it altogether." "You are at the head of Justice in this country," I cried, " and you propose to me a crime ! " "I am a man nursing with both hands the interests of this country," he replied, " and I press on you a political necessity. Patriotism is not always moral in the formal sense. You might be glad of it, I think : it is your own protection ; the facts are heavy against you ; and if I attt 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 bf Pilrig^s letter ; but in part, and in chief part, because I regard in this matter my political duty first and my judicial duty only second. For the same reason — I repeat it to you in the same frank words — I do not want your testimony." " I desire not to be thought to make a repartee. wh sai tes tre CATRIONA. 47 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 ex- tremely blythe to get it." Prestongrange arose and began to pace to and fro in the room. "You are not so young," he said, "but what you must remember very clearly the year ^43 and the shock that went about the country. I read in Pilrig^s letter that you are sound in Kirk and State. Who saved thiem 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 re- peat ; who saved the Protestant religion and the whole frame of our civil institutions? The late Lord President Culloden, for one ; he played a m^n*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 grc . mass of our clans and families. They have still savage virtues and defects. They '■ !■ 48 CATRIONA. ;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 venge- ance. If they do not get it — if this man James ^escape — there will be trouble with the Campbells. That means disturbances in the Highlands, which are uneasy and very far from being disarmed : the disarming is a farce. . ." '* I can bear you o"t in that," said I. " Disturbance in tho Highlands makes the hour K>f 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 x>i this man Stewart — ^which is forfeit already on jialf-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 inno- cent persons ? . . , These are considerations that weigh with me, and that I hope will weigh no Jess with yourself, Mr. Balfour, as a lover of your ,country, good government, and religious truth." " You deal with me very frankly, and I thank ' m i .ra ?4 CATRldNA. 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 tne, Mr. Balfour, like the skirling of tlie 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 mc about, "do you know, sir, that I lack mere necess.'v'ies? 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 t?ie meanwhile I am held naked in my prison. I could have wished it was your cousin I had met, or his ^brother Baith himself. Either would, I know, have been rejoiced to help me ; while a comparative stranger like yourself '' I would be ashamed to set down all he poured out to me in this beggarly vein, or the very short and grudging answers that I made to him. There were times when I was tempted to stop his mouth with some small change j but whether it was from shame or pride — whether it was for my own sake Of 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 4( CATRIONA. 55 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 door- way and bade me eagerly into his big chamber. " I have a moment's engagement," said he ; **and that you toay not sit empty-handed I am going to present you to my three braw daughters, of whom perhaps you may have heard, for I think they are more famous than papa. This way." He led me into another long room above, where a dry old lady sat at a frame of embroidery, and the three handsomest young women (I suppose) in Scotland stood together by a window. " This is my new friend, Mr. Balfour," said he, presetiting me by the arm. " David, here is my sister, Miss Grant, who is so good as keep my house for me, and will be very pleased if she can help you. And here," says he, turning to the three younger ladies, "here are my three hraw dauchters, A fair question to ye, Mr. Davie : which of the three is the best favoured? And I wager he will never have the impudence to propound honest Alan Ramsay*s answer ! " Hereupon all three, and the old Miss Grant as well, cried out against this sally, which (as I was acquainted with the verses he referred to) brought shame into my own cheek* It seemed to me a citation unpardonable in a father, and I !li 56 CATRIONA, was amazed that these ladies could laugh even while they reproved, or riiade believe to. Under cover of this mirth, Prestongrange got forth of the chamber, and I was left, like a fish upon dry land, in that very unsuitable society. I could never deny, in looking back upon what followed, that I was eminently stockish ; and I must say the ladies were well drilled to have so long a patience with me. The aunt indeed sat close at her embroidery, only looking now and again and smiling ; but the misses, and especially the eldest, who was besides the most handsome, paid me a score of attentions which I was Very ill able to repay. It was all in vain to tell myself I was a young fellow of some worth as well as a good estate, and had no call to feel abashed before these lasses, the eldest not so much older than myself, and no one of them by any probability half as learned. Reasoning would not change the fact ; and there were times when the colour came into my face to think I was shaved that day for the first time. 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. CATRIONA. 57 She shook her head. "I never heard a note of it," said she. ** Whistle it all through. And now once again/' she added, after I had done so. Then she picked it out upon the keyboard, and (to my surprise) instantly enriched the same with well-sounding chords, and sang, as she played, with a very droll expression and broad accent — «« Haenae I got just the lilt of it ? Isnae this the tune that ye whustled ? *' " You see," she says, " I can do the poetry too, only it won't rhyme. And then again : *' I am Miss Grant sib to the Advocate i You, I believe, are Dauvit Balfour." I told her how much astonished I was by her genius. " And what do you call the name of it ? " she asked. "I do not know the real name,^' said I. "1 just call it AlarCs air,^' She looked at me directly in ^he face. "I shall call it David'' s atr^'* 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 ii you was ever wishing to hear your tune again you are to ask for it by mine." This was said with a significance that gave my hesrt a jog. " Why that. Miss Grant ? " I asked. **Why," says she, "if ever you should come c ■ 1 1 i 5? CATRIONA. ' ^ to get hanged, I will set yoyr last dying speech and confession to that tune and sing it." This put it beyond a doubt that sl^p 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 Sjomething of danger in the name of Alan, and thus warped 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 im- mediately 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 ^rst interview made a mystery that was beyond my plummet. One thing I learned long after, the hours of the Sunday had been well employed, the bank porter had been found and examined, my visit to Charles Stewart was discovered, and the deduction made that I was pretty deep with James and Alan, and most likely in a continued correspondence with the last. Hence this broad hint that was given me across the harpsichord. In the midst of the piece of music, one of the younger misses, who was at a window over the close, cried on her sisters to come quick, for there was " Grey eyes again.' The whole family trooped there at once, and crowded one another for ^ look. The window whither they ran was CATRIQNA. 59 ■ -It in an odd corner of that room, gay^ above the entrance door, and flanked up the close. "Come, Mr. Balfour," tbey cried, "come and see. She is the most beautiful creature I She hangs round the close-head these last days, always with some wretched-like gillies, and yet seems quite a lady." I had no need to look ; neither did I look twice, or long. I was afraid she might have seen me there, looking down upon her from that chamber of music, and she without, and her father in the same house, perhaps begging for his life with tears, and myself come but newly from ^-ejecting his petitions. But even that glance set me in a better conceit of myself and much less awe of tho young ladies. They were beautiful, that was beyond question, but Catriona was beauti- ful too, and had a ki|id 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 some- thing their own fault. My embarrassment began to be a little mingled and lightened with a sense of fun ; and when the aunt smiled at me from her embroidery, and the three daughters unbent to me like a baby^ all with "papa's orders" written on their faces, there were times when I could have found it in my heart to smile myself. Presently papa returned, the same kind, happy- like, pleasant-spoken man« M 6o CATRIONA. " 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 ^ always gratified to find him." So they each made me a little farthing com- pliment, and I was led away. If this visit to the family had been meant to soften my resistance, it was the worst of failures. I was no such ass but what I understood how poor a figure I had made, and that the girls would be yawning their jaws off as soon as my stiff back was turned. I felt I had shown how little I had in me of what was soft and graceful ; and I longed for a chance to prove that I had something of the other stuff, the stern and dangerous. Well, I was to be served to my desire, for the scene to which he was conducting me was of a different character. iii m CHAPTER VI. UMQUILE THE MASTER OF LOVAT. There was a man waiting us in Prestongrange's study, whom I distasted at the first look, as we distaste a ferret or an earwig. He was bitter ugly, but seemed very much of a gentleman ; had still manners, but capable of sudden leaps and violences ; and a small voice, which could ring out shrill and dangerous when he so desired. The Advocate presented us in a familiar, friendly way. "Here, Fraser," said he, "here is Mr. Balfour whom we talked about. Mr. David, this is Mr. Simon Eraser, whom we used to call by another title, but that is an old song. Mr. Fraser has an errand to you." With that he stepped aside to his book-shelves, and made believe to consult a quarto volume in the far end. I was thus left (in a sense) alone with periiaps the last person in the world I had expected. There was no doubt upon the terms of introdu > tion ; 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 ' ^ r;] ^ ■ : -m I- At if 'I 'i m % 66 CATRiONA. he r«umed in triumph. "And as fbf- givittjEf 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 w«; direct them ; as I direct, if you pre- fer the phrise. 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 dand-gun : on the other a rope to your craig, nd a gibbet to clatter your bones on, and the ic^ nest, lowest story to hand down to your name- sakes- 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 yoilr arrest, which 1 have but to touch this bell beside nie to have executed on the spot. Once in the Tdlbobth upon this paper, may God help you, for the die is cast!" I must never deny that I was greatly horrified by so much baseness, and much unmanned by the immediacy and ugliness of my danger. Mr. Simon had already gloried in the changes of my hue ; I make no doubt I was now no ruddier th^n thy shirt ; my speech besides trembled. " There is a gentleman in this room," cried I. "I appea; to him. I put my life and credit in his hands." ( told CATRIONA. if Prestotigfattge shut his bodk with a ^nap. " I told you so, Sihion," 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 underst; d how glad I am you should come forth from i^ ivith 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 morie 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 wr^ng situations, Mr. Simon and myself. And I kno'v ur friend Simon to be ambitious," says he, striking lightly on Fraser^s shoulder. " As for this stage play, it is over ; my sentiments are *^ery much engaged in your behalf; and whatever issue we can find to this urtfortuiiate affair, I shall make it my business tb see it is adopted with tenderness to you." These were very good words, and I could see besides that there was little love, and perhaps a spice of genuine ill-will, between those two \irho were opposed to me. For all that, it was unmis- takable 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 men- aces having been tried in vain) I could not but wonder what would be their next expedient. My eyes besides were still troubled, knd my knees loose under me, with the distress of the :J (""■I iP 68 CATRIONA, late ordeal ; and I could do no more than stam- mer the same form of words : " I put my life and credit in your hands." " Well, well," said he, " we must try to save them. And in the meanwhile let us return to gentler methods. You must not bear any grudge upon my friend, Mr. Simon, who did but speak by his brief. And even if you did conceive some malice against myself, who stood by and seemed rather to hold a candle, I must not let that extend to innocent members of my family. These are greatly engaged to see more of you, and I cannot consent to have my young women- folks disappointed. To-morrow they will be going to Hope Park, where I think it very proper you should make your bow. Call for me first, when I may possibly have something for your private hearing ; then you shall be turned abroad again under the conduct of my misses ; and until that time repeat to me your promise of secrecy." I had done better to have instantly refused, but in truth I was beside the power of reasoning ; did as I was bid ; took my leave I know not how ; and when I was forth again in the close, and the door had shut behind me, was glad to lean on a house wall and wipe my face. That horrid apparition (as I may call it) of Mr. Simon rang in my memory, as a sudden noise rings after it is over in the ear. Tales of the man's father, of his falseness, of his manifold perpetual treacheries, rose before me from all that I had heard and read, and joined on with what I liad just experienced of hiipself. Each time it the 4 the CATRIONA. 69 occurred to me, the ingenious foulness of that calumny he had proposed to nail upon my char- acter startled me afresh. The case of the men 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 surdidness and cowardice. The voices of two of Prestongrange^s liveried men upon his doorstep recalled me to myself. " Ha*e," said the one, " this billet as fast as ye can link to the captain." ^ Is that for the cateran back again ? ** asked the other. " It would seem sae/* returned the first. " Him and Simon are seeking him." " I think Prestongrange is gane gyte," says the second. '* He'll have James More in bed with him next." " Weel, it*s neither your affair nor mine's," said the first. And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the other back into the house." This looked as ill as possible. I was scarce gone and they were sending already for James More, to whom I thought Mr. Simon must have pointed when he spoke of men in prison and ready to redeem their lives by all extremities. My scalp curdled among my hair, and the next moment ■■ ^1 > .' ] 70 qATRIONA. 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 misfor- tunes it seemed myself was picked out to be the victim. I began to walk swiftly and at random, conscious only of a desire for movement, air, and the open country. CHAPTER Vn. I MAKE A FAULT IN HONOUR. I CAME forth, I VOW I know not how, on the Lan^ Dykes.* This is a rural road which runs on the north side over against the city.^ Thence X 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 morn- ing, ia 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 £cice of Simon, properly Lord Lovat, daunted me wholly. I sat by the lake side in a place where the rushes went down into the water, and there steeped my wrists and laved my temples. If I could have done so with any remains of self-esteem, I would now have fled from my foolhardy enterprise. But (call it courage or cowardice, and I believe it was both the one and the other) I decided I was ventured out beyond the possibility of a retreat. I had out- faced these mep, J would contiaue to out-faco * Mow Prince's Street. y • M; ' If >*: 72 CATRIONA. them ; come what might, I would stand by the word spoken. The sense of my own constancy somewhat uplifted my spirits, but not much. At the best of it there was an icy place about my heart, and life seemed a black business to be at all engaged in. For two souls in particular my pity flowed. The one was myself, to be so friendless and lost among dangers. The other was the girl, the daughter of James More. I had seen but little of her ; yet my view was taken, and my judgment made. I thought her a lass of a clean honour, like a man's ; I thought her one to die of a disgrace ; and now 1 believed her father to be at that moment bargain- ing 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 re- flected it was hard I should be so plagued and persecuted all my days for other folks' affairs, and have no manner of pleasure myself. 1 got meals and a bed to sleep in when my concerns would suffer it ; beyond that my wealth was of no help to m^ 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 leg»; and I set resolutely CATRIONA. n forward on the way to the Dean. If I was to hang to-morrow, and it was sure enough I might very likely sleep that night in a dungeon, I determined I should hear and speak once more with Catriona. The exercise of walking and the thought of my destination braced me yet more, so that I began to pluck up a kind of spirit. In the village of Dean, where it sits in a bottom of the glen beside the river, I inquired my way of a miller's man, who sent me up the hill upon the farther side by a plain path, and so to a decent-like small house in a garden of lawns and apple-trees. My heart beat high as I stepped inside the garden hedge, but it fell low indeed when I came face to face with a grim and fierce old lady, walking there in a white mutch with a man's hat strapped upon the top of it. " What do ye come seeking here ? " she asked. I told her I was after Miss Drummond. ^'And what may be your business with Miss Drummond ? " says she. I told her I had met her on Saturday last, had been so fortunate as to render her a trifling service, and was come now on the young lady's invitation. ** O, so you're Saxpence I " she 'iried, with a very sneering manner. " A braw gift, a bonny gentle- man. And hae ye ony ither name and designation, or were ye bapteesed Saxpence ? " she asked. I told my name. " Preserve me 1 " she cried. " Has Ebenezer gotten a son ? " ' No, ma'am," said I. "I am a son of Alex- (i ' at m ander's. It's I that am the Laird of Shaws. n ' I 74 CATRIONA, " YeUl find your work cut out for ye to establish that," quoth she. "I perceive you know my uncle," said I ; " and I daresay you may be the better pleased to hear that business is arranged." "And what brings ye here after Miss Drum- mond ? " she pursued. "I*m come after my saxpence, mem," said I. "It's to be thought, being my uncle's nephew, I would be found a careful lad." " So ye have a spark of sleeness in ye ? " observed the old lady, with some approval. " I thought ye had just been a cuif — ^you and your saxpence, and your lucky day and your sake of Balwhidder " — from which I was gratified to learn that Catriona had not forgotten some of our talk. " But all this is by the purpose," she resumed. " Am I to understand that ye come here keeping company ? " " This is surely rather an early question," said I. "The maid is young, so am I, worse fortune. I have but seen her the once. I'll not deny," I added, making up my mind to try her with some frankness, " I'll not deny but she has run in my head a good deal snice I met in with her. That is one thing ; but it would be quite another, and I think I would look very like a fool, to commit myself." ,^ " You can speak out of your mouth, I see," said the old lady. " Praise God, and so can 1 1 I was fool enough to take charge of this rogue's daughter : a fine charge T 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 K CATRIONA, 75 Morels 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 ane 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 If one. ** Lady AUardyce," 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 v/ill be something more than her father^> or the gallows either, that keeps the two of us apart. As for my family, I found it by the wayside like a lost bawbee ! I owe less than nothing to my uncle ; and if ever I marry, it will be to please one person : that's myself." ** I have heard this kind of talk before ye were born," said Mrs. Ogilvy, " which is perhaps the reason that I think of it so little. There's much to be considered. This James More is a kinsman of mine, to my shame be it spoken. But the better the family, the mair men hanged or heided, that's always been poor Scotland's story. And if it was just the hanging I For my part I think I would be best pleased with James upon the gallows, which wou d be at least an end to him. Catrinc's a good i«i f$ CATRIONA. lass enough, and a gocKl hi^aned, and Igts hen* ^if be deaved all day \ :rh a n-»i t of vji ?u\d wife lik'. r^r,. But, ye see, there's the wquIk bit, fshe's datt about that long, false, fleeching b ,gg^r oi i father of hers, and red-mad about the Gregaia, and proscribed names, and King James, and a whecn blethers. And you might think ye could guide her, ye would find yourself sore mistaken. Ye say ye've seen her but the once. . ." ^ ** Spoke with her but the once, I should have said," I interrupted. ** I saw her again this morn- ing from a window at Prestongrange's." This I daresay I put in because it sounded well ; but I was properly paid for my ostentation on the return. " What's this of it ? " cries the old lady, with a sudden pucker of her face. *' I think it was at the Advocate's door-cheek that ye met her first." I told her that was so. " H'm," she said ; and then suddenly, upon rather a scolding tone, "i have your bare word for it J* she cries, "as to who and what you are. By your v .*y of it, you're Balfour of the Shaws ; but for .li*tt 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 1 vt^ # > Ift CATRIONA, 77 crm.es taigling after a Macgregor's daughter. Ye can tell that to the Advocate that sent ye, with my fond love. And I kiss niy loof to ye, Mr. BaU- nir,'* says she, suiting the action (/> the wc^d, '*ind a braw journey to ye back to where ye cam fT:.^3.'• ** If you think me a spy," I broke ut^ and speech stuck in my throat. I stood PiJ looked murder at the old lady for a space, then bowed and turned ; way. " Here ! Hoots ! The callant^s in a creel 1 " she cried. " Think ye a spy ? what e'se should 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 I Ay 1 " she went on, " you're none such a bad lad in your way ; I think ye'U 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 pickis less of your dainty self; and ye'll have to try to find out that v»omen-folk are nae gren? diers. But that can never be. To your last day y ^u* 1 ken no more of women-folk than what I do of - m-geiding." I had never been used with s ch expre sions from a lady's tongue the only two 'a dies I had known, Mrs. Campbell and my mothcr\ being most devout and most particular women ; and I suppose my amazement must have been depicted in ray countenance, for ^»Irs. Ogilvy burst forth suddenly in a fit cf laughter. " Keep me 1 " she cried, struggling with h^r s&li r% CATRIONA. 5 P! H I I" kSc i m mirth, " you havie the finest timber face — ^and you to marry the daughter of a Heiland cateran I 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 trom home, and it's my fear that the old woman is no suitable companion for your father^s son. Forbye that I have nobody but myself to look after my reputation, and have been long enough alone with a sedooctive youth. And come back another day for your saxpence ! " she cried after me as I left. My skirmish with this disconcerting lady gave my thoughts a boldness they had otherwise wanted. For two days the image of Catriona had mixed in all my meditations ; she made their background, so that I scarce enjoyed my own company without a glint of b^r 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 t( 1^ CATRIONA. 79 service in a place where all must serve ; T had yet to learn, and know, and prove myself a mart ; 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 ot tl«s truth. I knew that he was quite unfit to be a husband who was not prepared to be a father also ; and for a boy like me to play the father was a mere derision. When I was in the midst of these thoughts and about half-way back to town I saw a figure coming to meet me, and the trouble of my heart was heightened. It seemed I had everything in the world to say to her, but nothing to say first ; and remembering how tongue-tied I had been that morning at the Advocate^s I made sure that I would find myself struck dumb. But when she came up my fears fled away ; not even the con- sciousness of what I had been privately thinking disconcerted me the least ; and I found I could talk with her as easily and rationally as I might with Alan. " O I " she cried, " you have been seeking your sixpence ; did you get it ? " I told her no ; but now I had met with her my walk was not in vain. " Though I have seen you to-day already," said I, md told her where and when. " I did not see you," she said. " My eyes are big, but there are better than mine at seeing far. Only I heard singing n the house." ir ! I? 80 CATRIONA, " That was Miss Grant," said I, " the eldest and the bonniest." " They say they are all beautiful," said she. " They think the same of you. Miss Dmnimond," I replied, ^* and were all crowding to the window to observe you." " It is a pity about my being so blind," said she, ** or I might have seen them too. And you were in the house ? You must have been having the fine time with the fine music and the pretty ladies." " There is just where you are wron^r^" said I ; ** for I was as uncouth as a sea>fish upon the brae of a mountain. The truth is that I am better fitted to go about with rudas men than pretty ladies." " Well, I would think so too, at all events ! " said she, at which we both of us laughed. " It is a strange thing, now," said I. ** I am not the least afraid with you, yet I could have run from the Miss Grants. And I was afraid of your cousin too." " C>, / think any man will be afraid of her," she cried. " My father is afraid of her himself." The name of her father brought me to a stop. I looked at her as she walked by my side ; 1 recalled the man, and the little I knew and the much I guessed of him ; and comparing the one with the other, felt like a traitor to be silent. "Speaking of which," said I, "I met your fathef no later than this morning." '* Did you ? " she cried, with a voice of joy that seemed to mock at me. '* You saw James More ? You will have spoken with him then ? " I! CATRIONA. 8i ** I did even that," said 1. Then I think things went the worst way for me than was humanly possible. She gave me a look of mere gratitude. **Ah, thank you for thatl" says she. *• You thank me for very little," said I, and then stopped. But it seemed when I was holding back K> much, something as least had to come out. *^ I spoke rather ill to him," said I ; ** I did not like him very much ; I spoke him rather ill, and he was V angry '* I think you had little to do then, and less to tell it to his daughter ! " she cried out. " But those that do not love and cherish him I will not know." " I will take the freedom of a word yet," said I, beginning to tremble. " Perhaps neither your father nor I are in the best of spirits at Preston- grange's. I daresay we both have anxious business there, for it's a dangerous house. I was sorry for him too, and spoke to him the first, if I could but have spoken the wiser. And for one thing, in my opinion, you will soon find that his affairs are mending." " It will not be through your friendship, I am thinking," said she ; *' and he is much made up to you for your sorrow." ** Miss Drummond," cried I, " T am alone in th^s world. . . ." " And I am not wondering at that," said she. "O, let me speak ! " said I. "I will speak but the once, and then leave you, if you will, for ever. I y .Vr . t\ i til \i in V'[ M CATMONA. ,1 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 1 kneW it then. It would have been easy to have spoketi smooth, easy to lie to you ; can you not think how I was tempted to the same ? Cannot you see the truth of my heart shine out ? " "I think here is a great deal of work, Mr. Dtilfour," said she. **I think we will have met but the once, and will can part like gentle folk." " O, let me liave one to believe in me ! " I pleaded, " I cannae bear it else. The whole world is clanned against me. How am I to go through with my dreadful fate ? If there^s to be none to believe in me I cannot do it. The man must just die, for I cannot do it." She had still looked straight in front of her, head in air ; but at my words or the tone of my voice she came to a stop. "What is this you say?" she asked. " What are you talking of ? " ** It is my testimony which may save an innocent life," said I, " and they will not suffer me to bear it. What would you do yourself? You know what this is, whose father lies in danger. Would you desert the poor soul ? They have tried all ways with me. They have sought to bribe me ; they offered me hills and valleys. And to-day that sleuth-hound told me how I stood, and to what a length he would go to butcher and disgrace me. J 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 CATRIONA. 83 .11 is the story to be told of me in all Scotland — if you are to believe it too, and my name is to be nothing but a by-word — Catriona, how can I go through with it ? The thing's not possible ; it's more than a man has in his heart." I poured my words out in a whirl, one upori the other ; and when I stopped I found her gazing on me with a startled face. " Glenure I It is the Appin murder," she said softly, but with a very deep surprise. I had turned back to bear her company, and we were now come near the head of the brae above Dean village. At this word I stepped in front of her like one suddenly distracted. " For God's sake ! " I cried, " for God's sake, what is this that I have done ? " and carried my fists to my temples. " What made me do it ? Sure, I am bewitched to say these things I " " In the name of heaven^ what ails you now ? " she cried. " I gave my honour," I groaned, " I gave my honour and now I have broke it. O, Catriona ! " " I am asking you what it is," she said ; " was it these things you should not have spoken ? And do you think / have no honour, then ? or that I am one that would betray a friend ? I hold up my right hand to you and swear.** ** O, I knew you would be true I " 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 il ■H . y,. ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I I.I 1.25 ■u Its lit ■ 22 I 2.0 u 1^ c^ <^^ A '>^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 33 WIST MAIN STRUT WHSTIR.N.Y. MSIO (716) •72-4S03 .:i 1 1 ii \i ''it 84 CATRIONA. common talk I * There is one thing clear upon out interview,' sajrs'he, * that I can rely on your pledged word.* Where is my word now? Who could believe me now ? You could not believe me. I am clean fallen down ; I had best die ? " All this I said with a weeping voice, but I had no tears in my body. " My heart is sore for you," said she, ** but be sure you are too nice. I would not believe you, do you say ? I would trust you with anything. And these men ? I. would not be thinking of them ! Men who go about to entrap and to destroy you I Fy I 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 I It is one thing that we must both forget." "Catriona," said I, looking at her, hang-dog, " is this true of it ? Would ye trust me yet ? " **Will you not believe the tears upon my face ? " she cried. " It is the world I am thinking of you, Mr. David Balfour. Let them hang you ; i will never forget, I will grow old and still remember you. I think it is great to die so : I will envy you that gallows." "And maybe all this while I am but a child frighted with bogles," said L ** Maybe they but make a mock of me." ** It is what I must know," she said. " I must hear the whole. The harm is done at all events, and I must hear the whole." tool mati aboi 1 ■:; on OUT pledged could I am is I said y body, but be ^ou, do . And them I y you ! Do you it hero ;r than ) much Btrayed ig that ig-dog, >n I my am them Dw old eat to child iy but must pventSy CATRIONA. I had sat down on the wayside, where she took a place beside me, and I told her all that matter much as I have written it, my thoughts about her father's dealings being alone omitted. "Well," she said, when I had finished, **you are a hero, surely, and I never would have thought that same I And I think you are in peril, too. O, Simon Fraser ! to think upon that man ! For his life and the dirty money, to be dealing in such traffic ! " And just then she called out aloud with a queer word that was common with her, and belongs, I believe, to her own language. ** My torture ! " says she, " look at the sun ! " Indeed, it was already dipping towards the mountains. She bid me come again soon, gave me her hand, and left me in a turmoil of glad spirits. 1 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. it**: i. > V 1 . ,l-*««- \n f 1 1 1 u ■ 1 Ifl CHAPTER VIII. THE BRAVO. .Ah:i - ■ r?r: The next day, August 29th, I kept my appoint- ment at the Advocate^s in a coat that I had made to my own measure, and was but newl;y ready. "Aha," says Prestongrange, **you are very fine to-day ; my misses are to have a fine cavalier. Come, I take that kind of you. I take that kind of you, Mr. David. O, we shall do very well yet, and I believe your troubles are nearly at an end." " You have news for me ? " cried I. "Beyond anticipation," he replied. "Yo\ir testimony is after all to be received ; and you may go, if you will, in my company to the trial, which is to be held at Inverary, Thursday, 21st proximo " 1 was too much amazed to find words. ^^ .»,,,,«. "In the meanwhile," he continued, "though I will pot ask you to renew your pledge, I must caution you strictly to be reticent. To-morrow your precognition must be taken ; and outside of that, do you know, I think least said will be soonest mended." "I shall try to go discreetly," said I. "I believe it is yourself that I must thank for this crowning mercy, and I do thank you gratefully. After yesterday, my lord, this is like the doors of Heaven. I cannot find it in my heart to get the thing believed." "Ah, but you must try and manage, you may coug chan^ troub u CATRIONA, 87 must try and munage to believe it," says he, soothing-like, " and I ^m very glad to hear your acknowledgment of obligation, for I think you may be able to repay me very shortly" — he coughed — "or even now. The matter is much changed. Your testimony, which I shall not trouble you for to-day, will doubtless alter the complexion of the case for all concerned, and this makes it less delicate for me to enter with you on a side issue." * ^ . " My Lord," I interrupted, " excuse me for interrupting you, but how has this been brought about ? The obstacles you told me of on Saturday appeared even to me to be quite insurmountable ; how has it been contrived ? " ^ **My dear Mr. David," said he, "it would never do for me to divulge (even to you, as you say) the councils of the Government ; and you must content yourself, if you please, with the gross fact." He smiled upoi^ 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 pon among the ink, and began again to addre^ me, I was somehow not so certain, and fell instinctively into an attitude of guard. "There is a point I wish to touch upon," he began. "I purposely left it before upon one side, which need be now no longer necessary. This is not| of course, 9 part of yout examination, ' t 88 CATRIONA. which is to follow by another hand ; this is a private interest of my own. You say you en- countered Alan Breck upon the hill ? " " I did, my lord," said I. " ' " This was immediately after the murder ? " *« It was." " Did you speak to him ? " '" "I did/' • - ' '■ ^ ' " ' " You had known him before, I think ? " /says my lord, carelessly. "I cannot guess your reason for so thinking, my lord," I replied, " but such is the fact." "And when did you part with him again?" said he. " I reserve my answer," said L " The question will be put to me at the assize." "Mr. Balfour," said he, "will you not under- stand that all this is without prejudice to yourself? I have promised you life and honour ; and, believe me, I can keep my word. You are therefore clear of all anxiety. Alan, it appears, you suppose you can protect ; and you talk to me of your gratitude, which I think (if you push me) is not ill-deserved. There are a great many different considerations all pointing the same way ; and I will never be persuaded that you could not help us (if you chose) to put salt on Alan*s tail." " My lord," said I, " I give you my word I do not so much as guess where Alan is." He paused a breath. " Nor how he might be found ?" he asked. I sat before him like a log of wood. t( . it CATRIONa. 89 " And so much for your gratitude, Mr. David ! " he observed. Again there was a piece of silence. "Well," said he, rising, "I am not fortunate, and we are a couple at cross purposes. Let us speak of it no more ; you will receive notice when, where, and by whom, we are to take your precognition. And in the meantime, my misses must be waiting you. ' They will never forgive me if I detain their cavalier." ' ; Into the hands of these Graces I was accord- ingly offered up, and found them dressed beyond what I had thought possible, and looking fair as a posy. As we went forth from the doors a small circumstance occurred which came afterwards to look extremely big. I heard a whistle sound loud and brief like a signal, and looking all about, spied for one moment the red head of Neil of the Tom, the son of Duncan. The next moment he was gone again, nor could I see so much as the skirt-tail of Catriona, upon whom I naturally supposed him to be then attending. My three keepers led me out by Bristo and the Bruntsfield Links ; whence a path carried us to Hope Park, a beautiful pleasance, laid with gravel-walks, furnished with seats and summer- sheds, and warded by a keeper. The way there was a little longsome ; the two younger misses affected an air of genteel weariness that damped me cruelly, the eldest considered me with some- thing 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. D m t • )i k f! I f ! I.. ^j ■!i I j I i 5l 90 CATRIONA. Upon our reaching the park I was launched on a bevy of eight or ten young gentlemen (some ot them cockaded officers, the rest chiefly advocates) who crowded to attend upon these beauties ; and though I was presented to all of them in very good words, it seemed I was by all immediately forgotten. Young folk in a company are like to savage animals : they fall upon or scorn a stranger without, civility, or I may say, humanity ; and I am sure, if I had been among baboons, they would have shown me quite as much of both. Some of the advocates set up to be wits, and some of the soldiers to be rattles ; and I could not tell which of these extremes annoyed me most. All had a manner of handling their swords and coat-skirts, for the which (in mere black envy) I could have kicked them from that park. I daresay, upon their side, they grudged me extremely the fine company in which I had arrived ; and altogether I had soon fallen behind, and stepped stiffly in the rear of all that merri- ment with my own thoughts. >; :*..;*? vM From these I was recalled by one of the officers, Lieutenant Hector Duncansby, a gawkyy leering Highland boy, asking if my name was not ** P^lfour." I told him it was, not very kindly^ for his manner was scant civil. |c> tte ^c r ; . **Ha, Palfour," says he, and then, repeating it, " Palfour, Palfbur ! " ,,;. .» , "I am afraid you do not like my name, sir^**. says I, annoyed with myself to be annoyed with »uch a rustical fellow^ u u of th find i it the t: I and he th same Tl my cl u r ' CATRIONA. 9« ched on :n (some ivocates) ies ; an4 in very lediately \ like to strangei ; and I ns, they of both, ^its, and I could ►yed me r swords re black lat park, ged me I had behind, t merri- of the gawkyy me was for his ^peating le, sir^**. sd with i "No," says he, **but I wass thinking." ^ "I would not advise you to make a practice of that, sir," says 1. **I feel sure you would not find it to agree with you." *'Tit you effer hear where Alan Grigor fand the tangs ? " said he. I asked him what he could possibly mean, and he answered, with a heckling laugh, th it he thought I must have found the poker in the same place and swallowed it. There could be no mistake about this, and my cheek burned. " Before I went about to put affronts on gentlemen," said I, " I think I would learn the English language tirst." 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 tlie view of the promenaders, than the fashion of his countenance changed. ** You tarn lowland scoonVel I " cries he, and hit me a buffet on the jaw with his closed fist. -« v /- ,. . I paid him as good or better on the return ; whereupon he stepped a little back and took off his hat to me decorously. ** Enough plows I think," says he. "I will be the offended shentleman, for who effer heard of such sufFeeciency as tell a shentlemans that is the Mng's officer he cannae speak Got's English ? We have swords at our hurdies, and here is the King's Park at hand. Will ye walk first, or lei rae show ye the way ? " ^^- \ ' 92 CATRIONA, II Si" m I returned his bow, told him to go first, and followed him. As he went I heard him grumble to himself about Cofs English and the King^s coaty so that I might have supposed him to be seriously offended. * But his manner at the be- ginning of our interview was there to belie him. It was manifest he had come prepared to fasten a quarrel on me, right or wrong ; manifest that I was taken in a fresh contrivance of my enemies ; and to me (conscious as I was of my deficiencies) manifest enough that I should be the one to fall in our encounter. ' •- ■■* As we came into that rough rocky desert of the King*s Park I was tempted half-a-dozen times to take to my heels and run for it, so loath was I to show my ignorance in fencing, and so much averse to die or even to be wounded. But I considered if their malice went as far as this, it would likely stick at nothing ; and that to fall by the sword, however ungracefully, was still an improvement on the gallows. I considered besides that by the unguarded pertness of my words and the quickness of my blow I had put myself quite out of court ; and that even if I ran, my adversary would probably pursue and catch me, which would add disgrace to my mis- fortune. So that, taking all in all, I continued marching behind him, much as a man follows the hangman, and certainly with no more hope. We went about the end of the long craigs, and came into the Hunter's Bog. Here, on a piece of fair turf, my adversary drew. There was and and disph Mr. n tm CATRIONA. 93 irst, and grumble King's n to be the be- lie him. o fasten est that snemies ; ciencies) one to iesert oi en times >ath was so much But I \ this, it t to fall iras still nsidered of my lad put ^en if I ue and ly mis- ntinued follows ope. craigs, ■e, on a There was nobody there to see us but some birds ; and no resource for me but to follow his example, and stand on guard with the best face I could display. It seems it was not good enough for Mr. Duncansby, who spied some flaw in my manoeuvres, paused, looked upon me sharply, and came off and on, and menaced me with his blade in the air. As I had seen no such proceedings from Alan, and was besides a good deal affected with the proximity of death, I grew quite be- wildered, stood helpless, and could have longed to run away. ** Fat deil ails her ? " cries the lieutenant. And suddenly engaging, he twitched the sword out of my grasp and sent it flying far among tk-e rushes. Twice was this manoeuvre repeated ; and the third time when I brought back my humiliated weapon, I found he had returned his own to the scabbard, and stood awaiting me with a face of some anger, and his hands clasped under his skirt " Pe tamned if I touch you ! " he cried, and asked me bitterly what right I had to stand up before " shentlemans " when I did not know the back of a sword from the front of it. I answered that was the fault of my upbring- ing ; and would he do me the justice to say I had given him all the satisfaction it was un- fortunately in my power to offer, and had stood up like a man ? . <*And that is the truth," said he. "I am ; m III] \,^' ii 94 CATRIONA. fery prave myself, and pold as a lions. But to stand up there — and you ken naething of fence ! — the way that you did, I declare it was peyond me. And I am sorry for the plow ; though I declare I pelief your own was the elder brother, and my heid still sings with it. And I declare if I had kent what way it wass, I would not put a hand to such a piece of pusiness." "That is handsomely said," I replied, "and I am sure you will not stand up a second time to be the actor for my private enemies." " Indeed, no, Palfour," said he ,* " and I think I was used extremely suffeeciently myself to be set up to fecht with an auld wife, or all the same as a bairn whateffer I And I will tell the Master so, and fecht him, by Cot, himself ! " " And if you knew the nature of Mr. Simon^s quarrel with me," said I, " you would be yet the more affronted to be mingled up with such affairs." He swore he could well believe it ; that all the Lovats were made of the same meal and the devil was the miller that ground that ; then suddenly shaking me by the hand, he vowed I was a pretty enough fellow after all, that it was a thousand pities I had been neglected, and that if he could find the time, he would give an eye himself to have me educated. "You can do me a better service than even what you propose," said I ; and when he had asked its nature — "Come with me to the house of one of my enemies, and testify how I have carried myself this day," I told him. " That will be me in will you steel be tl air. CATRIONA. Is But to fence I — peyond hough I brother, [ declare not put " s <;■ pm^^^rf^o i^ioiti ^■s A I CHAPTER IX. tHE HEXtHl^R ON l^telBfe. 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 oper- ation. 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 eagw to support me, or Lovat and the Duke and Prestongrange had not been nosing for expedients j and it made me rage to think that I might brush against my champions in th« street and b^ no wia^n u CATRIONA. 99 ^ 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 stand- ing 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, which he locked behind us after we had entered. The house was quite dismantled, with not a stick of furniture; indeed, it was one of which Stewart had the letting in his hands. " We*ll have to sit upon the floor," said he ; " but weVe safe here for the time being, and I've been wearying to see ye, Mr. Balfour." " How's it with Alan ? " I asked. ** Brawly," said he. ** Andie picks him up at Gillane sands io-morrow, Wednesday. He was keen to say good-bye to ye, but the way tliat things were going, I was feared the pair of ye was maybe best apart. And that brings me to the essential ; how does your business speed ? " "Why," said I, "I was told only this morning that my testimony was accepted, and I was to travel to Inverary with the Advocate, no less." " Hout awa I " cried Stewart. " I'll never be- lieve that." " I have maybe a suspicion of my own," says I^ ** but I would like fine to hear your reasons." ** Well, I tell ye fairly, I'm horn-mad," cries Stewart. " If my one hand could pull their ^1 100 CATRIONA. ii^ 4 Government down I would pluck it like a rotten apple. I'm doer for Appin and for James of the Glens ; and, of course, it's my duty to defend my kinsman for his life. Hear how it goes with me, and I'll leave the judgment of it to yourself. The first thing they have to do is to get rid of Alan. They cannae bring in James as art and part until they've brought in Alan first as principal; that's sound law : they could never put the cart before the horse." " And how are they to bring in Alan till they can catch him ? " says I. "Ah, but there is a way to evite that arrest- ment," 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 da3rs ; at the head burgh of the shire where he ordinarily resorts ; or lastly (if there be ground to think him forth of Scotland) at the cross of Edinburgh^ and the pier and shore of Leith^ for sixty days. The purpose of which last provision is evident upon its face : being that outgoing ships may have time to carry news of the transaction, and the summonsing be something other than a form. Now take the case of Alan. .>He has no dwelling- house that ever I could hear of; I would be obliged if anyone would show me where he has lived forty days together since the '45 ; there CATRIONA. lOI it I rotten i of the end my ith me, f. The >f Alan, irt until ; that's t before :ill they t arrest- ild be a another mmmon :he non- ivhere a -house ; diys ; at dinarily think inburgh^ ty days, evident )s may :>n, and a form. welling- mld be he has ; there is no shire where he resorts whether ordinarily or extraordinarily f if he has a domicile at all, which I misdoubt, it must be with his regiment in France; and if he is not yet forth of Scotland (as we happen to know and they happen to guess) it must be evident to the most dull it's what he's aiming for. Where, then, and what way should he be summoned? I ask it at yourself, a layman." "You have given the very words," said I. "Here at the cross, and at the pier and shore of Leith for sixty days." "Ye're a sounder Scots lawyer than Preston- grange, then ! " cries the Writer. " He has had Alan summoned once ; that was on the twenty- fifth, the day that we first met. Once, and done with it. And where ? Where, but at the cross of Inverary, the head burgh of the Campbells ? A word in your ear, Mr. Balfour — they're not seeking Alan." ** What do you mean ? " I cried. " Not seeking him ? " ** By the best that I can make of it,'^ said he. "Not wanting to find him, in my poor thought. \ hey think perhaps he might set up a fair defence, upon the back of which James, the man they're really after, might climb out. This is not a case, ye see, it's a conspiracy." " Yet I can tell you Prestongrange asked after Alan keenly," said 1 ; " though when I come to think of it, he was something of the easiest put ! I.I ! rl I )i j . by )> (( See that I " says he. " But there ! I may be right or wrong, that's guess work at the best, and 102 CATRIONA, 1 let me get to my facts again. It comes to my ears that James and the witnesses — the witnesses, Mr. Baltour ! — lay in close dungeons, and shackled forbye, in the military prison at Fort William ; none allowed in to them, nor they to write. The witnesses, Mr. Balfour ; heard ye ever the match of that ; I assure ye, no old, crooked Stewart of the gang ever outfaced the law more impudently. It's clean in the two eyes of the Act of Parliament of 1700, anent wrongous imprisonment. No sooner did I get the news than I petitioned the Lord Justice Clerk. I have his word to-day. There's law for ye ! Here's justice 1 " He put a paper in my hand, that same mealy- mouthed, faise-faced paper that was printed since in the pamphlet, " by a bystander," for behoof (as the title says) of James's "poor widow and five children.' "See," said Stewart, " he couldn't dare to refuse me access to my client, so he recommends the com- manding officer to lei me tn. 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 rellise the recommendation. I would have to make the journey bjack again betwixt here and Fort William. Then would follow a fresh delay till I got fresh authority, and they had dis- avowed 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 you ; ^^1 CATRIONA. 103 my ears les, Mr. hackled ^illiam ; e. The latch of : of the ly. It's nent of sooner le Lord There's mealy- id since tioof (as md five refuse he com- s I— the ids. Is They y much ion. I Detwixt a fresh ad dis- )riously cant of lere we before I had received my first instruction. Am I not right to call this a conspiracy ? " " It will bear that colour/' said I. " And I'll go on to prove it to 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 I See— read : For the test, r^ftAses to ghe any orders to keepers of prisons who are not accused as having done anything contrary to the duties of their office. Anything contrary I Sirs! And the Act of seventeen hunner ? Mr. Balfour, this makes my heart to burst ; the heather is on fire inside my wame." " And the plain English of that phrase," said I, *^ is that the witnesses are still to lie in prison and you are not to see them ? " " And I am not to see them until Inverary, when the court is set ! " cries he, ** and then to hear Prestongrange upon the anxious responstbiiiitei of his office and the great facilities c^ffbrded the defence/ But I'll begowk them there, Mr, David. I have a plan to waylay the witnesses upon the road, and see if I cannae get a little harle of justice out of the military man notoriously ignorant of the taw that shall command the party." It was actually so — it was actually on the way- side near Tynedrum, and by the connivance of a soldier officer, that Mr. Stewart first saw the witnesses upon the case. hi I ?M pi jl ji ; 'if I ■iU in 104 CATRIONA. ** There is nothing that would surprise me in this business," I remarked ** I*n surprise you ere Vm done ! " cries he. ** Do ye see this ? " — producing a print still wet from the press. " This is the libel : see, there's Preston- grange's name to the list of witnesses, and I find no word of any Balfour. But here is not the question. Who do ye think paid for the printing of this paper ? " " I suppose it would likely be King George," said I. ** But it happens it was me I " 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 /win to get a copy I No! I was to go blindfold to my defence ; I was to hear the charges for the first time in court alongst the jury." " Is not this against the law ? " I asked. " I cannot say so much," he replied. " It was a favour so natural and so constantly rendered (till this nonesuch business) that the law has never looked to it. And now admire the hand of Provi- dence I 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: sumpiibus moesii ret ; 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 ? " CATRIONA. 105 I me in 5. "Do om the Veston- i I find lot the )rinting eorge," " Not for the of the rwin to to my he first [t was a red (till never Provi- house; carries IS libel, at the r/i rei ; it is for it now. liS) that Ince ? " •* Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill," said I. *' And now you see how it is," he concluded, " and why, when 'ou tell me your evidence is to be let in, I laugh aloud in your face." It was now my turn. I laid before him in brief Mr. Simon's threats and offers, and the whole incident of the bravo, with the subsequent scene at Prestongrange's. Of my first talk, according to promise, I said nothing, nor indeed was it neces- sary. All the time I was talking Stewart nodded his head like a mechanical figure ; and no sooner had my voice ceased, than he opened his mouth and gave me his opinion in two words, dwelling strong on both of them. " Disappear yourself," said he. " I do not take you," said I. " Then I'U carry you there," said he. " By my view of it youVe 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 yeVe not to be murdered ; but I'm in bitter error if ye*re not to be kidnapped and carried away like the Lady Grange. Bet me what ye please — there was their expedient / " " You make me think," said I, and told him of the whistle and the red-headed retainer, Neil. ** Wherever Jame^ More is there's one big iq6 CATRIONA. m ■lis '■3 rogue, never be deceived on that/' said he. *' His father was none ao 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 defend- ing him ' But as for James he's a brock and a blagy^'^. 1 like the appearance of this red-headed Ne . little as yourself. It looks uncanny : fiegh ! it smells bad. It was old Lovat that managed the Lady Grange affair ; if young Lovat is to handle yours, it'll be all in the family. What's James More in prison for ? The same offence : abduction. His men have had practice in the business. He'll be to lend them to be Simon's instruments ; and the next thing we'll be hearing, James will have made his peace, or else he'll have escaped ; and you'll be in Benbecula or Applecross." *'Ye make a strong case,'^ I admitted. ** And what I want," he resumed, " is that you should disappear yourself ere they can get their hands upon ye. Lie quiet until just before the trial, and spring upon them at the last of it when they'll be looking for you least. This is always supposing, Mr. Balfour, that your evidence is worth so very great a measure of both risk and fash.'^ " I will tell ye one thing," said I. " I saw the murderer, and it was not Alan." ," Then, by God, my cousin's saved ! " cried Stewart. " You have his life upon your tongue ; and there's neither time, risk, nor money to be spared to bring you %o 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 yeVc CATRIONA. 107 "His ling on to my defend- and a -headed fiegh ! ged the handle James luction. . He'll ts ; and ill have d ; and t at you 5t their ore the it when always s worth saw the through. Go straight down this close, there's a way out by there to the Lang Dykes, and by my will of it 1 see no more of Edinburgh till the clash is over." " Where am I to go, then ? " I inquired. "Apd I wish that I could ^eU ye I" 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 I Five days before the trial, September the sixteen, get word to me at the King^s Arm$ in Stirling ; and if ye've managed for yourself as long as that, I'll see that ye reach Inverary." "One thing more," Al^n?" He seemed boggled, you wouldnae," said he. said I. " Can I no see "Hech, I would rather "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 plear hour befpre ye risk it. It would be a dreadful business if both you and him was tp miscarry ( " ? \'\ *' cried ongue ; to be tied his lave by re ye'rc i- lie CHAPTER X. THE RBD-HBADED MAN. ■■A Ct 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 fece in that direction without pause. As a slave to my con- science and con'mon sense, however, I took a measure of precautioa 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 chiefs daughter ; as for the other Highland- man, if I was to be startled off by every Highland- man I saw, I would scarce reach anywhere. And having quite satisfied myself with this disingenuous debate, I made the better speed of it, and came a little after four to Mrs. Drummond-Ogilvy's« m ph set CATRIONA. 109 y !■ that Le a Both ladies were within the house ; and upon my perceiving them together by the open door, I plucked off my hat and said, ^^ Here was a lad come seeking saxpence/' which I thought might please the dowager. Catriona ran out to greet me heartily, and, to my surprise, the old lady seemed scarce less forward than herself. I learned long afterwards that she had despatched a horseman by daylight to Rail- keillor 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 pros- pects. But had I read it I could scarce have seen more clear in her designs. Maybe I was country- feed; at least, I was not so much vSO as she thought; and it was plain enough, even to my homespun wits, that she was bent to hammer up a match between her cousin and a beardless boy that was something of a laird in Lothian. ^^Saxpence had better take his broth with us, Catrine," says she. " Run and tell the lasses." And for the little while we were alone was at a good dtal 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 ob- vious ; 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 foncy the girl was being innocently made a show of, and t ' 1 no CATRIONA. then I could have beaten the old carlitie wife with a cudgel ; and now^ that perhaps these two had set their heads together to entrap me, and at that I sat and gloomed betwixt them like the very image of ill-will. At last the match-maker had a better device^ which was to leave the pair of us alone. When my suspicions are anyway rouised it is some- times a little the wrong side of easy to allay them. But though I knew what breed she was of, and that was a breed of thieves, I could never look in Catriona's face and disbelieve her. " I must not ask ? " says she, eagerly, the same moment we were left alone. "Ah, but to-day I can talk with a free con- science," I replied. " I am lightened of my pledge, and indeed (after what has come and gone since morning) I would not have renewed it were it asked." " Tell me," she said. " My cousin will not be so long." So I told her the tale of the liciutenant from the first step to the last of it, making it as mirthful as I could, and, indeed, there was matter of mirth in that absurdity. " And I think you will be as little fitted for the rudas men as for the pretty ladies, after all I " says she, when I had done. "But what was your father that he could not learn you to draw the sword ? It is most ungentle ; I have not heard the match of that in anyone^" < . " It is most misconvenient at least,*' said I ; " and I think my father (honest man !) must have been wool-gathering to learn me Latin in the place CATRIONA. Ill e with lad set It I sat lage of better alon^. I some- f them, nd that ook in le same ee con- pledge, le since asked." not be rom the iful as I nirth in for the 1 1 " says as your raw the eard the said I; ust have he place of it. But you see I do the best lean, and just stand up like Lot's wife aikd let then^ hammer at mie." *< Do you know what makes me smile ? " said she. ^* Well, it is this.< I ^m 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 oomes 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 stofy 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." I " You are a bloodthirsty maid," said I* '-^ ^^ Well, I know it is good to sew and spin, and to make samplers," she said, " but if you were to do nothing else in the great world, I think you will say yourself it is a driech business ; and it is not that I want to kill, I think. Did ever you kill anyone ? " " That I have, as it chances. Two, no less, and me still a lad that should be at the college," said I. ** But yet, in the look-back, I take no shame for it." *' But how did you feel, then — after it ? " she asked. *< 'Deed, I sat down and grat like a bairn," said 1. " 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. ' > I , If m . H ^H 'P - 112 CATRIONA. "Troth," said I, "my affection for my kingj God bless the puggy face of him, is under more control ; and I thought I saw death so near to me this day already, that I am rather taken up with the notion of living/' " Right;" she said, " the right mind of a man ! Only you must learn arms ; I would not like to have a friend that cannot strike. But it will not have been with the sword that you killed these two ? " " Indeed, no," said I, " but with a pair of pistols. And a fortunate thing it was the men were so near- hand to me, for I am about as clever with the pistols as I am with the sword." So then she drew from me the story of our battle in the brig, which I had omitted in my first account of my affairs. "Yes," said she, "you are brave. And your friend, I admire and love him." " Well, and I think anyone would ! " said I. " He has his faults like other folk ; but he is brave and staunch and kind, God bless him ! That will be a strange day when I forget Alan." And the thought of him, and that it was within my choice to speak with him that night, had almost overcome me. " And where will my head be gone that I have not told my news ! " she cried, and spoke of a letter from her father, bearing that she might visit him to-morrow in the castle whither he was now trans- ferred, and that his affairs were mending. "You do not like to hear it," said she. " Will you judge my father and not know him ? " "*• " I am a thousaud miles from judging," I replied* CATRIONA. "3 king, more to me ) with man I like to )t have o?" - pistols. near- th the of our in my d your said I. |s brave lat will [nd the loice to Ime me. |l have letter iit him trans- "You judge replied' **And I give you my word I do rejoice to know your heart is lightened. If my face fell at all, as I suppose it must, you will allow this is rather an ill day for compositions, and the people in power extremely ill persons to be compounding with. I have Simon Fraser extremely heavy on my stomach still." " Ah ! " she cried, " you will not be evening these two ; and you should bear in mind that Prestongrange and James More, my father, are of the one blood." " I never heard tell of that,* said I. "It is rather singular how little you are ac- quainted with," said she. " One pa* t may call themselves Grant, and one Macgregor, but they are still of the same clan. They are all the sons of Alpin, from whom, I think, our country has its name." " What country is that ? " I asked. " My country and yours," said i.he. ** This is my day for discoveries, I think," said I, " for I always thought the name of it was Scotland." " Scotland is the name of what you call Ireland," she replied. " But the old ancient true name of this place that we have our foot-soles on, and that our bones are made of, will be Alban. It was Alban they called it when our forefathers will be fighting for it against Rome and Alexander ; and it is called so still in your own tongue that you forget." " Troth," said I, " and that I never learned ! " For I lacked heart to take her up about the Macedonian. "But your fathers and mothers talked it, one generation with another," said she. " And it was (ii ■;i 1 ""^ ill :ll ,i 1# ' IH GATRIONA. sung about the cradles before you or me were ever dreamed of; and your name remembers it still. Ah, if you could talk that language you would find me another girl. The heart speaks in that tongue." I had a meal with the two ladies, all very good, served in fine old plate, and the wine excellent, for it seems that Mrs. Ogiivy 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 recon- noitre it, by daylight. Catriona came with me as far as to the garden gate. ** It is long till I see you now ? " she asked. " It is beyond my judging," I replied. " It will be long, it may be never." " It may be so," said she. " And you are sorry ? " I bowed my head, looking upon her. " So am I, at all events," said she, " I have seen you but a small time, but I put you very high. You are true, you are brave ; in time I think you will be more of a man yet. I will be proud to hear of that. If you should speed worse, if it will come to fall as we are afraid — O well J think you have the one friend. Long after you are dead and me an old wife, I will be telling the bairns about David Balfour, and my tears running. I will be telling how we parted, and what I said to you, and did to you. God go with you and guide you^ prays your little friend : so I said — I will be telling them — and here is what I did." It CATRIONA. iiS 1 l! % re ever it still, lid find )ngue." y good, ent, for ilk, too, the sun : long, I as now it was i recon- 1 me as ed. " It will sorry ? " ' I have ry high, ink you to hear 11 come lave the le an old : David ; telling d did to ays your ;m — and She took up my hand and kissed it. This so surprised my spirits that I cried out like one hurt. The colour came strong in her face, and she looked at me and nodded. " O yes, Mr. David," said she, " that is what I think of you. The heart goes with the lips." I could read in her face high spirit, and a chivalry like a brave child's ; not anything besides. She kissed my hand, as she had kissed Prince Charlie's, with a higher passion than the common kind of clay has any sense of. Nothing before had taught me how deep I was her lover, nor how far I had yet to climb to make her think of me in such a character. Yet I could tell myself I had advanced some way, and that her heart ^iud beat and her blood flowed at thoughts of me. After that honour she had done me I could offer no more trivial civility. It was even hard for me to speak ; a certain lifting in her voice had knocked directly at the door of my own tears. " I praise God for your kindness, dear," said I. ** Farewell, my little friend I " giving her that name which she had given to herself; with which I bowed and left her. My way was down the glen of the Leith River, towards Stockbridge and Silvermills. A path led in the foot of it, the water bickered and sang in the midst ; the sunbeams overhead struck out of the west among long shadows and (as the valley turned) made like a new scene and a new world of it at every corner. With Catriona behind and Alan before me, I waji like one lifted up. The place ;'l ? >• ri < ' r Ii6 CATRIONA. 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. T^^is was the cause, under Providence, that I spied a little in my rear a red head among some bushes* Anger sprang in my heart, and I turned straight about and walked at a stiff pace to where I came from. The path lay close by the bushes where I had remarked the head. The cover came to the wayside, and as I passed I was all strung up to meet and to resist an onfall. No such thing befell, I went by unmeddled with ; and at that fear increased upon me. It was still day indeed, but the place exceeding solitary. If my haunters had let slip that fair occasion I could but judge they aimed at something more than David Balfour. The lives of Alan and James weighed upon my spirit with the weight of two grown bullocks. Catriona was yet in the garden walking by herself. " Catriona," said I, " you see me back again." " With a changed face," said she. ** I carry two men's lives besides my own," said I. " It would be a sin and a shame not to walk carefully. I was doubtful whether I did right to come here. I would like it ill, if it was by that means we were brought to harm." " I could tell you one that would be liking it less, and will like little enough to hear you talking at this very same time," she cried. " What have I done, at all events ? " " O, you I you are not alone," I replied. " But wncc I went off I have been dogged again, and I water, steps T.as pied a »ushes« ;raight [ came here I to the meet 1 went d upon ;eeding at fair lething an and ight of erself. im." /' said walk Ight to |y that :ing it talking Ihave I "But and I CATRIONA. 117 can give you the name of him that follows me. It is Neil, son of Duncan, your man or your fiather's/' " To he sure you are mistaken there/' she said, with a white face. **Neil is in Edinburgh on errands from my father." " It is what I fear," said I, " the last of it. But for his being in Edinburgh I think I can show you another of that. For sure you have some signal, a signal of need, such as would bring him to your help, if he was anywhere within the reach of ears and legs ? " " Why, how will you know that ? " s?-ys she. ^''By means of a magical talisman God gave to me when I was born, and the name they call it by is Common-sense," said I. "Oblige me so far as make your signal, and I will show you the red head of Neil." No doubt but I spoke bitter and sharp. My heart was bitter. I blamed myself and the girl and hated both of us : her for the vile crew that she was come of, myself for my wanton folly to have stuck my head in such a byke of wasps. Catriona set her fingers to her lips and whistled once, with an exceeding clear, strong, mounting note, as full as a ploughman's. A while we stood silent ; and I was about to ask her to repeat the same, when I heard the sound of some one bursting through the bushes below on the braeside. I pointed in that direction with a smile, and presently Neil leaped into the garden. "His eyes burned, and he had a black knife (as they call it on the Highland side) naked in his hand ; but, seeing me beside his mistress, stood like a man struck. t \ r v\ i-1 m t'ji '' ii8 CATRIONA. "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 m^^ through the means of your clan, let me go where I have to go with my eyes open.". She addressed him tremulously in the Gaelic. Remembering Alan's anxious civility in that par- ticular, I could have laughed out loud for bitterness ; here, sure, in the midst of these suspicions, was the hour she should have stuck by English. Twice or thrice they spoke together, and I could make out that Neil (for all his obsequiousness) was an angry man. Then she turned to me. " He swears it is not," she said. " Catriona," said I, " do you believe the man yourself? " . ; ^ ^ She made a gesture like wringing the hands. ** How will I can know ? " she cried. " But I must find some means to know," said I. '^ I cannot continue to go dovering round in the black night with two men's lives at my girdle ! Catriona, try to put yourself in my place, as I vow to God I try hard to put myself in yours. This is no kind of talk that should ever have fallen between me and you ; no kind of talk ; my heart is sick with it. See, keep him here till two of the morn- ing, and I care not. Try him with that.*' They spoke together once more in the Gaelic. B says he has James More my father's u ./c CATRIONA. re how nature am to by m«» irherc I Gaelic, at par- erness ; W2LS the I could ess) was is not," he man mds. '» said I. in the girdle ! is I vow This is between is sick le morn- 119 errand," said she. She was whiter than ever, and her voice faltered as she said it. " It is pretty plain now," said I, " and may God forgive the wicked ! " She said never anything to that, but continued gazing at me with the same white face. " This is a fine business," said I again. " Am I to fall, then, and those two along with me ? " " O, what am I to do ? " she cried. " Could I go against my father's orders, and him in prison, in the danger of his life ? " "But perhaps we go too fast," said I. "This may be a lie too. He may have no right orders ; all may be contrived by Simon, and your father knowing nothing." She burst out weeping between the pair of us ; and my heart smote me hard, for I thought this girl was in a dreadful situation. ■■Here," said I, "keep him but the one hour; and ril chance it, and say God bless you." She put out her hand to me. " I will be need- 3rd " she sobbed. mg. le good word," si ** The full hour, then ? " said I, keeping her hand in mine. "Three lives of it, my lass I " " The full hour 1 " she said, and cried aloud on her Redeemer to forgive her. I thought it no fit place for me, and fled. I V \ ■ ? \ * I;, I ^i !| I in the father's i I !|1 1 I' I CHAPTER XI. THE WOOD BY SILVERMILLS. I LOST no time, but down through the valley and by Stockbrig and Silvermills as hard as I could stave. It was Alan^s tryst to lie every night between twelve and two " in a bit scrog of wood by east of Silvermills and by south the south mill-lade." This I found easy enough, where it grew on a steep brae, with the mill-lade flowing swift and deep along the foot of it ; and here I began to walk slower and to reflect more reasonably on my employment. I saw I had made but a fool's bargain with Catriona. It was not to be supposed that Neil was sent alone upon his errand, but perhaps he was the only man belonging to James More ; in which case, I should have done all I could to hang Catriona's father, and nothing the least material to help myself. To tell the truth, I fancied neither one of these ideas. Sup- pose, by holding back Neil, thegirl 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 I and how would I like that ? I was up with the west end of that wood when these two considerations struck me like a cudgel. My feet stopped of themselves and my heart along with them. ** What wild game is this that I have CATRIONA. 121 ley and [ could letween east of '» This ep brae, orig the and to . I saw ona. It nt alone ily man should [her, and To tell Sup- helped never suppose it, what n I and >d when cudgel. [t along I have been playing ? " thought I ; and turned instantly upon my heels to go elsewhere. This brought my face to Silvermills ; the path came past the village with a crook, but all plainly visible ; and, Highland or Lowland, there was no- body 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 oJ it, and re- turned to the west selvage, whence I could again command the path, and yet be myself unseen. Again it was all empty, and my heart began to rise. For more than an hour I sat close in the border of the trees, and no hare or eagle could have kept a more particular watch. When that hour began the sun was already set, but the sky still all golden and the daylight clear; before the hour was done it had fallen to be half mirk, the images and distances of things were mingled, and observation began to be difficult. All that time not a foot of man had come east from Silvermills, and the few that had gone west were honest countryfolk and their wives upon the road to bed. If I were tracked by the most cunning spies in Europe, I judged it was beyond the course of nature they could have any jealousy of where I was : and going a little further home into the wood I lay down to wait for Alan. The strain of my attention had been great, for I had watched not the path only, but every bush and field within my vision. That was now at an end. E ! 1 1 •- ! 1 12Z CATRIONA. m KU The moon, which was in her first quarter, glinted a little in the wood ; all round there was a stillness of the country ; and as I lay there on my back, the next three or four hours, I had a fine occasion to review my conduct. Two things became plain to me first : that I had no right to go that day to Dean, and (having gone there) had now no right to be lying where I was. This (where Alan was to come) was just the one wood in all broad Scotland that wasj 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 1 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 tne ? Not Stewart the Writer ; 1 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 ex- pose her father. So, in a moment, I could lay all these troubles by, which were after all and truly hone 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 ; CATRIONA. 123 ' i t ntcd a tillness ck, the sion to 1 1 had g gone i I was. :he one / every ed that, thought i^atriona wo lives eopardy ig them nscience d I lost to stand sudd^en ^grange, le slept, Id blame it to say lear, and had my lould cx- id lay all Ind truly Imurder ; arts and le land ; and live henceforth to my own mind, and be able to enjoy and to improve my fortunes, and devote some hours of my youth to courting Catriona, which would be surely a more suitable occupation than to hide and run and be followed like a hunted thief, and begin over again the dreadful miseries of my escape with Alan. At first I thought no shame of this capitulation, I was only amazed I had not thought upon the thing and done it earlier ; and began to ■ inquire into the causes of the change. These I traced to my lowness of spirits, that back to my late reckless- ness, and that again to the common, old, public, disconsidered sin of self-indulgence. Instantly the text came in my head, ** Ifaw (tm Saian cast cui Satan t " What ? (I thought) I had, by self-indulg- ence, and the following of pleasant paths^ and the lure of a young maid, cast myself wholly out oi conceit with i^y 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-indulg- ence must be cured by self-denial ; the flesh I had pampered n^nst be crucified. I looked about me for that course which I least liked to lEollow : this was to leave the wood without waiting to see Alan, and go forth again alone, in the dark and in the midst of my perplexed and dangerous fortunes. I have been the more careful to narrate this passage of my reflections, because I think it is of Some utility, and may serve as an example to young men. But there is reason (they say) in planting 1 N I 1, i r J M ii 124 CATRIONA. kale, and even in ethic and religion, room for common sense. It was already close upon 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 them- selves to Alan by mistake. If I stayed, I could at the least of it set my friend upon his guard which might prove his mere salvation. I had adventured other people's safety in a course of self-indulgence ; to have endangered them again, and now on a mere design of penance, would have been scarce rational. Accordingly, I had scarce risen from my place ere I sat down again, but already in a different frame of spirits, and equally marvelling at my past weakness and rejoicing in my present composure. Presently after came a crackling in the thicket. Putting my mouth near down to the ground, I whistled a note or two, of Alan's air ; an answer came in the like guarded tone, and soon we had knocked together in the dark. " Is this you at last, Davie ? " he whispered. " Just myself," said I. " God, man, but I've been wearying to see ye I " says he. " I've had the longest kind of a time. A' day, I've had my dwelling into the inside of a stack rf hay, where I couldnae see the nebs of my ten nngers ; and then two hours of it waiting here for you, and you never coming 1 Dod, and ye're none too soon the way it is, with me to sail the morn I The morn ? whit am I saying ? — the day, I mean. •* Ay, Alan, man, the day sure enough," said I. one, that CATRIONA. 125 m for Alan's [ could >w me) them- 3uld at i which mtured igence ; a mere ational. lace ere frame of reakness thicket. ound, I answer we had red. ;e ye 1 " Ime. A* If a stack my ten mere for ^'re none morn! day, I I" said I. " It*s past twelve now, surely, and ye sail the day. This'll be a long road you have before you." " We'll have a long crack of it first," said he. ^* Well, indeed, and I have a good deal it will be telling you to hear," said I. And I told him what behooved, making rather a jumble of it, but clear enough when done. He heard me out with very few questions, laughing here and there like a man delighted : and the sound of his laughing (above all there, in the dark, where neither one of us could see the other) was extra- ordinary friendly to my heart. " Ay, Davie, yeVe 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 your- seP, 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 Erasers, 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 I 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 foi me!" ** One thing we have to consider," said I. ^* Was i 81 i! - w 120 CATRIONA P 'f': i i Charles Stewart right or wrong? Is it only me they're after, or the pair of us ? " " And whafs your ain opinion, you that's a man of so much experience ? " said he. " It passes me," said 1. "And me, too," says Alan. " Do ye think this lass would keep her w a poor piece of business playing with naebody to admire ye. And whiles I would make songs.'' ** What were they about ? " says I. " O, about the deer and the heather,** says he, " and about the ancient old chiefs that are all by ^ith it lang syne, and just about what songs are about in general. And then whiles I would make believe I had a set of pipes and I was playing. I played some grand springs, and I thought I played them awful bonny ; I vow whiles that I could hear the squeal of them ! But the great affair is that it^s done with." With that he carried me again to my adventures, which he heard all over again with more particu- larity, and extraordinary approval, swesring at intervals that I was *^a queer character of a callant." " So ye were frl*:h*ene( of Sim Eraser ? " he asked once. " In troth was 1 1 " cried 1. " So would I have been. Davie," said he. " And that is indeed a driedful man. But it is only proper to give the deil his due : and I can tell you he is a most respectable person on the field of war." " Is he so brave ? " I asked. " Brave 1" said he. "He is as brave as my steel sword." The story of my duel set him beside himself. will 11 ;• CATRIONA. 133 ed. hiles I ^rdinar a poor admire ays he, 5 all by ngs are id make f^ing. I [ played lid hear that it^s entures, particu- ring at er of a r?" he . «*And ^ proper he is a as my iself. *• To think of that I " 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 aim ; ye shall waik no step beyond this place upon the road till ye can do yoursel' and me mair credit." " Alan," said I, " this is midsummer madness. Here is no time for fencing lessons." " I cannae well say no to that," he admitted. " But three times, man I And you standing there like a straw bogle and rinning to fetch your ain sword like a doggie with a pocket-napkin i David, this man Duncansby must be something altogether by-ordinar ! He maun be extraordinar skilly. If I had the time, I would gang straight back and try a turn at him mysel'. The man must be a provost." " You silly fellow," said I, " you forget it was just me." " Na," said he, *' but three times I " '*When ye ken yourself that I am fair in- competent," I cried. " Well, I never heard tell the equal of it," said he. "I promise you the one' thing, Alan," said I. *' The next time that we forgathei*, I'll be better learned. You shall not continue to bear the dis- grace of a friend that cannot strike." ** Ay, the next time I " says he. " And when will that be, I would like to ken ? " '* Weill Alaxi, I have had some thoughts of '! ^-pJi 134 CATRIONA. ! f i * that, too,^ said I ; " and my plan is this. It's my opinion to be called an advocate." " That's but a weary trade, Davie," says Alan, "and rather a blagyard one forby. Ye would be better in a king's coat than that." "And no doubt that would be the. way to have us meet," cried I. " But as you'll be in King Lewie's coat, and I'll be in King Geordie's, we'll have a dainty meeting of it." " There's some sense in that," he admitted. "An advocate, then, it'll have to be," I con- tinued, " and I think it a more suitable trade for a gentleman that was three times disarmed. But the beauty of the thing is this : that one of the best colleges for that kind of learning — and the one where my kinsman, Pilrig, made his studies — is the college of Leyden in Holland. Now, what say you, Alan ? Could not a cadet of Royal Ecossais get a furlough, slip over the marches, and call in upon a Leyden student ? " " Well, and I would think he could I " 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. Nae- thing could be mair proper than what I would get a leave to see Lieutenant-Colonel Stewart of Hal- kett's. And Lord Metfort, 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." " I« Lord Melfort an author, then ? " I lUked, CATRIONA. 135 . It's \ Alan, mid be ;o have L King »s, we'll ;d. I con- ie for a But the he best ;he one dies — is hat say ^cossais call in " cried eolonei, nair to tenant- Nae- >uld get of Hal- enteefic would itage of asked, for much as Alan thought of soldiers, I thought more of the gentry that write books. " The very same, Davie," said he. " One would think a colonel would have something better to at- tend to. But what can I say that make songs ? " **Well, then," said I, "it only remains you should give me an aadress to write you at in France ; and as soon as I am got to Leyden I will send you mine." " The best 'will be to write me in the care of my chieftain," said he, "Charles Stewart, of Ard- sheil. Esquire, at the town of Melons, in the Isle of France. It might take long, or it might take short but it would aye get to my hands at the last of it." We had a haddock to our breakfast in Mussel- burgh, where it amused me vastly to hear Alan. His great-coat and boot-hose were extremely re- markable 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 good- wife of the house with some compliments upon the rizzoring of our haddocks ; and the whole of the rest of our stay held her in talk about a cold he had taken on his stomach, gravely relating all manner of symptoms and sufferings, and hearing with a vast show of interest all the old wives* remedies she could supply him with in return. We left Musselburgh before the first ninepenny coach was due from Edinburgh, for (as Alan said) that was a rencounter we might very well avoid. M 'I 136 CATRIONA. The wind, although still high, was very mild, the sun shone strong, and Alan began to suffer in pro- portion. 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. CadelPs, it seemed a desert-like, backgoing town, about half full of ruined houses ; but the ale-house was clean, and Alan, who was now in a glowing heat, must indulge himself with a bottle of ale, and carry on to the new luckie with the old story of the cold upon his stomach, only now the symptoms were all different. I sat listening ; and it came in my mind that I had scarce ever heard him address three serious words to any woman, but he was always drolling and fleering and making a private mock of them and yet brought to that business a remarkable de- gree of energy and interest. Something to this effect I remarked to him, when the good-wife (as chanced) was called away. " What do ye want ? " says he. " A man should aye put his best foot forrit with the womenkind ; he should aye give them a bit of a story to divert them, the poor lambs I It's what ye should learn to attend to, David ; ye should get the principles, it's like a trader 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 CATRIONA. 137 Id, the n pre- side to tiimseli be the round h they :adeirs, )ut half i clean, t, must arry on he cold were all i that I serious drolling f them able de- to this wife (as should mkind ; divert d learn nciples, young r have aince set up to be apotecaries. Why ? What do I ken 1 They'li be just the way God made them, I sup- pose. But I think a man would be a gomeral that didnae give his attention to the same." And here, the luckie coming back, he turned from me as if with impatience to renew their former conversation. The lady had branched some while before from Alan's stomach to the case of a goodbrother of her own in Aberlady, whose last sickness and demise she was describing at extra- ordinary length. Tometimes it was merely dull, sometimes both dull and awfiil, for she talked with unction. The upshot was that I fell in a deep muse, looking forth of the window on the road, and scarce marking what I saw. Presently had any been looking they might have seen me to start. " We pit a fomentation to his feet," the good- wife was saying, *^ and a het stane to his wame, and we gied him hyssop and water of pennyroyal, and fine, clean baJsam of sulphur for the hoast. . . ." " Sir," says I, cutting very quietly in, " there's a friend of mine gone by the house." " Is that e'en sae ? " replies Alan, as though it were a thing of small account. And then, " Ye were saying, mem ? " says he ; and the wearyful wife went on. ■ Presently, however, he paid her with a half- crown piece, and she must go forth after the change. ' " Was it him with the red head ? " asked Alan. " Ye have it," said I. " What did I tell you in the wood ? " he cried. li 1)1 1^ 138 CATRIONA. it n I •Mil ;i iiii ** And yet it's strange he should be here too 1 Was he his lane ? " " His lee-lane for what I could see," said I. " Did he gang by ? " he asked. " Straight by," said I, " and looked neither to the right nor leift." "And that's queerer yet," said Alan. "It sticks in my mind, Davie, that we should be stirring. But where to ?— deil hae*t I This is like old days fairly," cries he. " There is one big differ, though," said I, " that now we have money in our pockets." " And another big differ, Mr. Balfour," says he, " that now we have dogs at our tail. They're on the scent ; they're in juU cry, David. It's a bad business and be damned to it." And he sat think- ing hard with a look of his that I knew well. ** I'm saying, Luckie," says he, when the good- wife returned, i*^ have ye a back road out of this change house ? " She told him there was and where it led to. " Then, sir," says he to me, " I think that will be the shortest road for is. And here's good-bye to ye, my braw woman ; and I'll no forget thon of the cinnamon water." We wen^ out by way of the woman's kale yard, and up a lane among fields. Alan looked sharply to all sides, and seeing we were in a little hollow place of the country, out of view of men, sat down. "Now for a council of war, Davie," said he. "But first of all, a bit lesson to ye. Suppose that I had been like you, what would yon old wife have CATRIONA. 139 [ Was I. ther to n. "It >uld be This is [, "that says he, 5y*re on 's a bad it think- 1. ,e good- of this to. Ihat will ;ood-bye thon of lie yard, sharply hollow down. }aid he. >se that life 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 bodyl and was rejd ta^en up about the goodbrother. O man, David, try and learn to have some kind of intelli- gence ! " " I'll try, Alan," said L " And now for him of the red head,*' says he ; ** was he gaun fast or slow ? " " Betwixt and between," said I. "No kind of a hurry about the man?" he asked, " Never a sign of it," said I. " Nhm I " 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 I Dod, Davie, I begin to take a notion, I think it's no you they're seek- ing, I think it*8 me ; and I think they ken fine where they're gaun." " They ken ? " I asked. " I think Andie Scougal's sold me — him or his mate wha kent some part of the affair — or else Charlie's clerk callant, which would be a pity too," says Alan ; " and if you askit me for just my inward private conviction, I think there'll be heads cracked on Gillane sands." " Alan," I cried, " if you're at all right there'll be folk there and to spare. It'll be small service to crack heads." "It would aye be a satisfaction though," says ' ^ 1 Km v' t 140 Alan. CATRIONA. u It bide a bit, bide a bit ; I'm thinking— and thanks to this bonny westland wind, I believe IVe still a chance of it. It^s this way, Davie. Fm no trysted with this man Scougal till the gloaming comes. ^»/," says he, " ^J can get a bit of a wind out of the west Pll he there long or that^^ he says, " and lie-to for ye behind the Isle of Fidra, Now if your gentry kens the place, they ken the time forbye. Do ye see me coming, Davie ? Thanks to Johnnie Cope and other red-coat gomerals, I should ken this country like the back of my hand ; and if ye're ready for another bit run with Alan Breck, we'll can cast back inshore, and come down to the seaside again by Dirleton. If the ship's there, we'll try and get on board of her. If she's no there, I'll just have to get back to my weary haystack. But either way of it, I think we will leave your gentry whistling on their thumbs." ** I believe there's some chance in it," said L " Have on with ye, Alan 1 " ^s ting— )elieve . rm aming a wind e says, Now if 3 time inks to should and if Breck, I to the e, weUl ere, Til L. But gentry said L CHAPTER Xm. GILLANE SANDS. I DID not profit by Alan's pilotage as he had done by his marchings undor 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. " Hae ye seen my horse ? " he gasped. " Na, man, I haenae seen nae horse the day," replied the countryman. And Alan spared the time to explain to him that we were travelling " ride and tie " ; that our charger had escaped, and it was feared he had gone home to Linton. Not only that, but he expended some breath (of which he had not very much left) to curse his own misfortune and my stupidity which was said to be its cause. " Them that cannae tell the truth," he observed to myself as we went on again, " should be aye mindful to leave an honest, handy lee behind them. If folk dinnae ken what yeVe doing, Davie, they're terrible taken up with it ; but if they think they ken, the care nae mair for it than what I do for pease porridge." As we had first made inland, so our road came m f 1 1 t' < ■ i 142 CATRIONA. t \i I :4 .;! ■ 1 , ■ ? 4-. ^: J j: ,n 1 ii Si 1 ill 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, Craig- leith, the Lamb, Fidra, and Eyebrough, notable by their diversity of si2;e and shape, Fidra is the most particular, being a strange grey islet of two humps, mad( the more conspicuous by a piece of ruin ; and I mind that (as we drew closer to it) by some door or window of these ruins the sea peeped through like a man*s eye. Under the lee of Fidra there is a good anchorage in westerly winds, and there, from a far way off, we could see the Thistle riding. The shore in face of these islets is altogether waste. Here is no dwelling of man, and scarce any passage, or at most of vagabond children running at their play. Gillane is a small place on the far side of the Ness, the folk of Dirleton go to their business in the inland fields, and those of North Berwick straight to the sea-fishing from their haven ; so that few parts of the coast are lonelier. But I mind, as we crawled upon our bellies into that multiplicity of heights and hollows, keeping a bright eye upon all sides, and our hearts hammering at our ribs, there was such a shining of the sun and the sea, such a stir of the wind in the bent grass, and such a bustle of down-popping rabbits and up-fiying gulls, that the desert seemed to me like a place alive. No doubt it was in all CATRIONA. i43 N be old ft ; on it was • from Grillane Craig- tiotable is the of two uece of o it) by peeped ►f Fidra [ds, and } Thistle together i scarce :hildren >lace on go to hose of g from ast are ^on our Lollows, hearts lining of in the )pping seemed in all ways well chosen for a secret embarcation, if the secret had been kept ; and even now that it was out, and the place watched, we were able to creep unperceived to the front of the sandhills, where they look down immediately on the beach and sea. But here Alan came to a full stop. " Davie,'* said he, " this is a kittle passage ! As long as we lie here weVe safe ; but I'm nane sae muckle nearer to my ship or the coast of France. And as soon as we stand up and signal the brig, it's another matter. For where will your gentry be, think ye ? " " Maybe they're no come yet," said I. " And even if they are, there's one clear matter in our favour. They'll be all arranged to take us, that's true. But they'll have arranged for our coming from the east and here we are upon their west." " Ay," says Alan, "I wish we were in some force, and this was a battle, we would have bonnily out-manoeuvred them ! But it isnae, Davie ; and the way it is, is a wee thing less inspiring to Alan Breck. I swither, Davie." " Time flies, Alan," said I. " I ken that," said Alan. " I ken naethmg else, as the French folk say. But this is a dreidfui case of heids or tails. O ! if I could but ken where your gentry were ! " ** Alan," said I, " this is no like you. It's got to be now or never." •• This is no me, quo' he," sang Alan, with a queer face betwixt shame and drollery. ■X '■ 'I 144 CATRIONA. *i Neither yoa nor me, quo' he, neither yOU nor me. Wow, na, Johnnie man I neither you nor me." ^l And then of a sudden he stood straight up where he was, and with a handkerchief flying in his right hand, marched down upon the beach. I stood up myself, but lingered behind him, scanning the sand-hills to the east. His appearance was at first unremarked : Scougal not expecting him so early, and my gentry watching on the other side. Then they awoke on board the Thistle^ and it seemed they had all in readiness, for there was scarce a second*s bustle on the deck before we saw a skiff put round her stern and begin to pull lively for the coast Almost at the same moment of time, and perhaps half a mile away towards Gillane Ness, the figure of a man appeared for a blink upon a sandhill, waving with his arms ; and though he was gone again in the same flash, the gulls in that part continued a little longer to fly wild. Alan had not seen this, looking straight to sea- ward at the ship and skiff. *^ It maun be as it will I '' said he, when I had told him. **Weel may yon boatie row, or my craig*ll have to thole d raxing." .^ That part of the beach was long and flat, and excellent walking when the tide was down ; a little cressy burn flowed over it in one place to the sea ; and the sandhills ran along the head of it like the rampart of a town. No eye of ours could spy what was passing behind there in the bents, no hurry of ours could mend the speed of the boat's CATRIONA. M5 me. ght up lying in ;ach. I canning e was at him so ler side. , and it lere was ; we saw all lively iment of s Gillane ink upon ough he s in that t to sea- n I had or my flat, and own ; a re to the lad of it irs could mts, no le boat's coming: time stood still with us through that uncanny period of waiting. « . "There is one thing I would like to ken," says Alan. "I would like fine to ken these gentry's orders. We're worth four hunner pound the pair of us : how if they took the guns to us, Davie? They would get a bonny shot from the top of that lang sandy bauk." ** Morally impossible," said I. "The point is that they can have no guns. This thing has been gone about too secret ; pistols they may have, but never guns." " I believe ye'U be in the right," says Alan. " For all which I am wearying a good deal for yon boat." And he snapped his fingers and whistled to it like a dog. It was now perhaps a third of the way in, and wo ourselves already hard on the margin o^ the sea, so that the soft sand rose over my shoes. There was no more to do whatever but to wait, to look as much as we were able at the creeping nearer of the boat, and as little as we could manage at the long impenetrable front of the sandhills, over which the gulls twinkled and behind which our enemies were doubtless marshalling. " This is a fine, bright, caller place to get shot in," says Alan suddenly ; " and, man, I wish that I had your courage ! " " Alan I " 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." > ii « '! V' 146 CATRIONA, "And you would be the more mistaken/' said he. "What makes the differ with me is just my great penetration and knowledge of affairs. But for auld, cauld dour, deidly courage, I am not fit to hold a candle to yourself. . Look at us two here upon the sands. Here am I, fair 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 I Firstl)', because I havenae got the courage and wouldnae daur ; and secondly, because I am a man cf so much penetration and would see ye damned first." "It's there ye're coming, is it?" I cried. "Ah, man Alan, you can wile your old wives, but you never can wile me." Remembrance of my temptation in the wood made me strong as iron. " I have a tryst to keep," I continued. " I am tryst • ed with your cousin Charlie; I have passed my word." "Braw trysts that you'll can keep," said Alan. "Ye'll just mistryst aince and for a' with the gentry in the bents. And what for?" he went on with an extreme threatening gravity. "Just tell me that, my mannie ! Are ye to be speerited away like Lady Grange ? Are they to drive a dirk in your inside and bury ye in the bents? Or is it to be the other way, and are they to bring ye in with James? Are they folk to be trustit ? Would ye stick your L-, ^ in the mouth of Sim Fraser and the ither Whigs?" he added with extraordinary bittsrness. CATRIONA. 147 n," said is just affairs. 5, I am Look at 1 I, fair . that I no stop. would ? got the , because id would I cried. Id wives, the Wood am tryst- ny word." aid Alan, with the he went r. **Just speerited drive a le bents? they to flk to be e mouth iC added "Alan," cried I, "theyVe all rogues and liars, and I'm with yc there. The more reason there should be one decent man in such a land oi thieves! My word is passed, and V\l 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 mme I will, then. Here I stop. Prestongrange promised me my life : if he's to be mansworn, here 1*11 have to die." " Aweel, aweel," said Alan. All this time we had seen or heard no more of our pursuers. In truth we had caught them unawares ; their whole party (as I was to learn afterwards) had not yet rejiched 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 th^ boat was making speed. They were besides but cowardly fellows : a mere leash of Highland cattle-thieves, of several clans, no gentleman there to be the captain : and the more they looked at Alan and me upon the beach, the less (I must suppose) they liked the look of us. Whoever had betrayed Alan it was not the captain : he was in the skiif himself, steering and stirring up his oaismeu, like a man with his heart m his employ. Already he was near in, and the boat securing — already Alan's face had flamed crimson with the excitement of his de- liverance, when our friends in the bents, ei^-her in their despair to see their prey escape them 11 !( ■} ) i« -Ml ; i ■ If- 51 i- ■ 'I (' ■II :l ; 1:, 148 CATRIONA. or with some hope of scaring Andie, raised suddenly a shrill cry of several voices. This sound, arising from what appeared to be a quite deserted coast, was really very daunting, and the men in the boat held water instantly. "What*s this of it?" sings out the captain, for he was come within an easy hail. "Freens o^ mine," says Alan, and began immediately to wade forth in the shallow water to- wards the boat. " Davie," he said, pausing, " Davie, are ye no coming ? I am swier to leave ye." " Not a hair of me," said I. He stood part of a second where he was to his knees in the salt water, hesitating. "He that will to Cupar, maun to Cupar,^' said he, and swashing in deeper than his waist, was hauled into the skiff, which was immediately directed for the ship. I stood where he had left me, with my hands behind my back ; Alan sat with his head turned watching me ; and the boat drew smoothly away. Of a sudden I came the nearest hand to shedding tears, and seemed to myself the most deserted solitary lad in Scotland. With that I turned my back upon the sea and faced the sandhills. There wa? 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, CATRIONA. 149 raised I to be anting, captain, began rater to- * Davie, was to Cupar,^^ is waist, mediately ly hands turned ly away. Lhedding [deserted ned my There shone blew in Ing. A.S ice were js. The Inchancy 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 rogi'*^? hired for my undoing, perhaps to kidnap, perhaps to murder me outright. From the position of those engaged, the first was the more likely ; from what I knew of their character and ardency in this business, I thought the second very possible ; and the blood ran cold about my heart. I had a mad idea to loosen my sword in the scabbard ; for though I was very unfit to stand up like a gentleman blade to blade, I thought I could do some scathe in a random combat. But I perceived in time the folly of resistance. This was no doubt the joint "expedient" on which Prestongrange and Eraser were agreed. The first, I was very sure, had done something to secure my life ; the second was pretty likely to have slipped in some contrary hints into the ears of Neil and his companions ; and if I were to show bare steel I might play straight into the hands of my worst enemy and seal my own doom. 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 m .'■ V , h r > '1 •■ 'i I f ISO CATRIONA. like water underfoot'. But I caught hold at latt 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 d^S^i* hi 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. 1 held out my hands empty ; whereupon one asked, with a strong Highland brogue, if I surrendered. " Under protest," said I, " if ye ken what that means, which I misdoubt." At that word, they came all in upon me like a flight of birds upon a carrion^ seized me, took my sword, and all the money from my pockets, bound me hand and foot with some strong line, and cast me on a tussock of bent. There they sat about their captive tn 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 nearei* 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* CATRIONA. 151 9t last pulled oment six or eirith a I shut them thing jye was strange lar with i held asked, tered. hat that me like ne, took pockets, mg line, tre they rcle and ingerous, iesently nearet nd very ly eyes. I could friend's and be Ipass out wick* In the course of two hours 01 so, more and more ragged Highland men kept collecting, Neil among the first, until the party must have num- bered near a score. With each new arrival there was a fresh bout of talk, that sounded like com- plaints and explanations ; but I observed one thing, none of those who came late had any share m the division of my spoils. The last discussion was very violent and eager, so that once I thought they would have quarrelled ; on the heels of which their company parted, the bulk of them returning westward in a troop, and only three, Neil and two others, remaining sentries on the prisoner. " I could n^me one who wouW be very ill pleased with your day's work, Neil Duncanson," said I, when the rest had moved away. He assured me in answer I should be tenderly used, for he knew he was " acquent wi' the leddy." This was all our talk, nor did any other son of man appear upon that portion of the coast until the sun had gone down among the High- land 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 thig benta on a farm horse. " I-ads," cried he, " hae ye a paper like this ? ** and held up one in his hand. Neil produced a second, which the newcomer studied through a pctir of horn spi^ctaclds, and saying all was right and we were the folk he was seeking, immediately i 1 i'l I 1 : U I5« CATRIONA. . >! r. ^ dtsmounced. 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 ot 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 looLed, 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 clifls, and, my mind being reassured CATRIONA. »53 as to my life, and my body and spirits wearied with the day's employment, I turned upon one side and slumbered. I had no means of guessing at what hour I was wakened, only the moon was down and the £re 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. ;! m; h i I CHAPTER XIV. THE BASS. I HAb no thought where they i^ere tdkihg me j only lobked here and there fol* the appearance of a ship ; and there ran the t^hile in ihy head a word of Ransome^s — the tm^nty-pounders. If I were to be expo^d a Second time to thalt same former danger of the plantaftiotiS) I jifdg6d it must turn ill with me ; there tiras tio s^ond Alan ; and no second shipwreck and spare yard to be expected now ; and I saw myself hoe tobacco under the whip's lash. The thought chilled me ; the air was sharp upon the water, the stretchers of the boat drenched with a cold dew : and I shivered in my place beside the steersman. This was the dark man whom I have called hitherto the Lowlander ; his name was Dale, ordinarily called Black Andie. Feeling the thrill of my shiver, he very kindly handed me a rough jacket full of fish-scales, with which I was glad to cover myself. **I thank you for this kindness," said I, ^^and will make so free as to repay it with a warning. You take a high responsibility in this affair. You are not like these ignorant, barbarous High« landers, but know what the law is and the risks of those that break it.** " I am no just exactly what ye would ca' an ex* tremist for the law,** says he, " at the best of times j but in this business I act with a good warranty." " What are you going to do with me ? " I asked* ha^ en< thel of timj the the ' V CATRlONA. iSS ing me ; pearance thy head ders. If to that I jVaged s^oiid ►are yard e tobacco lied me ; stretchers : and I m. This hitherto )rdinarily ly shiver, et full of myself. I, **and warning, affair. IS High' :he risks o» a' an ex* f times ; nty." I asked^ "Nae harm," said he, "hae harm ava*. Ye'U have strong freens, I'ni thinking. YeUl be richt eneuch yet." There began tb fall a gre5mess 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, biit theVe \^ent 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 dan of white geese that cried about the sides, and tihe black, broken buildings of the prison sitting close on the sea's edge. At the sight the truth came in upon me in a clap. " It's there you're taking me I " I cried. " Just to the Bass, mannie," said he : " Whaur the auld saints were afore ye, and I misdoubt if ye have come so fairly by your preeson." " But none dwells there now," I cried ; " tfie place is long a ruin." "It'll be the mair pleisand a change for the solan geese, then," quoth Andie dryly. The day coming slowly brighter I observed on the bilge, among the big stones with which fisherfolk ballast their boats, several kegs and baskets, and a provision of fuel. All these were discharged upon the crag. Andie, myself, and i \ ■ ^i 1 iT I'l I 156 CATRIONA. my three Highlanders (I call them mine, although it was the other way ahout), landed along with them. The sun was not yet up when the boat moved away again, the noise of the oars on the thole-pins echoing from the cliffs, and left us in our singular reclusion. Andie Dale was the Prefect (as I would jocularly call him) of the Bass, being at once the shepherd and the gamekeeper of that small and rich estate. He had to mind the dozen or so of sheep that fed and fattened on the grass of the sloping part of it, like beasts grazing the roof of a cathedral. He had charge besides of the solan geese that roosted in the crags ; and from these an extraordinary income is derived. The young are dainty eating, as much as two shillings a-piece being a common price, and paid willingly by epicures ; even the grown birds are valuable for their oil and feathers ; and a part of the minister's stipend of North Berwick is paid to this day in solan geese, which makes it (in some folks* eyes) a parish to be coveted. To perform these several businesses, as well as to protect the geese from poachers, Andie had frequent occasion to sleep and pass days together on the crag ; and we found the man at home there like a farmer in his steading. Bidding us all shoulder some of the packages, a matter in which I made haste to bear a hand, he led us in by a locked gate, which was the only admission to the island, and through the ruins of the fortress, to the governor's house. There we saw by the ne ri CATRIONA 157 although >ng with the boat s on the eft us in I would at once lat small dozen or :he grass izing the esides of ags ; and derived. 1 as two and paid birds are part of is paid es it (in ed. To 11 as to die had together at home {dding us atter in led us dmission fortress, by the ashes in the chimney and a standing bed-place in one comer, that he made his usual occupation. This bed he now offered me to use, saying ne supposed I would set up to be gentry. "My gentrice has nothing to do with where I lie," said L "I bless God I have lain hard ere now, and can do the same again with thankfulness. While I am here, Mr. Andie, if that be your name, I will do my part and take my place beside the rest of you ; and I ask] you on the other hand to spare me your mockery, which I own I like ill." He grumbled a little at this speech, but seemed upon reflection to approve it. Indeed, he was a long-headed, sensible man, and a good Whig and Presbyterian ; read daily in a pocket Bible, and was both able and eager to converse seriously on religion, leaning more than a little towards the Cameronian extremes. His morals were of a more doubtful colour. I found he was deep in the free ^rade, and used the ruins of Tantallon for a magazine of smuggled merchandise. As for a ganger, 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 com- mons there as rough a crew, as any in Scotland. One incident of my imprisonment is made memorable by a consequence it had long after. There was a warship at this time stationed in the Firth, the Seahorse^ Captain Palliser. It chanced she was cruising in the month of Sep- tember, plying between Fife and Lothian, and sounding for sunk dangers. Early one fine '?? CATBIQNA. mprnixig she was ^e^n about twp miles tp east of us, where she lowered a boat, and seemed to examine the Wildfire Rocij^s and Satan's Pv^i famous dangers of that qoast. And presently after having got her boa^ ?gain, she came before the wind and was headed directly for the Bass. This was very troublesome tp Andie and the Highlanders ; the whole business of my sequestra- tion was designed for privacy, and here, with a navy captain perhaps blunder mg 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 lyas far from sure that a warship was the least likely to improve my condition. All which considered, I gave Andie my parole of gopd 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 con- cealment. The Seahorse came strajght on tiU J 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 wor^ 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 ouf 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 some- what childish pleasure that Captain Palliser had CAXraONA, 159 cotne $0 near the Bass. He was to pay dear for it in time. During his approach I had the opportunity to make a r^emark 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 PaJVser himself a sensible disappointment. All the time of my stay on the rock we lived well. We had small ale and brandy, and oatmeal, of which we made our porridge night and morning. At times a boat came from the Castleton and brought us a quarter of mutton, for the sheep upon the rock we must not touch, these being specially fed to market. The geese were unfortunately out of season, and we let them be. We fished ourselves, and yet more often made the geese to fish for us : observing one when he had made a capture and scaring him from his prey ere he had swallowe J It. The strange nature of this plrce, and the curio- sities 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 medita- tions. The prison, too, where I now bivouacked with Highland cattle-thieves, was a place full of history, both human and divine. I thought it hit' l6o CATRIONA. m M 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 tv>bacco-pipes for the most part, and that in a sui prising plenty, but also metal buttons from their coats. There were times when I thought I could have heard the pious sound of psalms out of the martyrs' dungeons, and seen the soldiers tramp the ramparts with their glinting pipes and the dawn rising behind them out of tht North Sea. No doubt it was a good deal Andie and his tales that put these fancies in my head. He was extra- ordinarily 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 closer 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 pre- sently) effected this beyond my expectation ; but even in early days we made a friendly pair to be a prisoner and his gaoler. I should trifle with my conscience if I pretended my stay upon the Bass was wholly disagreeable. It in m CATRTONA. i6i 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 myseh Lo gloat on them like stolen waters. At other tu.ies 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 ^.ave invented than endured ; and in the eyes of tl ^e two gentlemen, at least, I must pass for h Doaster and a coward. Now I would take thi*' lightly enough ; tell myself that so long as I stood well with Catriona Drummond, the opinion or the rest of man was but moonshine and spilled water ; and thence pass off into those meditations of a lover which are so delightful to himself and must always appear so surprisingly idle to a reader. But anon the fear would take me otherwise ; I would be shaken with a perfect panic of self-esteem, and these supposed hard judgments appear an injustice impossible to be supported. With that another train of thought would be presented, and I had scarce begun to be concerned about men*s judgrments 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 m I6t CATRIONA. i J 1^ idle : it seemed (if I were a man at all) that I could fly or swim out of my place of safety ; and it was in such humours and to amuse my self- reproaches that I would set the more particularly to win the good side of Andie Dale. At last, when we two were alone on the summit of the rock on a bright morning, I put in some hint about a bribe. He looked at me, cast back his head, and laughed out loud. " Ay, you're funny, Mr. Dale," said I, " but per- haps if you'll glance an eye upon that paper you may change 3K)ur note." The stupid Highlanders had taken from me at the time of my seizure nothing but hard money, and the pa- per I now ^o wed Andie wasanacknowledgmentfrom the British Linen Company for a considerable sum. He read it. ^' Troth, and ye're nane sae ill aff," said he. "I thought that would maybe vary your opinions," said 1. "Houtl" said he. "It shows me ye can bribe; but I'm no to be bribit." "We'll see about that yet a while," says 1. " And first, I'll show you that I know what I am talking. You have orders to detain me here till after Thursday, 21st September." " Ye're no e'thegether wrong either," says Andie. " I'm to \dt you gang, bar orders con- trair, on Saturday, the 23rd.*' I could not but feel there was something ex- tremely insidious in this arrangement. That I was to re-appear precisely in time to be too late would to Usi ki mi haj kii CATRIONA. 163 that I :y ; and ny self- icularly summit me hirit ds head, but per- per you ne at the idthepa- lentfrom ie sum. e iU aff," y 3rour n bribe; says I. at I am lere till »» says con- ning ex- ^t I was would cast the more discredit oh my tale, if I were minded to tell one ; and this screwed me to fighting point. "Now then, Andie, you that kens the world, listen to me, and think while ye listen," said I. " I know diere 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 be- gan, and said my say into their faces too. But what kind of a crime would this be that I had com- mitted ? or what kind of a process is this that I am fallen under ? To be apprehended by some ragged John-Hielandman on Augus^t 30th, carried to a rickle of old atones that is now neither fort nor gaoi (whatever it once was), but just the game« keeper *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 tiot sound honestly like a piece of some low dirty intrigue, of which the very folk that meddle with it are ashamed ? " "I canna gainsay ye, Shaws. It looks unco underhand," says Andie. *^ And werenae the folk guid sound Whigs and true-blue Presbyterians I would hae seen them ayont Jordan and Jeroozlem or I would have set hand to it." " The Master of Lovat'U be a braw Whig," says I, " and a grand Presbyterian.' " I ken naething by him," said he. " I hae nae trokings wi' Lovats." " No, it*ll be Prestongrange that you'll be deal- ing with," said I. " Ah, but I'D no tell ye that," said Andie. " Little need when I ken," w^«* my retort. i ' i .'1 II iii J i, 164 CATRIONA. "There's just the ae thing ye can be fairly sure of, Shaws," says Andie. " And that is that (try as ye please) I'm no dealing wi' yoursel' ; nor yet I amnae goin' to/' he added. " Well, Andie, I see I'll have to be speak out plain with you," I replied. And I told him so much as I thought needful of the facts. He heard me out with some serious interest, and when I had done, seemed to consider a little with himself " Shaws," said he at last, " I deal with the naked hand. It's a queer tale, and no very credit- able, the way you tell it ; and I'm far frae minting that is other than the way that ye believe it. As for yourser, ye seem to me rather a dacent-like young man. But me, that's aulder and mail judeecious, see perhaps a wee bit further forrit in the job than what ye can dae. And here is the maitter clear and plain to ye. There'll be nae skaith to yoursel' if I keep ye here ; far frae that, I think ye'll be a hantle better by it There'll be nae skaith to the kintry — just ae mair Hielantman hangit — Gude kens, a guid riddance I On the ither hand, it would be considerable skaith to me if I would let you free. Sae, speakin' as a guid Whig^ an honest freen' to you, and an anxious freen' to my ainsel', the plain fact is that I think ye'll just have to bide here wi' Andie an' the solans." ^^ Andie," said I, laying my hand upon his knee, ^ this Hielantman's innocent." " Ay, it's a peety about that," said he. " But ye see, in this warld, the way God made it, we cannae just get a'thing that we want." CHAPTER XV. . BLACK ANDIB'S TALK OP TOD LAPRAUt* I HAVE yet said little of the Highlanders. They were all three of the followers of James More, which bound the accusation very tight about their master's neck. All understood a word or two of English ; but Neil was the only one •who judged he had enough of it for general converse, in which (when once he got embarked) his company was often tempted to the contrary opinion. They were tractable, simple creatures ; showed much more courtesy than might have been expected from their raggedness and their uncouth appearance, and fell spontaneously to be like three servants for Andie and myself. Dwelling in that isolated place, in the old falling ruins of a prison, and among endless strange sounds of the sea and the sea-birds, I thought I perceived in them early the effects of superstitious fear. When there was nothing doing they would either lie and sleep, for which their appetite ap- peared 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 cr ;tched, a man strung BTJ U H 1 66 CATRIONA. i like a bow. The nature of these fears I had never an occasion to find out, but the sight of them was catching, and the nature of the place that we were in favourable to alarms. I can find no word for it in the English, but Andie had an expression for it in the Scots from which he never varied. " Ay," he would say, "i/V an unco place^ the Bassf 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, dreadfid but merry to hear ; and it was in the calm days that a man could daunt himself with listening — not a Highlandman only, as I several times experimented on myself, so many still, hollow noises haunted and reverberated in the porches of the rock. This brings me to a story I heard, and a scene I took part in, which quite changed our terms of living, and had a great effect on my departure. It chanced one night I fell in a muse beside the fire and (that little air of Alan's coming back to my memory) began to whistle. A hand was laid upon my arm, and the voice of Neil bade me to stop, for it was not ** canny musics." " Not canny ? " I asked. ** How can that be ? " ** Na," said he ; ^^ it will be made by a bogle and her wanting ta heid upon his body." * * A learn«d Coi!::Ioriit of my acquaintance hereby identifies 5 1! CATRIONA. id never lem was we were 7ord for pression ed. le Bass/ m unco ire unco le plash itinually weather. ' roared rums of t was in ;elf with several w hollow rches of scene I irms of are. It he fire to my d upon top; for be?" |[le and d^ntifiat 167 « WeU/' said I, ** there can be no* bogles here, Neil ; for it's not likely they would iash themselves to frighten geese." " Ay ? " says Andie, ** is that what ye think of it? Bat I can tell ye there's been waur nor bogles here." " What's waur than bogles, Andie ? " said I. "Warlocks," said he. "Or a warlock at the least of it. And that's a queer tale, too," he added. " And if ye would like, I'll tell it ye." To be sure we were all of the one mind, and even the Highlander that had the least English of the three set himself to listen with all his might. The Tale op Tod Lapraik. My faither. Tarn 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 employ- ment. 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 loot upon the Bass. Sorrow upon that service 1 The governor brewed his ain ale ; it seems it was the warst conceivable. The rock was proveesioned frae the shores with vivers, the thing Alan's air. It has been printed (it seems) in Campbell's Ta/is of the Wtst Highlands, 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 io question. i i l68 CATRIONA. 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 Tarn 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 candle (or carrying a firelock) in so black a busi- ness. 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 hke a pairt of Heev'n. Black shame was on his saul ; his sins hove lip before him muckle as the Bass, and above a\ ihat chief sin, that he should have a hand in bagging and hashing at Christ's Kirk. But the truth is that he resisted the spirit. Day cam, there were the rousing compainions, and his guid resolves depairtit. In thir days, J walled upon the Bass a man of God, Peden the Prophet was his name. Ye'U have heard tell of Prophet Peden. There was never the wale of him sinjyne, and it's a question wi' mony if there ever was his like afore. He was wild 's a 111 CATRIONA. 169 en they et. To lecution. peed wi' >f which carried a lass and nan was id glints 5S when sguided, laulding a busi- vas here ►* winter lear ane rest join lifferent say — so pairt of his sins d above land in {ut the 1) there esolves lan of [11 have rer the lony if lid 's a peat-hag, fearsome to look at, fearsome to hear, his face like the day of judgment. The voice of him was like a solan's and dinnle'd in folks' lugs, and the words of him like coals of fire. Now there was a lass on the rock, and I think she had little to do, for it was nae place far dacent weemen ; but it seems she was bonny, and her and Tarn Dale were very well agreed. It befell that Peden was in the gairden his lane at the praying when Tarn 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 Tarn'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 I " says he, I and it was the lass he lookit at, " I hear you skirl and laugh," he says, " but the Lord has a deid shol prepared for you, and at that surprising judgment ye shall skirl but the ae time ! " Shortly there- after she was daundering on the craigs wi' twa-three sodgers, and it was a blawy day. There cam a gowst of wind, claught her by the coats, and awa' wi' her bag and baggage. And it was remarked by the sodgers that she gied but the ae skirl. Nae doubt this judgment had some weichc upon Tam Dale ; but it passed again and him none the better. Ae day he was flyting wi' anither sodger- lad. " Deil hae me 1 " quo' Tam, for he was a profane swearer. And there was Peden glowering at him, gash an' waef'T* ; 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 i !• I70 CATRiONA. H uJ % '9m the finge: -n^^s— f )j h(5 haJ nae ; : r* of the body. " Fy, ' '. pool ^an ' *' cries he, " tb- poor fool man ! Dei/ hoe nu^ quo' hj , a.n- • see tlie deil at his oxter." The conviction rfgisilt and grace cam in on Tara like) the deep sea ; he tiang doun the pike that was in his hands — '' I will nae mair lift arms against the cause o* Christ 1 " 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 dis- chairge, and he went and dwalLt and married in North Berwick, and had aye a gude name with honest folk frae that day on. It was in the year seeventeen hunner and sax that the Bass cam in the hands o' the Da'rymples, and there was twa men soucht the chairge of it Baith were weel qua!;iied, for they had baith been sodgers in the garriscii, and kent the gate to hi\ndle 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 wa*i just Tam Dale, my faither. The second was ane Lapraik, whom the folk ca'd Tt d Lapraik uiaistlyj but whether ^6r his name or \m iiature 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 kirk- yaird. 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 ead, and was litl d< fail tral mt kli hai .^te^ in shol his( W' CATEIONA. 171 little liked by some that kenned the best. The door was op the sneck that d«',, anu r^e and my faithei gaed straucht In. Tod vvas i. v, ab-Jt ii to his trade ; his loom stood in the but. l hore he sat, a muckle fat, white hash of a man tke creish, wV a kind of a holy smile that gart *; ^ set inner. The hand of him aye cawed the shuttle, but his een was .^teeked. We cried to him by his name, we skirled in the deid lug of him, we shook him by the shou'ther. Nae mainner o^ service I There he sat on hisdowp,an' cawed the shuttle and smiled likecreish. ** God be guid to us," sa3rs Tarn Dale, *^ this is no canny. He had jimp said the word, when Tod Lapraik cam to himsel'. " Is this ycu, Tarn ? " says he. " Haith, man 1 I'm biytlfe to see ye. I whiles fa* into a bit dwam like this," he says ; " it's frae the stamach," Weel, they began to crack aibo a the Bass and which of them twa was to get the warding o't, and little by little cam to very il' werr' ., and twined in anger. I mind weel that a. i» / i:iri:her and me gaed hame again, he cam ower t; d ower the same expres sion, how little he iikit Tod Lipraik anu his dwams. " Dwam ! " 'ays he. "I thLiit folk hae brunt for dwams like yon." Aweel, my faither got the Bass and Tod had to go wantin\ It was remembered sinsyne what way he had ta'en the thing. ** Tarn," sayt he, '' ye hae gotten the better o* me aince mair, and I hope," says he, ** ye'll find at least a' that ye t xpeckit at the Bass." Which have since been thought re 'H' >rj ;i 172 CATRIONA. I markable expressions. At last the time came fot 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 him- sel*. So there was he hingin' by a line an' spelder- ing on the craig face, whaur its hieest and steighest. Power 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 solan's skirlin and flying. It was a braw spring morn, and Tam whustled as he claught in the young geese. Mony's the time I've heard him tell of this experience, and aye the swat ran upon the man. It chanced, ye see, that Tam keeked up, aad he was aw;iur of a muckle solan, and the solan pyking at the line. He thocht this by-ordinar an3 outside the creature's habits. He minded that ropes was unro saft things, and the solan's neb and the Bass Rock unco hard, and that twa hunner feet were raither mair than he would care to fa'. ** Shoo I " says Tam. ** Awa', bird ! Shoo, awa' wi' ye ! " says he. The solan keekit doon into Tam's face, and there was something unco in the creature's ee. Just the ae keek it gied, and back to the rope. But now it wroucht and warstl't like a thing dementit There never was the solan made that i^roucht as that solan wroucht ; and it seemed to understand its employ brawly, birzing the saft rope between the neb of it and a crunkled jag o' stane. There gaed a cauld stead o' fear into Tarn's CATRIONA. 173 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 thoucht) ^' it's by wi' Tarn Dale." And he signalled for the lads to p'x' him up. And it scorned 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 flyiig, and dashed straucht at Tam Dale's een. Tam had a knife, he gart the cauld steel glitter. And it seemed the solan under- stood about knives, for nae suner did the steel glint in the sun than he gied the ae squawk, but laigher, like a body disappointit, and flagged aff about the roundness of the craig, and Tam saw him nae mair. And as sune as that thing was gane, Tam's heid drapt upon his shouther, and they pu'd him up like a deid corp, dadding on the craig. A dram of brandy (which he went never with* out) broucht him to his mind, or what was left of it. Up he sat. " RiUj Geordie, rin to the boat, mak' sure of the boat, man — rin I " he cries, " or yon solan '11 have it awa'," says he. The fower lads stared at ither, an' tried to whilly- wha him to be quiet. But naething would satisfy Tam Dale, till ane o^ them had startit on aheid to stand sentry on the boat. The ithers askit if he was for down again. " Na," says he, " and niether you nor me," says he, *^ and as su le as I can win to stand on my twa feet we*ll be atf frae this craig o' Sawtan." . \» ' » i T - *'■ I* i'J 174 CATRIONA. ;•!» Sure eneuch, nae time was lost, and that was ower muclde ; for before they won to North Berwidc Tain was in a crying fever. He lay a' the simmer ; and wha was sae kind as come speir- ing for him, but Tod Lapraik I Folk thocht after- wards that ilka time Tod cam near the house the fever had worsened. I kenna for that ; but what I ken the best, that was the end of it. It was about this time o' the year ; my grand- (aither 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 Ks near in by the bass, whaur we foregaithered wi' anither boat that belanged to a man Sandie Fletcher in Castleton. He's no lang deid neither, or ye could speir at himsel'. Weel, Sandie hailed. " What's yon on the Bass ? " says he. ** On the Bass ? " says grandfaither. " Ay," says Sandie, " on the green side o't.* " Whatten kind of a thing ? •' says grandfaitner. '•^ There cannae be naething on the Bass but just the sheep." "It looks unco iike a body," quo' Sandie, who was nearer in. ** A body I " 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 faithcr's at hame in the press bed. We keept the twa boats close for company, and crap in ne;u'er hand. Grandfaither had a gless, for he had been a sailor, and the captain of a smackt and had lost her on the sands of Tay. And when u lat was North s lay a* le speir- it after- ►use the : what I ^7 grand- d like a a grand broucht ered wi* Sandie neither, i hailed. o't; [dfaitner. but just [die, who us likit lid have lett hung [any, and rless. for smackt Ind when CATRIONA. 175 we took the gless to it, sure eneuch there was a man. He was in a crunkle o' green brae, a wee below the chaipel, a^ by hit lee lane, and lowped and flang and danced like a daft quean at a ¥raddin\ "It's Tod," says grandfaither, and passed the gless to Sandie. " Ay, it's him," says Sandie. " Or ane in the likeness o' him," says grandfaither. " Sma' is the differ," quo' Sandie. " De'il or wariodc, I'll try the gun at him," quo' he, and broucht up a fowling-piece that h« aye carried, for Sandie was a notable famous shot in all that country. ^^ Haud your hand, Sandie," says grandfaither ; ** we maun see clearer first," says he, " or. this may be a dear day's wark to the baith of us." " Hout I " says Sandie, " this is the Lord's judgment surely, and be damned to it," says he. "Maybe ay, and maybe no," says my grand- faither, worthy man 1 " But have you a mind of the Procurator Fiscal, that I think yell have fore- gaithered wi' before," says he. This was ower true, and Sandie was a wee thing set ^'ee. "Aweel, Edie," says he, "and what would be your way of it ? '* " Ou, just this,'- says grandfaither. *^ Let me that has the fastest boat gang back to North Berwick, and let you bide here and keep an eye on Thon. If I cannae find Lapraik, I'll join ye and the twa of us'li have a crack wi' him. But if Lapraik's at hame, I'll rin up the flag at the pi! I '!i| M 4 fi 176 CATRIONA. harbour, and ye can try Thon Thing wi' the 11 gun Aweel, so it was agreed between them twa. I was just a bairn, an' dum 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 ae boat set aff for North Berwick, an' the tither lay whaur it was and watched :he wanchancy thing on the brae-side. A' the time we lay there it lowped and flang and capered and span like a teetotum, and whiles we could hear it skelloch as it span. I hae seen lassies, the daft queans, that would lowp and dance a winter's nicht, and still be lowping and dancing when the, winter's day cam in. But there would be fowk there to hauld them company, and the lads to egg them on ; and this thing was its lee-lane. And there would be a fiddler diddling his elbock in the chimney-side ; and this thing had nae music but the skirling of the solans. And the lassies were bits o' young things wi' the reid life dinnling and stending in their members ; and this was a muckle, fat creishy man, and him £ei'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 ■i CATRIONA. 177 wi' the twa. I B^haur I y. My : in his y again • North ras and 3-side. id flang 1 whiles lae seen d dance dancing irould be e lads to ^e. And in the usic but of his heart. Nae doubt they bum for it mucklc in hell, but they have a grand time here of it, what- ever ! — ^and the Lord forgie us ! Weel, at the hinder end, we saw the wee flag yirk up to the mast-held 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 Bassi And there were we rubbin' our een and lookin' at ither like daft folk. For wi' the bang and the skirl the thing had clean disappeared. The sun glintit, the wund blew, and there was the bare yaird whaur the Wonder had been lowping and flinging but ae second syne. The hale way hame I roared and grat wi' the terror o* that dispensation. The grawn folk were nane sae muckle better r there was little said in Saridie's ooat but just the name of God ; and when we won in by the pier, the harbour rocks were feir black wi' the folk waitin* us. It seems they had fund Lapraik in ane of his d warns, 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 thernsePs (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 hinder lands and fell forrit on the wab, a bluidy corp. ( ! ■l v^< ,.'^.. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // ^ .^V 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■^ lU 12.2 :^ 11° 12.0 I; i % ^;. ^ r c>W".^> ^> V vy .1 '^.^• 7 iemans CATRIONA. i?9 ye Hielant stot ! If God would give ye the grace to see ypur^el' the way that ithers see ye, ye would throw your denner up." There came some kind of a Gaelic oath from Neil, and the black knife was in his hand that moment. There was no time to think ; and I caught the Highlander by the leg, and had him down, and his armed hand pinned out, before I knew what X was doing. His comrades sprang to rescue him, Andie and I were without weapons, the Gregara three to two. It seemed we were beyond salvation, when Neil screamed in his own tongue, ordering the others back, and made his submission to myself in a manner the most abject, even giving me up his knife which (upon a repetition of his promises) I returned to him on the morrow. Two things I saw plain : the first, that I must not build too high on Andie, who had shrunk against the wall and stood there, as pale as death, till the ^ffair was over ; the second, the strength of my pwp 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 faiiilt 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 appearied changed ; and as he preserved ever after ^ great timidity of our companions, he and I were yet more constantly together. . I iiii s CHAPTER XVI. ' l!. e h THE MISSING WITNESS. On the seventeenth, the day I was trysted with the Writer, I had much rebellion against fate. The thought of him waiting in the King's Arms, and of what he would think, and what he would say when next we met, tormented and oppressed me. The truth was unbelievable, so much I had to grant, and it seemed cruel hard I should be posted as a liar and a coward, and have never consciously omitted what it was possible that I should do. I repeated this form of words with a kind of bitter relish, and re-examined in that light the steps of my behaviour. It seemed I had behaved to James Stewart as a brother might ; all the past was a picture that I could be proud of, and there was only the present to consider. I could not swim the sea, nor yet fly in the air, but there was always Andie. I had done him a service, he liked me ; I had a lever there to work on ; if it were just for decency, I must try once more with Andie. It was late afternoon ; there was no sound in all the Bass but the lap and bubble of a very quiet sea ; and my four companions were all crept apart, the three Macgregors higher on the rock, and Andie with his Bible to a sunny place among the ruins ; there 1 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. (?• li CATRIONA. i8i " If I thoucht it was to do guid to ye, Shaws ! " said he, staring at me over his spectacles. " It*s to save another," said I, " and to redeem my word. What would be more good than that r 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 v>hole world f^^ "Ay," said he, "that's grand for you. But where do I come in ? I have my word to redeem the same's yoursel'. And what are ye asking me to do, but just to sell it ye for siller ? " "Andie ! have I named the name of siller ? " cried I. " Ou, the name's naething," said he ; " the thing is there, whatever. It just comes to this ; if I am to service ye the way that you propose, I'll lose my lifelihood. Then it's clear ye'll have to make it up to me, and a pickle mair, for your ain credit like. And what's that but just a bribe ? And if even I was certain of the bribe ! But by a' that I can learn, it's far iirae that ; and if you were to hang, where would / be ? Na : the thing's no possible. And just awa' wi' ye like a bonny lad ! and let Andie read his chapter." I remember I was at bottom a good deal gratified with this result ; and the next humour I fell into was one (I had near said) of gratitude to Prestongrange, who had saved me, in this violent, illegal manner, out of the midst of my dangers, temptations, and perplexities. But this was both too flimsy and too cowardly to last me long, and the remembrance of James began to succeed to the possession of my spirits. The I 'I . V ii i : i [I I I i-if ■4^: 182 GATRIONA. 2 1st, 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 T lay on a brae-side betwixt sleep and waking, my body motionless, ihy mind full of violent thoughts. Sometimes I ^lept indeed ; but the court-house of Inverary and the prisoner glancing on all sides to find his missing witness, fol- lowed 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 rtie, but I paid him little heed. Verily, rrty bread was bitter to irie, and my days a burden. 'Early the next morning (Friday, 22rid) a boat came with provisions, and Artdie placed a packet in my hand. The c6ver Was Withdut 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 afiBxed to a separate sheet on which there was no scratch of writing ; and I had to c6hfess that (so far) hiy adversaries knew what they were doing, and to digest as well as I was able the threat that peeped under the promise. But the second enclosure wzls by far the more sutprising; It was in a lady^s hand of wiit Wi or CATRIONA. 183 ^^ Maister Dauvit Balfour is informed a friend was spkiring for hirn and her eyes were of the grey^^ it rati-— and seemed so extraordinary a piece to come to my hands at such a moment and under c^er bf a Government seal, that I stood stupid. Gfitribna's grey eyes shone in my re- membtante. I thought, with a bound of pleasure, she must be the friend. But who should th^ writer be, to have her billet thus enclosed with Preston'grawge^s ? And of all wonders, why was it thought neiedful to give me this pleasing but most inconsequential intelligence upon the Bass? For the writer, I could hit upon none possible except Miss Grant. Her family, I remembered, had reriiarked on Catriona*s eyes and even named her for their fcolour ; and she herself had been much in the habit to address n^e with a broad pronunciation, by way of a sniff, I supposed, at my rusticity. No doubt, besides, but she lived in the ssithe house as this lettef came from. So there remained but one step to be accounted or ; and that was how Prestongrange should have permitted her dt all in an affair so secret, or let her daft-like billet go in the same cover with his own. But even hefe I had a glimmering. For, first Of all, there was something rather alarming about the young lady, and papa might be more undter her domination than I knew. And, second, tliere was the man's continual policy to be remembered, how his cbnduct had bteen continually mingled with caresses, and he had scarce cver^ in the itiidst of so riiuch contention, I % \ \ i r i; ,l^ 1 \ 1 1 t i> B.,> V i t 1 •X 1 s 1 i ! s t 4lt K Hi 1 184 CATRIONA. laid aside a mask of friendship. He must conceive that my imprisonment had incensed me. Perhaps this little jesting, friendly message was intended to disarm my rancour ? I will be honest — and I think it did. I felt a sudden warmth towards that beautiful Miss Grant, that she should stoop to so much interest in my affairs. The summoning up of QUriona 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 spread in the sight of any fowl^ the Scripture says. Well, fowls must be wiser than folk ! For I thought I perceived the policy, and yet fell in with it. I was in this frame, my heart beating, the grey eyes plain before me like two stars, when *i<,die broke in upon my musing. " I see ye hae gotten guid news," said he. I found him looking curiously in my face ; with that there came before me like a vision of James Stewart and the court of Inverary ; and my mind turned at once like a door upon its hinges. Trials, I reflected, sometimes draw out longer than is looked for. Even if I came to Inverary just too late, something might yet be attempted in the interests of James— and in those of my own character, the best would be accomplished. In a moment, it seemed without thought, I had a plan devised. *' Andie," said I, " is it still to be to-morrow ? '' can if I CATRIONA. 185 He told me nothing was changed. " Was anything said about the hour ? " I asked. He told me it was to be two o'clock afternoon. " And about the place ? " I pursued. ** Whatten place ? " says Andie. " The place I am to be landed at ! " said I. He owned there was nothing as to that. " Very well, then," I said, " this shall be mine to arrange. The wind is in the east, my road lies west- ward : keep your boat, I hire it ; let us work up the Forth all day ; and land me at two o'clock to-mor- row at the westmost we'll can have reached." " Ye daft callant I " he cried ; ^* ye would try for Inverary after a' ! " " Just that, Andie," says I. " Weel, yeVe ill to beat I " says he. " And I was a kind o' sorry for ye a' day yesterday," he added. **Ye see, I was never entirely sure till then, which way of it ye really wantit." Here was a spur to a lame horse I " 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. Von Neil has a queei- eye when he regards you ; maybe, if I was once out of the gate there might be knives again ; these red-shanks are unco grudgefiil. And if there should come to be any question, here is your excuse. Our lives were in danger by these savages ; being answerabie for my safety, you chose the part to bring me from their neigh- i i I C 1 86 CATRIONA. < bourhood and detain me the rest of the time on board your boat : and do you know, Andie ? " says I, with a smile, " I think it was very wisely chosen." "The truth is I have nae goo for Neil," says Andie, " nor he for me, Tm thinking ; and I would like ill to come to my Lands 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 I they had forgot the place. Eh, Shaws, ye're a lang-heided chield when ye like ! Foi'by that Fm awing ye my life," he added, with more solemnity, and offered me his hand upon the bargain. Whereupon, with scarce more words, we stepped suddenly on board the boat, cast off, and set the lug. The Gregara were then busy upon breakfast, for the cookery was their usual part ; but, one of them stepping to the battle- ments, 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, iiailtog 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 en- dur wit mu set sola CATRIONA. 187 Lime on ? " says :hosen." il," says and I he man. it with »r, came spoken.) 5al with ink of it place — ws, ye*re that Fm >lemnity, )rds, we cast off, en busy sir usual 5 battle- 7/e were e three ng-shelf, en nest, e were e rock, iresently linto the t heeled beyond Ithey en- dured 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 con- solation, for even in the haste and secrecy of oui departure Andie had managed to remove it. It was our first care to set Anster ashore in a cove by the Glenteithy Rocks, so that the deliverance of our maroons might be duly seen to the next day. Thence we kept away up Firth. The breeze, which was then so spirited, swiftly declined, but never wholly failed us. All day we kept moving, though often not much more ; and it was after dark ere we were up with the Queensferry. To keep the letter of Andie's engagement (or what was left of it) I must remain on board, but I thought no harm to communicate with the shore in writing. On Prestongrange's cover, where the Government seal must have a good deal surprised my correspondent, I writ, by the boat*s lantern, a few necessary words alvoard, 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 stand- ing saddled for me by two to-morrow at Clackman- nan Pool. This done, and the boat riding by her stone anchor, we lay down to sleep under the sail. We were in the Pool the next day long ere two ; and there was nothing left for me but to sit and wait. I felt little alacrity upon my errand. I would have been glad of an)' passable excuse to lay it down ; but none being to be found, ; ! nil 1 88 CATRIONA. my uneasiness was no less great than if 1 had been running to some « desired pleasure. By shortly after uiie 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 im- patience. Andie ran the moment of my liberation very fine, showing himself a man of his bare word, but scarce serving his employers with a heaped measure ; and by about fifty seconds after two I was in the saddle and on the full stretch for Stirling. In a little more than an hour I had passed that town, and was already mounting Alan Water side, when the weather broke in a small tempest. The rain blinded me, the wind had nearly beat me from the saddle, and the first darkness of the night surprised me in a wilderness still some way east of Balwhidder, not very sure of my direction and mounted on a horse that began already to be weary. In the press of my hurry, and to be spared the delay and annoyance of a guide, I had followed (so far as it was possible for any horseman) the line of my journey with Alan. This I did with open eyes, foreseeing a great risk in it, which the tempest had now brought to a reality. The last that I knew of where I was, I think It must have been about Uam Var ; the hour perhaps six at night. I must still think it great good fortune that I got about eleven to my destination, the house of Duncan Dhu. Where I had wandered in the interval perhaps the horse could tell. I know we were twice down. i»9 I CATRIONA. 189 and once over the saddle and for a moment carried away in a roaring burn. Steed and rider were bemired up to the eyes. From Duncan I had news of the trial. It was followed in all these Highland regions with religious interest ; news of it spread from Inverary as swift as men could travel ; and I was rejoiced tG 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 ; out, Duncan having agreed to be my guide, took the road again on foot, with the piece in my hand and munching as I went. Duncan brought with him a flask of usquebaugh and a hand-lantern ; which last enlightened us just so long as we could find houses where to rekindle it, for the thing leaked outrageously and blew out with every gust The more part of the night we walked blindfold among sheets of rain, and day found us aimless on the mountains. Hard by we struck a hut on a burn-side, where we got a bite and a direction ; and, a little before the end of the sermon, came to the kirk doors of Inverary. 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 itt I I * \ I ly !r lii '\ \ 190 CATRIONA, i\ .u W 'W V 'm public) I set the door opeii, entered the church with the dirty Duncan at my taitsv and finding a vacant place hard by, sat down. " Thirteenthly, my brethren, and in parenthesis, the law itself must be regarded as a means of grace/' the minister was saying, in the voice of one delighting to pursue an argum^it. 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 h3lbert-men 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 heed ; and I sat there amongst my friends and enemies unremarked. The first that I singled out was Prestongrange. He sat well forward^ like an eager horseman in the saddle,^ his lips moving with relish, his eyes glued on the minister ; the doctrine was clearly to his mind. Charles Stewart, on the other hand, was half asleep, and looked harassed and pale. As for Simon Fraser, he appeared like a blot, and almost a scandal, in the midst of that attentive congregation, digging his hands in his pockets^ shifting his legs, clearing his throat, and rolling up his bald eyebrows and shooting out! witl the reac pro< on half-l CAIRIONA. 191 ch with vacant nthesis, eans of roice of of the armed rner by beyond ixt was skilled I — from n, down iance — I critical inkling ance at le ; the nd I sat arked. ;range. in the glued to his ^as half Simon :andal, ligging [inghis looting out his eyes to right and left, now with a yawn, now with a secret smile. .' At times, too, he would take the Bible in front of him, run it through, seem to read a bit, run it through again, and stop and yawn prodigiously : the whole as if for exercise. In the course of this restlessness his eye alighted on myself. He sat a second stupefied, then tore a half-leaf out of the Bible, scrawled upon it with a pencil, and passed it with a whispered word to his next neighbour. The note came to Preston- grange, 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 aiid hand about dispatches, none of which I was able to trace to their destination in the crowd. But the passage of these notes had aroused notice ; all who were in the secret (or supposed themselves to be so) were whispering information — the rest questions ; and the minister himself seemed quite discountenanced by the flutter in the church and sudden stir and whispering. His voice changed, he plainly faltered, nor did he again recover the easy conviction and full tones of his delivery. It would be a puzzle to him till his dying day, why a sermon that had gone with triumph through four parts, should thus miscarry in the fifth. As for me, I continued to sit there, very wet and weary, and a good deal anxious as to what should happen next, but greatly exulting in my success. ^ il ' ■■ t * CHAPTER XVII. THE MEMORIAL. - i'' The last word of the blessing was scarce out of the minister's mouth before Stewart had me by the arm. We were the first to be forth of the church, and he made such extraordinary expedition that we were safe within the four walls of a house before the street had begun to be thronged with the home-going congregation. " Am I yet in time ? " I asked. " Ay and no," said he. " The case is over ; the jury is enclosed, and will be so kind as let us ken their view of it to-morrow in the morning, the same as I could have told it my own self three days ago before the play began. The thing has been public firom the start. The panel kent it, * Ye may do what ye will for me* whispers he two days ago. * I ken my fate by what the Duke of Argyle has just said to Mr, Macintosh,^ O, it's been a scandal ! • The great Argyle he gaed before, He gart the cannons and guns to roar/ and the very macer cried * Cruachan ! ' But now that I have got you again I'll never despair. The oak shall go over the myrtle yet ; we'll ding the Campbells yet in their own town. Praise God that I should see the day I " ^• 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 remamed to be done, or how \L CATRIONA. 193 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 I " that was still his overcome. And it was forced home upon my mind how this, that had the externals of a sober process of law, was in its essence a clan battle between savage clans. I thought my friend the Writer none of the least savage. Who that had only seen him at a counsel's back before the Lord Ordinary or following a golf ball and laying down his clubs on Bruntsfield links, could have recognised for the same person this voluble and violent clansman? James Stewart's counsel were four in number — Sheriffs Brown of Colstoun and Miller, Mr. Robert Macintosh, and Mr. Stewart younger of Stewart Hall. These were covenanted to dine with the Writer after sermon, and I was very obligingly included of the party. No sooner the cloth lifted, and the first bowl very artfully compounded by Sheriff Miller, than we fell to the subject in hand. I made a short narration of my seizure and cap- tivity, and was then examined and re-examined upon the circumstances of the murder. It will be remembered this was the first time I had had my say out, or the matter at all handled, among lawyers ; and the consequence was very dispiriting to the others and (I must own) disappointing to myself. "To sum up," said Colstoun, "you prove that Alan was on the spot ; you have heard him proffer menaces against Glenure ; and though you assure us he was not the man who fired, you leave a strong impression that he was in league with him, and \ \ ^ k I ! 1 li i I : 1 <• s \l 194 CATRIONA. Consentitig, perhaps immediately assisting, in the act. You show him besides, at the risk of hb own liberty, actively furthering the criminal's escape. And the rest of your testimony («o 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 lent:;then by one personage, the chain that binds our client to the murderer ; and I need scarcely say that the introduction of a third accomplice rather aggravates that appearance of a conspiracy which has been our stumbling block from the beginning." ** I am of the same opinion," said Sheriff Miller. "I think we may all be very much obliged to Prestongrange for taking a most uncomfortable witness out of our way. And chiefly, I think, Mr. Balfour himself might be obliged. For you talk of a third accomplice, but Mr. Balfour (in my view) has very much the appearance of a fourth." " Allow me, sirs 1 " 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 se* questered for near upon a month in ^ bourock of old ruins on the Bass. Move that and see what dirt you fling on the proceedings ! Sirs, this is a tale to make the world ring with! It would be strange, with such a grip as this, if we couldnae squeeze out a pardon for my client." ** And suppose we took up Mr. Balfour^s cause to-morrow ? " said Stewart Hall. " I am much CATRIONA. 195 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 J Well itMl be the same now ; the same weapons will be used. This is a scene, gentlemen, of clan animosity. The hatred of the name which I have the honour to bear rages in high quarters. There is nothing here to be viewed but naked Campbell spite and scurvy Campbell intrigue." You may be sure this #lis 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 liLa 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 for- gotten, and that was James of the Glens. Through all this Mr. Miller sat quiet. He was a slip of an oldish gentleman, ruddy and twinkling ; he spoke in a smooth rich voice, with an infinite effect of pawkiness, dealing out each word the way an actor does, to give the most expression possible ; 196 CATRIONA. 9 f -ir I Hi 1 |! J and even now, when he was silent, and sat there with his wig laid aside, his glass in both hands, his mouth funnily pursed, and his chin out, he seemed the mere picture of a merry slyness. ^ It was plain he had a word to say, and waited for the fit occasion. It came presently. Colstoun had wound up one of his speeches with some expression of their duty to their client. His brother sheriff was pleased, I suppose, with the transition. He took the table in his confidence with a gesture and a look. *^That suggests to me a consideration which seems overlooked," said he. " The interest of our client goes certainly before all, but the world does not come to an end with James Stewart." Whereat he cocked his eye. ** I might condescend, exemph gratia^ upon a Mr. George Brown, a Mr. Thomas Mil- ler, and a Mr. David Balfour. Mr. David Balfour has a very good ground of complaint, and I think, g^^ntle- men — if his story was properly redd out — ^I think there would be a number of wigs on the green." The whole table turned to him with a common movement. " Properly handled and carefully redd out, his is a story that could scarcely fail to have some con- sequences," he continued. ^^ The whole adminis- tration of justice, from its highest officer downward, would be totally discredited ; and it looks to me as if they would need to be replaced." He seemed to shine with cunning as he said it. ^^ And I need not point out to ye that this of Mr. Balfour's would be a remarkable bonny cause to appear in," he added. Well, there they all were started on another CATRIONA 197 hare; Mr. Balfour's cause, and what kind of speeches could be there delivered, and what officials could be thus turned out, and who would succeed to their positions. I shall give but the two specimens. It was proposed to approach Simon Fraser, whose testimony, if it could be obtained, would prove certainly fatal to Argyle and to Prestongrange. Miller highly approved of the attempt. "We have here before us a dreeping roast," said he, "here is cut-and-come- again for all." And methought all licked their lips. The other was already near the end. Stewart the Writer was out of the body with delight, smelling vengeance on his chief enemy, the Duke. " Gentlemen," said he, charging his glass, " here is to Sheriff Miller. His legal abilities are known to all. His culinary, this bowl in front of us is here to speak for. But when it comes to the poleetical ! "—cries he, and drains the glass. "Ay, but it will hardly prove politics in your meaning, my friend," said the gratified Miller. "A revolution, if you like, and I think I can promise you that historical writers shall date from Mr. Balfour^s cause. But properly guided, Mr. Stewart, tenderly guided, it shall prove a peaceful revolution." " Ad4 if the damned Campbells get their ears rubbed, wnat care I ? " cries Stewart, smiting down his fist. It will be thought I was not very well pleased with all this, though I could scarce forbear smiling at a kind of innocency in these old intriguers. But it was not my view to have undergone so many 'I' '. \ \l If I h Ait £ 198 CATRIONA. Borrows for the advancement of Sheriff Miller or to make a revolution in the Parliament House ! and I interposed accordingly with as much simplicity of manner as I could assume. "I have to thank you, gentlemen, for your advice/* said I. " And now I would like^ -by your leave, to set you two or three questions. There 6 one thing that has fallen rather on one side, for instance : Will this cause do any good to our friend James of the Glens ? " They seemed all a hair set back, and gave various answers, but concurring practically in one point, that James had now no hope but in the King^s mercy. " To proceed, then," said I, " will it do any good to Scotland ? We have a saying that it is an ill bird that fouls his own nest. I remember hearing we had a riot in Edinburgh when I was an infant child, which gave occasion to the late Queen to call this country barbarous ; and I always understood that we had rather lost than gained by that. Then came the year *Forty-five, which made Scotland to be talked of everywhere ; but I never heard it said we had anyway gained by the 'Forty-^iive. 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 wo\ild date from it as a period of calamity and public reproach." The nimble-witted Miller had already smelt where I was travelling to, and made haste to get on the same road. "Forcibly put, Mr. Balfour," tayt he. " A weighty observe, iir." V0J1 CATKIONA. 199 Her or to e ! and I plicity of for your , -by your There 6 side, for ur friend e various >int, that mercy. any good is an ill r hearing in infant ;n to call derstood Then >tland to d it said Vnd now you call s are to : is only eriod of smelt i to get lolfour," "We have next to ask ourselves if it wiU be good for King George," I pursued. " Sheriff Miller appears pretty easy upon this ; but I doubt you will scarce be able to pull down the house from under him, without his Majesty coming by a knock or two, one of which might easily prove fatal." I gave them a chance to answer, bu,t none volunteered. ** Of those for whom the case was to be profit- able," I went on, "Sheriff Miller gave us the names of several, amon^T the wl ch 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 ipgrain upoQ himself the character of a turbulent, factious fellow before he was yet twenty. As for James, it seems — at this date of the proceed- ings, 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 £com the public, and myself kept out of a position which I think spells ruin for me ? " They all sat and gazed into their glasses, and I could see they found my attitude on the affair un- palatable. But Miller was ready at all events. " If I may be allowed to put my young friend's notipn in more formal shape," says he, ** I under- stand hiix^ to propo3Q that we should embody the ;! k V \' t .;•; i . •i! I i I I: ['If* I 200 CATRIONA. foct of his sequestration, and perhaps some heads of the testimony he was prepared to offer, in a memorial to the Crowix . 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 ^ A con- cerned in such a memorial, which might bt> construed into an expression of a very delicate loyalty ; and I think, in the drafting of the same, this view might be brought forward." They all nodded to each other, not without sighs, for the former alternative was doubtless more after their inclination. " Paper, then, Mr. Stewart, if you please," pursued Miller ; " and I think it might very fittingly be signed by the five of us here present, as procurators for the * condemned man.' " '* It can do none of us any haim, at least," says Colstoun, heaving another sigh, for he had seen himself Lord Advocate the last ten minutes. Thereupon they set themselves, not very en- thusiastically, 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 «nswer 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 i CATRIONA. 20I winding up with a forcible appeal to the King's mercy on behalf of James. Methought I was a good deal sacrificed^ and rather represented in the light of a firebrand of a fellow whom my crowd of lawyers had restrained with difficulty from extremes. But I let it pass, and made but the one suggestion, that I should be described as ready to deliver my own evidence and adduce that of others before any commission of inquiry — and the one demand, that I should be immediately furnished with a copy. Colstoun hummed and hawed. ^* This is a very confidential document," said he. "And my position towards Prestongrange is highly peculiar," I replied. "No question but I must have touched his heart at our first interview, so that he has since stood my friend consistently. But for him, gentlemen, I must now be lying dead or awaiting my sentence alongside poor James. For which reason I choose to communicate to him the fact of this memorial as soon as it is copied. You are to consider also that this step will make for my protection. I have enemies here accustomed to drive hard ; his Grace is in his own country, Lovat by his side ; and if there should hang any ambiguity over our proceedings I think I might very well awake in gaol." Not finding any very ready answer to these con- siderations, 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. iS 202 CATRIONA. ! The Advocate was at the ca$tle dining with his Grace. By the hand of one of Colstoun's servants I sent him a billet asking for an interview, and received a summons to meet him at once in a private house of the town. Here I found him alone in a chamber; from his face there was nothing to be gleaned ; yet I was not so unobservant but what I spied some halberts in the hall, and not so stupid but what I could gather he was prepared to arrest me there and then, should it appear advisable. *^ So, Mr. David, this is you ? " said he. " Where I fear I am not overly welcome, my lord," said I. " And I would like before I go further to express my sense of your lordship's good offices, even should they now cease," " I have ^heard of your gratitude before," he replied drily, ^^ and I think this can scarce be the matter you called me from my wine to listen (o. I would remember also, if 1 ^vere you, that you still stand on a very boggy foundation." " Not now, my lord, I think," said I ; " and if your lordship will but glance an eye along this, you will perhaps think as I do." He read it sedulously through, frowning heavily; then turned back to one part and another which he seemed to weigh and compare the effect of. His face a little lightened. " This is not so bad but what it might; b^ worse," said he ; " though I am still likely to pay d^ar for my acquaintance with Air. David Balfour," "Rather for your indulgence to that unlucky young man, my lord," said I. his mei CATRIONA. f03 ig with Istoun's :erview, ^nce in Qd him ;hing to lit what ) stupid arrest e. ne, my 5 I go 's good ^e," he be the ten to. ou still and if is, you eavily; ich he His rorse/* ?ar for ilucky He still ikimmed the paper, and all the while his spirits scf^med to mend. "And to vhom am I indebted for this?" he asked presently. *• Other counsels must have been discussed, I think. Who was it proposed this private method ? Was it Miller ? " " My lord, it was myself," said I. "These gentle- men have shown me no such consideration, as that I should deny myself any credit I can fairly claim, or spare them any responsibility they should properly bear. And the mere truth is, that they were all in favour of a process which should have remarkable consequences in the Parliament House, and prove for them (in one of their own expressions) a dripping roast. Before I intervened, I think they were on the point of sharing out the different law appointments. Our friend Mr. Simon was to be taken in upon some composition." Prestongrange smiled. "These are our friends ! " said he. " And what were your reasons for dissent- ing, Mr. David ? " I told them without concealment, expressing, however, with more force and volume those which regarded Prestongrange himself. "You do me no more than justice," said he. " I have fought as hard in your interest as you have fought against mine. And how came you here to-day ? " he asked. " As the case drew out, I began to grow uneasy that I had clipped the period so fine, and I was even expecting you to-morrow. But to-day — ^I never dreamed of it." I w^ not| of course, going to betray Andie. .■i i M Mil 304 CATRIONA. i bill •If i " I suspect there is some very weary cattle by the road," said I. ^^ If I had known you were such a mosstrooper you should have tasted longer of the Bass/' says he. "Speaking of which, my lord, I return your letter." And I gave him the enclosure in the counterfeit hand. " There was the cover also with the seal," said he. •* I have it not," said I. " It bore not even an address, and could not compromise a cat. The second enclosure I have, and with your permission, I desire to keep it." I thought he winced a little, but he said nothing to the point. "To-morrow," he resumed, "our business here is to be finished, and I proceed by Glasgow. I would be very glad to have you of my party, Mr. David." " My lord ..." I began. " I do not deny it will be of service to me," he interrupted. "I desire even that, when we shall come to Edinburgh, you should alight at my house. You have very warm friends in the Miss Grants, who will be overjoyed to have you to themselves. If you think I have been of use to you, you can thus easily repay me, and so far from losing, may reap some advantage by the way. It is not every strange young man who is presented in society by the King's Advocate." ^ ■ Often enough already (in our brief relations) this gentleman had caused my head to spin ; no doubt bro sho was #* attle by itrooper »» s/' says :n your in the U," said (ven an . The nission^ lothing I, "our eed by of my le," he e shall house, jrrants, iselves. )u can J, may every ety by s) this doubt CATRIONA. 205 but what for a moment he did so again now. Here was the old fiction still maintained of my particular &vour 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 1/ Tliat 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 ex- cluded ; I could never think better of my present design and bring any action. And besides, would not my presence in his house draw out the whole pungency of the memorial ? For that complaint could not be very seriously regarded, if the person chiefly injured was the guest of the official most incriminated. As I thought upon this I could not quite refrain from smiling. " This is in the nature of a countercheck to the memorial ? " said I. " You are cunning, Mr. David," said he, " and you do not wholly guess wrong ; the fact will be of use to me in my defence. Perhaps, however, you underrate my friendly sentiments, which are per- fectly genuine. I have a respect for you, Mr David, mingled with awe,'' says he, smiling. " I am more than willing, I am earnestly desirous to meet your wishes," said I. " It is my design to be called to the Bar, where your lordship's coun- I r 3 !i li I !i w 206 CATRIONA. tenance woiild be ihvkluable ; &iiCt I am besides sincerely grateful to yourself atid 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 lordship's orders ; but in so far as it would help to hang James Stewart, you see me at a stick." I thought he swore to himself. "You should certainly be called ; the Bar is the true scene for 5raur talents," sa5rs 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 feithful Mr. David hurt him. Blow high, blow low, there will be no pardon for James Stewart : and take that for said I 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 con- donation. 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 oh his leg. " My tenderness for whs wasi m .'s! CATRIONA. 207 besides ifFerent ifficulty nil two rt, I am g with [ am at would s at a should itie for I While sumed) for or given I sold ; aithful , there 1 take f : am that alfour e case con- stered rthat y and S and Hows, dal/' ss for you has brought me in this difficulty. I wish to know if your tenderness to your own conscience is too great to let you help me out of it." No doubt but there was much of the truth in what he said ; if James was past helping, whom was it more natural that I should turn to help than just the man before me, who had helped myself so often, and was even now setting me a pattern of patience ? I was besides not only weary, but beginning to be ashamed, of my perpetual attitude of suspicion and refusal. ^^If you will name the time atid place, I will be punctually ready to attend your lordship," said I. He shook hands with me^ *^And I think my misses have some news for you," says he, dismissing me. I came away, vastly pleased to have my peace made, yet a little concerned in conscience; nor could I help wondering, as I went back, whether, perhaps, I had not been a scruple too good-natured. But there was the fact, that this was a man fhat might have been my father, an able man, ^ 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 dear mind of how I got there. t; :! i 11! M il I i-. ! ;. I I CHAPTER XVIII. THE TEE'd ball. On the morrow, from the justices* private room, where none could see me, [I heard the verdict given in and judgment rendered upon James. The Duke^s words I am quite sure I have correctly ; and since that famous passage has been made a subject of dispute, I may as well commemorate my version. Having referred to the year ^45, the chief of the Campbells, sitting as Justice- General upon the bench, thus addressed the unfortunate Stewart before him : ** If you had been successful in that rebellion^ you might have been giving the law where you have now received the judgment of it ; we, who are this day youi judges, might have been tried before one of your mock courts of judicature ; and then you might have been satiated with the blood of any name or clan to which you had an aversion." " This is to let the cat out of the bag, indeed," thought I. And that was the general impression. It was extraordinary how the young advocate lads took hold and made a mock of this speech, and how scarce a meal passed but what someone would get in the words : " And then you might have been satiated." Many ^ongs were made in time for the hour's diversion, and are near all forgot. I remember one began : CATRIONA. 209 room, verdict James, rectly; made a morate ustice- d the u had t have ceived r youi f your might name ieed," ^ssion. (Tocate jeech^ neone might de in ir all ** What do ye want the bluid of, bluid of ? Is it a name, or is it a clan. Or is it an aefauld Hielandman, That ye want the bluid of, bluid of ? '* Another went to my old favourite air The House of Airlie^ and began thus : '* It fell on a day when Argyle was on the bench. That they served him a Stewart for his denner.*' And one of the verses ran : ** Then up and spak' the Duke, and flyted on his cook, I regaird it as a sensible aspersion, That I would sup ava\ an' satiate my maw. With the bluid of ony clan of my aversion.** James was as fairly murdered as though the Duke had got a fowling-piece and stalked him. So much of course I knew : but others knew not so much) and were more affected by the items of scandal that came to light in the progress of the cause. One of the chief was certainly this sally of the justice^s. It was run hard by another of a juryman, who had struck into the midst of Coulston^s speech for the defence with a "Pray, sir, cut it short, we are quite weary," which seemed the very excess of impudence and simplicity. But some of my new lawyer friends were still more staggered with an innovation that had disgraced and even vitiated the pro- ceedings. One witness wa» never called. His name, indeed, was printed, where it may still be seen on the fourth page of the list : " James Drummond, alias Macgregor, alias James More, i . I il • % % 5 i 210 CATRIONA. late tenant m 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 dis- appeared 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 McH'e should be mingled up with it filled me with shame for Catriona and concern for myselL 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 io Israeli who As f€ self-s Presto me, their blood I his b^ow pleasu out c him \ bowel myseli affair in th have think far mc Pi in the that 1 sudde troub] days surroi the s bonni and 1 The by-ia? Hi )gnition writing. Ip him) s shoes, is own. bring ing the nation ; matter handed through nd dis- before . This nd that gled up na and I, with lasgoWf ► linger affairs. I was ace at guests ; hought >n ; so often ed the last racter. era io CATRIONA. 211 Israel whether by their birth or talents f 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 thoi^ht his preset dissimulation with myself a thing bdow 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 boweb^ "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. $ut I had some warrant for my incredulity in the behaviour of that court of young advocaites 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 I The same, do I say ? It was not so ; and the by-]Qame by which I went behind my back con- !;| m 212 CATRIONA. if; firmed it. Seeing mc so firm with the Advocate, and persuaded that I was to fly high and far, they had taken a word from the golfing green, and called me the Tee^d BalL* I was told I was now ** one of themselves " ; I was to taste of their soft Hn.ng, who had already made my own experience K>i the roughness of the outer husk ; and one, to whom I had been presented in Hope Park, was so assured as even tP remind me of that meeting. 1 told him I had not the pleasure of remembering it. "Why,'* says he, "it was Miss Grant herself presented me ! My name is so-and-so." " It may very well be, sir," said I ; ** but 1 have kept no mind of it." At which he desisted ; and in the midst of the disgust that commonly overflowed my spirits I had a glisk of pleasure. But I have not patience to dwell upon that time at length. When I was in company with these young politics I was borne down with shame for myself and my own plain ways, and scorn for them and their duplicity. Of the two evils, I thought Prestongrange to be the least ; and while I was always as stiff as buckram to the young bloods, I made rather a dissimulation of my hard feelings towards the Advocate, and was (in old Mr. CampbelPs 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. * A ball placed upon a little mound for convenience of striking. t I «t there gude men get of an more diffici of a sc O. by th to m} I saw while he wa his let "A for yoi I some have t Isi "I answe] ment ' ■ do yoi enterp The ( procec some¥ certaii Advocate, and faiTf g green, s told I to taste lade my tie outer ^resented > remind not the t herself "but 1 midst of y spirits ion that ny with rn with lys, and the two s least ; :ram to lulation ite, and to the ference, friends ' striking. CATRIONA. I told him I was slow of making friends. ai3 (I I will take the word back," said he. "But there is such a thing as Fair gude e'en and fair gude day^ Mr. David. These are the same young men with whom you are to pass your days and get through life: your backwardness has a look of arrogance ; and unless you can assume a little more lightness of manner, I fear you will meet difficulties in your path." "It will be an ill job to make a silk purse of a sow^s ear," said I. Ox the morning of October ist 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. Some- while after I was called to Prestongrange, where he was sitting in his bedgown and nightcap, with his letters round him. " Mr. David," said he, " I have a piece of news for you. It concerns some friends of yours, of whom I sometimes think you are a little ashamed, for you have never referred to their existence." I suppose I blushed. " I see you understand, since you make the answering signal," said he. " And I must compli- ment 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 appean* unable to proceed for Miss Katrine Drummond, which was somewhat the case (no great while back) with a certain Mr. David Balfour. Should not these make ^1 'II t ''S ■ ) M ! \ '. V 1 214 CATRIONA. 11 '1 'I < Ik! In! I 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 int%^lligence that she is now in prison.'* I cried out. " Yes," said he, " the little lady is in prison. But I would not have you to despair. Unless you (with your friends and memorials) shall procure my down^ll, she is to suffer nothing." " But what has she done ? What is her offence ? " I cried. " It might be almost construed a high treason," he returned, " for she has broke the King's Castle of Edinburgh." " The lady is much my friend," I said. ** I know you would not mock me if the thing were serious." " And yet it is serious in a sense," said he ; " for this TOgue erf a Katrine— or Cateran, as we may call her — has set adrift again upon the world that very doubtful character, her papa." Here was one of my previsions justified : James More was once again at Hberty. He had lekit his men to keep me a prisons ; he had volunteered his testimony in the Appin case, and the same (no matter by what subterftige) had been employed to influence the jury. Now came his reward, and he was free. It might please the authorities to give to k 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 too! that i CATRIONA. «i5 politics — uthorities and from is more ist alarm I prison/* n prison, nless you ocure my offence?" treason," g's Castle ^* I knov^ serious." he ; " for may call hat very James lekit his inleered ;ame (no oyed to and he give to letter— I The le least alarm for Catriona. She might be thought to have broke prison for her father ; she might have be- lieved 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 polite ejaculation : " A;h I I was expecting that ! " " You have at times a great deal of discretion, too { " says Prestongrange. **^And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?" I asked. " I was just marvelling," he replied, " that being so clever as to draw these inferences, you should not be clever enough to keep them to yourself. But I think you would like to hear the detafls of the affair. I have received two versions : and the least offidal 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 ine piece of work,' she writes, 'and what would make the thing more noted (if it were only known) the malefactor is a protSgih of his lordship «iy papa. I am sure your heart is too much in your duty '(if lit were nothing dse) to have forgotten Grey Eyes. What does she do, but get a broad hat with the flaps open, a long hairy-like man*s great- coat, and a big gravatt ; kilt her coats up to Gude kens whauTj clap two pair of boot-hose upon her legs, take a pair of clouted brogues* in her hand, and off to the Castle ! Here she gives herself out * Patched shoes. ; od deal vn ; and :e joined stood in in the I could ye with It/' said replied with fl 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 the worth the stopping for." " Mistress Grant," said I, " I believe I am already your debtor for some merry words — and I think they were kind too — on a piece of unsigned paper.'* " Unsigned paper ? ** says she, and made a droll face, which was likewise wondrous beautiful, as of one trying to remember. " Or else I am the more deceived," I went on. ** But to be sure, we shall have the time to speak of these, since your father is so good as to make me for a while your inmate ; and the gomeral begs you at this time only for the favour of his liberty." " You give yourself hard names," said she. " Mr. Doig and 1 would be blythe to take harder at your clever pen," >ays I. " Once more I have to admire the discretion of all men-folk," she replied. " But it you will not eat, off with you at once ; you will be back the sooner, for you go on a fool's errand. Off with you, Mr. David," she continued, opening the door. ** He has lowpen on his bonny grey, He rade the richt gate and the ready, I trow he would neither stint nor stay. For he was seeking bis bonny ieddy." I did not wait to be twice bidden, and did justice to Miss Grant's citation on the way to Dean. ; f \ i i 224 CATRIONA. Old Lady AUardyce 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 congeeSy I could see the blood come in her face, and her head fling into the air like what I had conceived of empresses. " What brings you to my poor door ? " she cried, speaking high through her nose. " I cannot bar it. The males of my house are dead and buried; I have neither son nor husband to stand in the gate for me ; any beggar can pluck me by the baird * — and a baird there is, and that^s the worst of it yet I " she added partly to herself. I was extremely put out at this reception, and the last remark, which seemed like a daft wife's, left me near hand speechless. "I see I have fallen under your displf^asure, ma'am," said I. " Yet I will still be so bold as ask after Mistress Drummond." She considered me with a burning eye, her lips pressed close together into twenty creases, her hand shaking on her staff. " This cows all I " she cried. *^ Ye came to me to speir for her ? Would God I knew I " *' She is not here ? " I cried. She threw up her chin and made a step and a cry at me, so that I fell back incontinent. " Out upon your leeing throat I " she cried. " What 1 ye come and speir at me I She's in jyle, whaur ye took her to— that's all there is to it •Beard. t in the a silver- n upon. r to her ber face, t I had ?" she [ cannot buried ; the gate •aird * — it yet I " ion, and t wife^s, Jeasure, as ask ber lips er hand e cried. God I ) and a cried, le^s in s to it CATRIONA. Vi's And of a' the beings ever I beheld in breeks, to think it should be to you I Ye timmer scounVel, if I had a male left to my name I would have your jaicket dustit till ye raired." I thought it not good to delay longer in that place, because I remarked her passion to be rising. As I turned to the horse-post she even followed me ; and I make no shame to confess that I rode away with the one stirrup on and scrambling for the other. As I knew no other quarter where I could push my inquiries, there was nothing left me but to return to the Advocate's. I was well received by the four ladies, who were now in company together, and must give the news of Prestongrange and what word went in the west country, at the most in* ordinate length and with great weariness to myself; while all the time that young lady, with whom I so much desired to be alone again, observed me quizzically and seemed to find pleasure in the sight of my impatience. At last, after I had endured a meal with them, and was come very near the point of appealing for an interview before her aunt, she went and stood by the music-case, and picking out a tune, sang to it on a high key — " He that will not when he may, When he will he shall have nay." But this was the end of her rigours, and presently, after making some excuse of which I have no mind, she carried me away in private to her father's library. I should not fail to say she was dressed to the nines, and appeared extraordinary handsome. **Now, Mr. David, sit ye down here and let i' J'' II i ' ' '' fi i ' m * i .pa6 CATRIONA. i I y US have a two-handed crack," said ihe. "Fot I have much to tell you, and it appears beddes that I have been grossly uixjvBt to your good taste." ^^In what manner, Mistress Grant?" I a^ked. ** I trust I have never seemed to fail in due respect." "I will be your surety, Mr* David," said she. "Your respect, whether to yourself or your poor neighbours, has been always and most fortunately beyond imitation. But that is by the questioti. You got a note from me ? " she asked. "I was so bold as to suppose so upon inference/' said I, " and it was kindly thought upon." "It must have prodigiously surprised you," said she. "But let us begin with the beginning. You have not perhaps forgot a day when you were so kind as to escort three very tedious misses to Hope Park? I have the less cause to forget it myself, because you was so particular obliging as to introduce me to some of the principles of the Latin grammar, a thing which wrote itself profoundly on my gratitude," " I fear I was sadly pedantical," said I, overceme with confusion at the memory. " You af e only to consider I am quite unused with the society oi ladies." "I will say the less about the graminar then," she replied. " But how came you to desert yout 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 I It seems you returned to my papa's, where you CAtRlONA. iaj "Fot I besides ir good I a^ked. 'espect.'* iaid she. )ur poor tunately question. erence »» i» a you, ginning. len you tedious ause to rticular of the f which ^erceme only to ladies." then," rt your rboafd, nd his taigle geese I re you showed yourself excessively martial, and then bn to realms unknown, with an eye (it appear^) to the Bass Rock ; solan geese being pethaps more to your mind thar. bonny lasses." Thr6ugh all this raillery there was something indulgent in the lady's eye which made me suppose there might be better coming. " You take a pleasure to torment me," said I, " and I make a very fecklcj^s plaything ; but let me ask you to be more merciful. At this time there is but the one thing that I care to hear of, and that will be news of Catriona." "Do you call her by that name to her face, Mr. Balfour ? " she asked. . "In troth, and I am not very sure," I stammered. "I would not do ib in any cise to strangers," said Miss Grant. "And why are you so much immersed in the aflairs of this young lady ? *' " I heard she was in prison," said I. "Well, and now you hear that sh'* Is out of it," she replied, "and what more would you have ? She has ri6 need of any further champion." " I may have the greater need of her, ma'am," said I. " Come, this is better I " says Miss Grant. " But look me fairly in the face * am I not borihiei than she ? " "I Would be the last to be denying it,*' said I. " There is not your matfow in all Scotland.^' " Well, here ydu have the pick of the two at your hand, and must needs speak of the othef,*' t !. !:| 'i.^ 1 228 CATRIONA. ■■\:: il said she. "This is never the way to please the ladies, Mr. Balfour." " But, mistress," said I, " there are surely other things besides mere beauty." "By which I am to understand that I am no better than I should be, perhaps ? " she asked. "By which you will please understand that I am like the cock in the midden in the fable book," said I. " I see the braw jewel — and I like fine to see it too — but I have more need of the pickle corn." " Bravissimo I " she cried. " There is a word well said at last, and I will reward you for it with my story. That same night of your desertion I came late from a friend's house — where I was excessively admired, whatever you may think of it — and what should I hear but that a lass in a tartan screen desired to speak with me? She had been there an hour or better, said the servant- lass, and she grat in to herself as she sat waiting. I went to her direct ; she rose as I came in, and I knew her at a look. .* Grey Eyes / * says I to myself, but was more wise than to let on. You will be Miss Grant at last? she says, rising and looking at me hard and pitiful. Ay^ it was true he said^ you are bonny at all events, — The way God made me^ my dear^ I said, but I would be gey and obliged if ye could tell me what brought you here at such a time of the night — Lady^ she said, we are kinsfolk^ we are both come of the blood of the sons of Alpin, — My dear^ I replied, / think no more of Alpin or hi$ sons than what I do of a 3ase the ily other [ am no ed. d that I he fable id I like d of the a word u for it lesertion re I was think of lass in a e? She servant- waiting, in, and ays >n. I to You >ing and vas true The ivay vould be brought ady^ she 'he blood I think do of a CATRIONA. 1129 kalestock. You have a better argument in these tears upon your bonny face. And at that I was so weak-minded as to kiss her, which is what you would like to do dearly, and I wager will never find the courage of. I say it was weak- minded of me, for I knew no more of her than the outside ; but it was the wisest stroke I could have hit upon. She is a very staunch, brave nature, but I think she has been little used with tenderness ; and at that caress (though to say the truth, it was but lightly given) her heart went out to me. I will never betray the secrets of my sex, Mr. Davie ; I will never tell you the way she turned me round her thumb, because it is the same she will use to twist yourself. Ay, it is a fine lass ! She is as clean as hill well water." " She is e'en't ! " I cried. "Well, then, she told me her concerns," pursued Miss Grant, "and in what a swither she was in about her papa, and what a taking about yourself, with very little cause, and in what a perplexity she had found herself after you was gone away. And then I minded at long last^ says she, that we were kinswomen^ and that Mr. David should have given you the name of the bonniest of the bonny ^ and I was thinking to myself ^ If she is so bonny she will be good at all events * / and I took up my foot soles out of that. That was when I forgave myself, Mr. Davie. When you was in my society, you seemed upon hot iron : by all marks, if ever I saw a young IP n > ii I I » :| ^30 CATRIONA. man thai wanted to )>e gone, it was yourself, and I ^nd my two sifters were the ladies you were so desirous to be gone from ; and now it appeared you ha^ given me some notice in the by-going, and was so kind as to comment on my attractions I From that hour you may date our friendship, and I began to think with tender- ness upon the Latin grammar." "You will have many hours to rally me in," said I ; *^ and I think besides you do yourself injustice. I thipk it was Catriona turned your heart in my direction, She is too simple to perceivQ as you do the stiffness of her friend." ** I would not like to wager upon that, Mr. David," said she. " The lasses have clear eyes. But at least she is your friend entirely, as I was to see. I carried her in to his lordship my papa ; and his Advocacy, being in a favourable st^e of claret, was so good as to receive the pair pf us. Jifere is Grey Eyes that you have been deaved with these days pasty said I ; she is copie to prove that we spoke true^ and I lay the prettiest lass in the three L&thians at your feet — making a papistical reservation of myself. She suited her action to my words : down she went upon her knees to him— rl 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 Mahomedansn-told him what had passed that night, and how she had with- held her father's man from following of you, and what a c^se she was in about her father^ CATRIONA. 231 yourself, dies you now it i in the nent on lay date i tender- me in »» yourself ed your nple to i." lat, Mr. ar eyes. y, as I lordship ^ourable ive the m have she is lay the * feet — She went ike to >ubtles8 or you what with- you, father and what a flutter for yourself; and begged ^vith 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 small- ness of the occasion. She had not gone far, I assure you, before the Advocate was wholly sober* to see his inmost politics ravelled out by a young lass and discovered to the most unruly of his daughters. But we took him in hand, the pair of us, and brought that matter straight. Properly managed — and that means managed by me — there is no one to compare with my papa." ^* He has been a good man to me," said I. ^'Well, he was a good man to Katrine, and I was there to see to it," said she. " And she pled for me ? " say^ I. "She did that, and very movingly," said Miss Grant. "I would not like to tell you what she said — ^I fina you vain enough already." " God reward her for it 1 " cried I. " With Mr. David Balfour, I suppose ? " says she. " you do me too much injustice at the last ! " I cried. "I would tremble to think of her in such hard hand& 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 1 need not be i ■ »■ If ; M S32 CATRIONA. 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 1 remember it ? " ^ I do laugh at you . good deal, and a good deal more than is quite civil,*' said she ; ** but 1 will tell you one thing : if you speak to her like that, you have some glimmerings of a chaijce." " Me ! " I cried, " I would never dare. I can speak to you, Miss Grant, because it's a matter of indifference what ye th'uxk of me. But her? no fear ! " said I. " I think you have the largest feet in all broad Scotland," says she. " Troth they are no very small," said I, looking down. " Ah, poor Catriona I " cries Miss Grant And I could but stare upon her; for though 1 now see very well what she was driving at (and perhaps some justification for the same) I was never swift at the uptake in such flimsy talk. ** Ah well, Mr. David," she said, '' it goes sore against my conscience, but I see I shall have to br 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 inex- perience. Believe me, you will be in that way mu| for she! wiU friel he: yoi shii CATRIONA. 433 at me of what is none : honour god of t would a good " but I her like ce.» I can latter of her? no 11 broad looking ough 1 It (and s never es sore 3 to hr ame to ment j and of h as I inex< t way much better served than you could serve yourself, for I will keep the big feet out of the platter." " You know where she is, then ? " I exclaimed. "That I do, Mr. David, and. will never tell," said she. '' Why that ? " 1 asked. " Well," she said, ^^ I am a good friend, as you will soon discov*;r; 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^seyes; and adieu to your David-Balfour- ship for the now." "But there is yet one thing more," I cried. " There is one thing that must be stopped, being mere ruin to herself, and to me too." " Well," she said, " be brief ; I have spent half the day on you already." " My Lady Allardyce believes," I began — " she supposes — she thinks that I abducted her." The colour came into Miss Grant's face, so that at first I was quite abashed to find her ear so deli- cate, till I bethought me she was struggling rather vith mirth, a notion in which I was altogether confirmed by the shaking of her voice as she replied — " I will take up the defence of your reputation," she said. " You may leave it in my hands." And with that »he withdrew out of the library. Hi i ■i i il I CHAPTER XX, I CONTINUE TO MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY. For about exactly two months I remained a guest in Prestongrange^s family, where I bettered my acquaintance with the bench, the bar, and the flower of Edinburgh company. You are not to suppose my education was neglected; on the con- trary, 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 h^rd, 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 tnere 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. CATRIONA. 235 •Y. a guest red my md the not to he con- ied the -eyden; t h^rd, notable cousin, It to a y Miss t must ^er, all iddress lestion sword om as Jothes d the hould bated eight good Ibit of good 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 Hind 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 w^% that we three began to n^e ovit together in the fields, a practice afterwards maintained in Edinlargh, 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 Covenanty wanderings in the heather, etc. ; and from the interest they found in my adventures sprung the circumstance ot a jaunt we made a Uttle later on, o^ a day when the courts v/ere not sitting, and of which I will teU ^ trifle mpre 9X length. ; W^ m i 336 CATRIONA. '.■ i« We took horse earty, and passed first by the house of Shaws, where it stood smokeless in a great field of white firost, for it was yet early in the day. Here Prestongrange alighted down, gave me his horse, and proceeded alone to visit my uncle. My heart, I remember, swelled up bitter within me at the sight of that bare house and the thought of the old miser sitting chittering within in the cold kitchen I " There is my home," said I ; ** and my family." " Poor David Balfour I " said Miss Grant. What passed during the visit I have never heard ; but it would doubtless not be very agree- able to Ebenezer, for when the Advocate came forth again his face was dark. " I think you will :soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie,'' says he, turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup. " I will never pretend sorrow," said I ; and, to say the truth, during his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing the place in fancy with plantations, parterres, and a terrace — much as 1 have since carried out in fact. Thence we pushed to the Queensferry, where Rankeillor gave us a good welcome, being indeed out of the body to receive so great a visitor. Here the Advocate was so unaffectedly good as to go quite fully over my affairs, sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in his study, and expressing (I was told) a great esteem for myself and concern for my for- tunes. To while this time. Miss Grant and I and young Rankeillor took boat and passed the Hope a( Is with old) for- and ope CATRIONA. ^37 to Limekilns. Rankeillor made himself very ridi- culous (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 any- thing, to be a little gratified. One use it had : for when we were come to the other side, she laid her commands on him to mind the boat, while she and I passed a little further to the alehouse. This was her own thought, for she had been taken with my account of Alison Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself. We found her once more alone — indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the fields — and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the beautiful young lady in the riding-coat. " Is that all the welcome I am to get ? " said I» holding out my hand. "And have you no more memory of old friends ? " "Keep me! wha's this of it?^' she cried, and then, " God^s truth, it's the tautit* laddie I " " The very same," says I " Mony*s the time IVe thocht upon you and your freen, and blythe am I to see in your braws,"t she cried. " Though I kent ye were come to your ain folk by the grand present that ye sent me and that I thank ye for with a* my heart." " There," said Miss Grant to me, " run out by with ye, like a guid bairn. I didnae come here to stand and baud a candle ; it's her and me that are to crack." I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when she came forth I observed two things — • Ragged. ♦ Fine thingtt. Fi ( it .1 n't 1 1 1 23$ CATRIONA. that her e^es were reddened^ cttid a iiUet brooch was gone out of her bosond. This very ttluch affected md " I never saw you so well adorned," sslid I. " O Davie man, dinna be a pompous gowk ! '' said she, and was " I n you beg CATRJONA. if «39 brooch much [. owk ! '' itp to tl this futther quite T^ith turttdd Parlour ething d, the con- She schief) soon )thing n my -the i, the heard that ds of dbn. nfiy perly that '* And as a goddess I anl to be served ) " she cried) shaking her brown locks at me and with a bright colour. "Every man that comes within waft Qf my petticoats shall use me so 1 '' "1 will go so for as ask your pardon for the ^hion's sake, although I vow I know tiot why," I replied. **But for these play-acting postures, you can go to others." "O Davie!" she said. "Not if I was to beg you ! " I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is the same as to say a child, and that upon a point entirely formal. "I think it a bairnly thing," I said, "not worthy in you to ask, or me to render. Yet I will not refuse }ou, neither," said I; "and the stain, if there be any, rests with yourself." And at that I kneeled fairly down. " There ! " she cried. " There is the proper station, there is where I have been manoeuvring to bring you." And then, suddenly, "Kep,"* said she) flung me a folded billet, and ran from the apartment laughing. The billet had neither place nor date. "Dear Mr. David," it began^ " I get your news continually by my cousin, Miss Grant, and it is a pleisand hearing. I am very well, in a good place, among good folk) but necessitated to be quite private, though I am hoping that at long last we maiy meet again. All your friendships have been told me by my loving cousin, who love& us both. •Catch. ji f 240 CATRIONA. She bids me to send you this writing, and over- sees the same. I will be asking you to do all her commands, and rest your affectionate friend, Catriona Macgregor-Drumrhond. P.S. — Will you not see my cousin, AUardyce ? " I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers say) that 1 should have done as I was here bidden and gone forthright to the house by Dean. But the old lady wa's 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 Preston- grange 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 fjiend, Duncansby) was brokl wen bep^ 11 back! persil of tl as I CATRIONA. 241 id over- » do all J friend, iTiU you mpaigns ^e done : to the a's now re. By J round ist, she for her It was 5 leave, placing -decent »n, and fidence family. heated rescue, Jceived eston- nor |of his More. upon It the one enant ) was broken of his rank, and as for Catriona, all men were well enough pleased that her fault should be passed by in silence. I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer. '^No/' she would say, when I persisted, ^^I am going to keep the big feet out of the platter." This was the more hard to bear, as I was aware she saw my little friend many times in the week, and carried her my news whenever (as she said) I "had behaved myself." At last she treated me to what she called an indulgence, and I thought rather more of a banter. She was certainly a strong, almost a violent, friend to all she liked, chief among whom was a certain frail old gentlewoman, very blind and very witty, who dwelt on the top of a tall land on a strait close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, and thronged all day with visitors. Miss Grant was very fond to cany 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 loop- hole lighting the stairway of the opposite house. Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one da^ Mne with Miss Ramsay. I mind 1 thought thac lady inattentive and like one preoccupied. I wfAS besides very uncomfortable, II ' ! x,J II ^4^ CATRIONA. |:i 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. " Here, Shaws I " she cried, ** keek out of the window and see what I have broughten you." 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. ** There ! " says Miss Grant, " I wanted her to see you in your braws like tlie lab: of Limekilns. I wanted her to see what I could m-c^ke of you, when I buckled to the job in earnest ! '' 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. " Catriona ! " was all I could get out. 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. That vision was no sooner lost thaik 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 cattle 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 beii do thei to twol like CaTrioMa. 845 left open i voice of distance, ttt of the m." hat ever in clear ctly, the from the ig across ited her tmekilns. of you, en more y dress ; are had ► merry certainly ^tonly uddenly ran to Iced in ; he key, ( cattle id, and iblc to mcrly ; it was impossible I should le*p 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. On the way home, as soon as I was set free, I upbraided Miss Grant with her cruelty. "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 sh^, with the manner of one reassuring me. " O ! " cried I, " leave my feet be— they are no bigger than my neighbours\" **They are even smaller than some," said she, ^' but I speak in parables like a Hebrew prophet." " I marvel little they were sometimes stoned I " says I. " But, you miserably girl, how could you do it ? Why should you care to tantalise me with a moment ? " " Love is like folk," says she ; " it needs some kind of yivcrs."* •Victuala. 1 1 ill 1 I 244 CATRIONA. ': " Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly ! " 1 pleaded. ** You can — you see her when you please ; let me have half an hour." " Who is it that is managing this love affaii ? 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. 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 Novem- ber 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. 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 mat Mr. Simon in the causeway, I was fain to boy frau< and and kindl kirk busii behii 1 waj in it CATRIONA «45 >erlyl" 1 hen you re affair ? ontinued ck upon he tones y name ; jbjection i of the and his of it (for r heads; blic was Novem- tonn of as duly politics I ind are irisdom) >f time iplicity make xl the le side ^s was use of itherly when 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 1 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 accom- plished nothing. The 25th of the same month a ship was ad- vertised 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 soming 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. " Have I not given you my advice ? " she asked. " I know you have," said I, *' :;nd I know how much I am beholden to you already, and that I am I ; i 24^ CAtm69fA. bidden to dbey yotir orders. But you must confess you are something too merry a lass at times to lippen * to ehtirely." " I will tell you, thdn,** said she. ** Be you on board by nine o'clock foi^enoon ; the ship does not sail before one ; keepr your boat alongside ; and if you are not pleased with my tarewells when I shall send them, you can come ashore again and seek Katririefor yourself." Since I could make no more ol her, I was fain to be content With this. The daif came round at last ^^hen she and t were to liepai^ate. We had been extremely intimate arid famili'ai' ; I was much iti her debt ; and what way we were to part W2is a tihirjg that put me from niy sleep, like the vails I was to give to the domestic servants, i kneti^ she considered me too backward, and rathei^ desired to rise in her opinion on that h^atd. Besides which, after so much affection shown and (I believe) felt upon both sides, it wotiW have looked cold-iike 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 allow^^Kt to salute her in farewell. "You forget yourself strangely, Mr. Balfour," said she. '* I cannot c^U to mind that I h^Ve ^ven you any tight to presume on our akiquaintancy." 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 netk and kissed me with the best will in the T^rorld. • trxui CATRIONA. 247 : confess itnes to >n board il before are not em, you jurself." s faitl to i and l! ntimat6 id what le from to the me too opinion much at both nyWays ind my e to be salute ilfour/* 5 ^ven cy." k) and en of a kissed " You inimitable bairn I " she cried. " Did you think that I would let us part like strangers? Because I can never keep my gravity at you five minutes on end, you must not dream I do not love you very well : I am all love and laughter, every time I cast an eye on you \ And now I will give you an advice to conclude your education, which you will have need of before it^s very long. Never as^ womenfolk. They're bound to answer ' No * ; God never made the lass that cOuld resist the temptation. It'i* supposed by divines tof be the curse of Eve : because she did hot say it when the devUf offered her the apple, her daughters owq concerns, wl^^ph were v^jry little important to any |:|u^ oursejves. At the first we had a great desH to say, and thought ourselves pretty witty ; and 1 wa^ at a Uf^e pajns to be the ^eauy and she (I believe) to play the young lady of experience. But soon we grew plains with eaph other. I la'd aside my high, clipped English (what little there lyas left of \i^) ^ftd forgpt to make my Edinburgh bows afid scrapes; sjhe, v; ^n • ;r side, fell into a sort of idnd fan^Uiarity ; mid ^^e dwelt together like thpsp of tl^e sapcip hou, *oiv"' ^nly (upon my side) with a more deep emotion. About the same time the bottom seemed to fall out of our conversation, and |:ieither p^e of us the less pleased. Whiles 9he would tell pe old wives' tales, of which she had a wonderful variety, many of them froin my friend red-headed Niel. She told them very pretty, and they were pretty ei^ough childish tales ; but thp pleasure ^o myself was in the sound of her voice, and the thought that she was telliqg and I listening. Whilps, ag^in, we would sit entirely silent not conimunicating even with a look, and ^sting pleasure enough in the sweetness of that neigbbpvirhood. I speak herp only fpr myself. Of what was in the maid's n^ind, I am not very surp that ever I asked inyself ; and what ^as in my pwn, I yya^ affai4 tc cppsider. I need n^ake no secret pf \\, now, ei^hc; to myself or to the reader; I ^as fallen totally in tpve. She came between me an|d the sup. She h^d grpwp sud- denly tallef, as } sfy, but with a wholesome wit pai ths hai CATRIONA. 255 » ¥1 growth ; she seemed all health, and lightness, and brave spirits ; and I thought she walked like a yQi|ng 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 imagiqe any further step ; unless perhaps that I would be sometimes tempted to take he: hand in mine and hold it there. But I was too like a miser of what joys I had, and would venture no- thing pn a hazard. What we spoke was usually of ourselves or <^ each other, so that if anyone had been at so much pains as oyerhear us, he might have supposed u;^ the most egotistical persons in the world. It befell one day when we were at this practice, tha 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 lor the first time, and yet each had been alive a good while, losing time with other people. **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 P ! fi i56 CATRIONA. can befall a girl, at all events ? But I went with the clan in the year '45. The men marched with swords and iire-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 gentle- men from the Low Country, with their tenants mounted and trumpets to sound, and there was a grand skirling of war-pipes. I rode on a little Highland horse on the right hand of my father, James More, and of Glengyle himself. And here is one fine thing that I remember, that Glengyle kissed me in the face, because (says he) * my kins- woman, you are the only lady of the clan that has come out,* and me a little maid of maybe twelve years old I 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 o^ all, when the red-coat soldiers were out, and my father and my uncles lay in the hill, and I was to be carrying them their meat in the middle night, or at the short sight of day when the cocks crow. Yes, I have walked in the night, many*s the lime, and my heart great in me for terror of the dark- ness. 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 CATRIONA. as? ith the swords in the at the jentle- enants was a little father, here engyle y kins- lat has twelve e blue s hand 3 were I have ay you lavs of id my ivas to night, crow. I lime, dark- i been maid rriage, Jean me in d, 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."* "Catriona I "says I, " how do you make out that? " " I do not know," said she ; " I am only telling you the seeming in my heart. And then to marry a new man ! Fy I But that was her ; and she was married again upon my Uncle Robin, and went with him awhile to kirk and marked ; and then wearied, or else her friends got claught of her and talked her round, or maybe she turned ashamed; at the least of it, she ran away, and went back to her own folk, and said we had held her in the lake and I will never tell you all what. I have never thought much of any females since that day. And so in the end my father, James More, came to be cast in prison, and you know the rest of it as well as me." ** And through all you had no friends ? " said I. " No," said she ; " I have been pretty chief with two-three lasses on the braes, but not to call it friends." " Well, mine is a plain tale," said I. " 1 never had a friend to my name till I met in with you." ** And that brave Mr. Stewart ? " she asked. " O, yes, I was forgetting him," I said. " But he is a man, and that is very different." I* 1 1< - .; ; •5« CATftldNA. "I t^rould think feo," said she. **0, yes, It is quite different." "And then there was brie other," said I. "I bnce thought I had a friend, but it prdved a disap- pointment." She jisked me who she was ? " 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 hduse; that was his second cOusin oncie 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 ho notice. Eh; Catrioha, it tbok me a long while to forgive the t^orld. There is not anything iliore bitter than to lose a fancied friend." Then she began to question me close upoti his looks and character, fbr we were ^(^h a great deal concerned iil all that touched the other; till at last, in k very evil hour, I minded of his letters arid went and fetched the bundle from the cabin. "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* as well as I do." " Will you let me read them, then ? " says she. I told her, if she would he at the pains ; and she bade me go away and she would read thew from the one end to the other. Now in this bundle that I gave her, there were packed to- gether not only all the letters of my false friend, * Rest. but tow of a wor one ship the of nl lie is quite I. "I i disap- :he two ig*ht we c when hat was ote me B found ired he a Ibtig ly thing poti his at deal at last, id went letters can tell »» »♦ says / and thenp n this ed to- friend, CATRIO'NA. 859 but one or two of Mr. Cam^bdrs when he wks in town at the Assembly, arid 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 oh the Bass and one on board that ship. But of vhepe last I had no particular mind at the moment. 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 hsr like some kind of a noble fever that lived Continually in my bosom; b^r 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 iti 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 conie till then so small a share of pleasure in my way that I might be excused perhaps to dwell on it unduly, p ^When I returned to her again, I had a faint, painful impression as of a buckle slipped, so coldly she returned the packet. " 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. ** Did you mean me to read all ? " she asked. I told her " Yes," with a drooping voice. " The last of them as well ? " said she. I knew where we were now ; yet I wOuld not lie to her either. " I gave them all without after* ir- *r II 26o CATRIONA. M thought/' I said, "as I supposed that you would read them. 1 see no harm in any." "I will be diflfercntly made," said she. "I thank God I am differently made. It was not a fit letter to be shoirn me. It was not fit to be written." . ' " I think you are speaking of your own friend. Barbara Grant ? " said I. "There will not be anything as bitter as to lose a fancied friend," said she, quoting my own expression. "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." " Yet you would show me that same letter I " says she. "I want no such friends. I can be doing very well, Mr, Balfour, without her— or you." " This is your fine gratitude 1 " says I. "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. " 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. CATRIONA. 261 ''i >u would he. " I was not ot fit to ^n friend. ter as to my own jhip that )f justice le words en down self with ould do letter I ** can be her— or said she. -letters." ) that it ; picked rard and ea. For ;elf after 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^y. 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. We were side by side again at supper, and what a change was there! She was like curdled mi!k to me ; her face was like a wooden dolPs ; 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 le'^t familiarity with anyone except myself. M th 1 to $ay I have tving of t. 3he ordinary in show )ut that is her dying." y back, to deal thc^n," CHAPTER XXII HELVOEISLUYS. 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 bail, 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 OQ by ropes, and jesting the most like old sailor- folk that we could imitate. Presently a boat, that was backed like a partaacrab, came gingerly alongside, and the skipper of it hailed our master in the Dutch. Thence Captain Sang turned, very t/oubled-like, to Catriona ; and the rest of us crowding about, the nature of the difficulty v is made plain ta all. The Rose was bound to the port of Rotterdam 264 CATRIONA. *i-*- whither the other passengers were in ?k gre?*" impatience to artjve, in view of a C(:.;veyanct; due ♦«; le3\e that /cry evening in the directiun of th.i' Lpper Germany. This, with the present ha): 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. " 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." But Catriona would hear of n*. ch mge. She looked white-like as she beheld the bursting of the sprays, the green seas that sometimes poured upon the forecastle, and the perpetual bounding and swooping of the boat among the billows ; but she stood firmly by her father's orders. *' My father, James More, will have arranged it so," wai h'-'i first word and her last. I thought it very idis and indeed wanton in the girl to be io literal and stand opposite to so much kind ad re- an U3< CATRIONA. iveyancc iirectijn present le were J. Now nth his to call to the le boat, y : but le boat in no gey an to ye, Take y with :an get : as far place She hing of poured unding illows ; *^My h so," ght it to be kind 265 advice ; btii the fact is she had a very good reasoii, ii 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. " But you \en nae French and nae Dutch neither," raid one. "It is very true," says she, "but since the year '46 there are so many of the honest Scots abroad, that I will be doing very well, I thank M you 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 loss of his conveyance ; and I think he made it up to his conscience by the loudness of his voice. At least he broke out upon Captain Sang, raging and saying the thing was a disgrace ; that it was mere death to try to leave the ship, and at any event we could not cast down an innocent maid in a boatful of nasty Holland fishers, and leave her to her fate. I was thinking something of the same ; took the mate upon one »ide, arranged with him to send on my chests by Ii ■V , 260 CATRIQNA. J I'i track-scoot to an address I had in Leyden, and stood up and sipn^ed to the £isheis. " I will go ashore with the young lady. Captain Sang,^' said I. **It is all one what way I go to Ley den ; " and leaped at the same time into the hoat, which I managed not so elegantly but what I fell witl^ two of the fishers in the hilge. From the boat the business appeared yet more precarious than from the ship, she stood so lugh Qver 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 ^mbxacing James More, if I should want to. But this was to reckon \y;ithout the lass's courage. She had seen me leap witii 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 bul^ark» and held by a stay, the v^ind blowing in h^r petticoats, which made the enterprise more daugerouSj and gave us rather more of a view of her stochings than would be thought genteel in cities. There was no minuter loAV, and scarce tine given for any to interfere if they had wislii4 th.? mxae, I stood up on the other side and spieaa my arms ; the ship swung down on us, the pattooii humoured hh boat nearer in than was perhaps wholly safe, and Catriona leaped iat<> ti e air» I was so happy at 1 ii CATRIONA. 167 !)aptain go to ito the t wbi9t t more o high ced us ssaging I had }ossible id that myself ieasure mt to. >urage. iarance sure^ friend. i stay, made rather uld be nipute terfere >n the swung boat 5, and )py ai to catch her, and the iishers 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. 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 jRose had got her anchor and was oS again before we had approached the harbour mouth. 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 nnt ? " cries she. The patroon scolded back upon her in a lingo where the oaths were English and the reat right Hollands ; till at last (seeing her ueai" tears) I privately slipped in the rogue '• hand six shillings, whereupon he was obliging ! It f ' a68 CATRIONA. I I enough to receive from her the other shilhng 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. " 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." "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 lo3ral daughter." " O, I do not think I will be a loyal girl, at all events," she cried, with a great deal of pavnfrilness in the expression. "I do not think my heart is true." "Yet there are very few that would have made that leap, ,ind all to obey a father^s orders," I observed. "I cannot have you to be thinking of me so," she cried again. ^' When you had done that same, how would 1 stop behind? And at all events that was not all the reasons." Where- upon, with a burning face, she told me the plain truth upon her poverty. " Good guide us I " cried I, " what kind of daft -like proceeding is this, to let yourself be launched on the continent of Europe with an ei d g shilling s a good see folk ; and I I asked e, where e of one lys she ; wishing re friend you to I spoke a loyal yal girl, deal of »t think d have orders," of me done And at Where- e plain :ind of self be ith an I CATRIONA. 269 : V empty purse —I count it hardly decent — scant decent I *' I cried. " You forget James More, my father, is a poor gentleman," said she. "He is a hunted exile." " But r 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 I 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. "I will have lied to all of them," she replied. *^I will have told them all that I had plenty. I told her too. I could not be lowering James More to them." I found out later on that she must have lowered him in the very dust, for the lie was originally the father's, not the daughter's, and she thus obliged to persevere in it for the man's reputation. But at the time I was ignorant of this, and the mere thought of her destitution and the perils in which she must have fallen, had ruffled me almost beyond reason. "Well, weil, well," said I, "you will have to learn more sense." I left her mails for the moment in an inn upon the shore, where I got a direction for P| ! ( 270 CATRIONA. *Sprott*s house in triy 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 c«u»seway. Sprott was within, upon his ledgers, in a tow 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, Itrsty man, with a crooked hard look to him ; and he made us not that much civility as offer us a seat. "Is James More Macgregor how iii Helvoet, sir ? " says I. "I ken nobody by such a name," says he, impatient-like. ** Since you are so particular," says 1, "I will amend my question, and ask you where we are to find in Helvoet one James Drumniond, ah'as Macgregor, ah'as Janles More, late tenant in Inveronachile ? " "Sir," says he, "he may ht in Hell for what I ken, and for my part I wish he was." " The young lady is that gentleman's daughtet, sir," said I, " before whom, I think you will aj^ee with me; it is not very becoming to discuss his character." "I have nothing to make either with him, or her, or you," cries he in his gross voice. GATRIONA. 271 •'Under yotir favour, Mr. Sprott/' saiid I, "this young lady is come from Scotland seeking him, and by whatever mistake, was given the name of your house for sl 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." " 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 the money." "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." As I said this, ^d without particularly thinking what I did, I drew a step or two nearer to his table ; thus striking, by tnere good fortiihe, on the only argument that could at all affect the man. The blood left his lusty countenance. "For the Lord^s sake dinna be hasty, ^irl" 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 I it's a kind auld fallow at heart, Sandie Sprott ! Ahd ye could never imagine the fyke and fash this man has been to me." " Very good, sir," said I. " Then I Will make IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I yo ^" m^ 1^ 1^ 12.2 IE 1.25 l'-^ ll'-6 V] 7] v: >^ ''# '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation '^'"^'l*' ^ ^f^^ 73 WIST MAIN STRUT WMSTH.N.Y. M5I0 (716) ariusoa '^(^ ■^ ^/^ A^^^ ^ '«,* ^ J J z 872 CATRIONA. that much freedom with your kindness as trouble you for your last news of Mr. Drummond." " You're welcome, sir ! " said he. " As for the young leddy (my respec's to her !), heUl 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 wamefiil, he would give them a' the go-by I 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 ray 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 twalmonth ; I would wonder at naething — or just at the ae thing, and that's if he was to pay me my siller. Ye see what way I stand with it ; and it's clear I'm no very likely to meddle up with the young leddy, as ye ca' her. She cannaestop here, that's ae thing cer- tain 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." "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." CATRIONA. 273 trouble for the ist have see ; I links of auchter, e them either. nearly fact iSf s affair, ir affair d's ray I ken coming 3 morn, would thing, er. Ye I'm no y, as ye ing cer- was to )uld try ill take ive me, ere for dent in he is ■ This word I wrote and sealed ; which while I was doing, Sprott of his own motion made a welcome ofifer, 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. 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. " Now,'* said I, " let us get back to yon same inn where they can speak the French , and have a piece of dinner, and inquire for conveyances to Rotterdam. I will never be easy till I have you safe again in the hards of Mrs. Gebbie." "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." " And just this once again," said I, " I will remind you it was a blessing that I came alongst with you." "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." M ■ ! f I \ K\ M CHAPTER XXIII. TRAVELS IN HOLLAND. The rattel-waggpn, 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 slee^^es ; the clash of talk about us made our heads to whirl ; and what was the most unexpected of all, we appea;^ed 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 X felt like a lost sheep, and my heart beat in my bosom with anxiety. Once or twice 1 inquired after the harbour or the berth of the ship Rose ; 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, thp dpprs 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 tl^^r language. A little after we issued forth upon an open place along the harbour. " 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, " CATRIONA. a75 and at tjie best of it w^ may light upon th^t very §hip." 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 psissengers were all gone already qn their further travels. It was impossible to chase after the Gebbies into High Germany, and we had no other a^cquaintance to fall back upon but Captain Sang himself. It was the more gratifying to find l^he 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 Rose was loaden; he declared he woula lithely then 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 nipal we stood in need of. He seemed ex- tremely friendly, as I say, but what surprised me a good deal, rat her boisterous in the bargain ; and the cause of this was soon to appear. For at the ordinary, calling for Rhenish wine and drinking ot it deep, he spon '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 biipself so scandalous to the young lady, jesting mpst ill-favouredly at tho figure she had made on the ship's rail, that I had no resource but carry her suddenly away. ill 'if ni 2j6 GATRIONA. She came out of the ordinary clinging to me close. "Take me away, David," she said. " You keep me. I air not afraid with you.'* " And have no cause, my little friend I " cried I, and could have found it in my heart to weep. " Where will you be taking me ? " she said again. "Don't leave me at all events — never leave me.'* " 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." * She crept close into me by way of a reply. " Here," I said, " is the stillest place we have hit on yet in this busy byke of a city. Let us sit down hereunder yon tree and consider of our course." 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, disengagec? 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 s«| CATRIONA. 277 ig to me d. " You " cried I, eep. •aid again, e me." stopping, blindness. Jave you, lore also, !ply. we have Let us sit r course." get) stood ick night, r hand in e city on of many other, it sides. I nd made old upon ts ; but I self, and of what ly brains cattering ace with :e 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. " You will have thought of something good,'* said she, observing me to pause. ^ 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. " Catriona," said I, " I know youVe brave and I believe youVe 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. " 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." " Can you start now and march all night ? " said I. " I will do all that you can ask of me," she said, " and nevei 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 \ 1 I i 278 CATRIONA. N W best lady in the world," shie added^ " ahd I do not see what she would deny you for at all events/' This was Greek and Hebrfew to me ; but I had other matters to consider, and the first of these was to giet clear of that city on the Leyden road. It proved a cruel prbblem ; and it may have been one or two at night ere we had solved it. Once beyond the houses, there was neither moon k^or stars to guide us; only the whiteness of the way in the nlidst and a blackness of an alley on both hands. The walking was besidies made most extraordinary difficult by a plain black frost that fell suddenly in the small hours and turned that highway into one long slide. " 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 ^ setren BettSy the seven glens and the seven mountain iHoors\''^ Which was a commoh byword ot overcome in thosie tales of hers that had stuck in my memory. "Ah," sajrs ^he, "but here arie iaky glens or moutitainS I Though I will never be denying but what the trees and some of the plain places here- dboub, are very jpretty. But our cbiintry is the best yet." "I wish we could l^ay as much for our own folk," says I, recalling Sprott and Sang, and perhaps Jahies More himself. " I will never complain of the country 6i my friend," said she, and spoke it out with an accent so particular that I seethed to see the lookupoii herfacci CATRIONA. 479 I caught in my breath sharp and came near falling (for my pains) on the black ice. " I do not know what you think, Catriona," said I, when I was a httle recovered, " but this has been the best day yet ! I think shame to say it, When you have met in with such misfortunes and dis- favours ; but for me, it has been the best day yet." "It was a good day when you showed me so much love," said she. "And yet I think shame to be happy too,** I went on, " and you here on the road in the black night." " Where in the great world would I bte eke '. " she cried. " I am thinking I am safest where I am with you." " I am quite forgiven, then ? " I asked. " 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 yoii but thanks. But I will be honest too," she addedj With a kihd of suddenness, "and 1*11 never can forgive that girl.*' "Is this Miss Gratit again?** said L "Ydu said yourself she was the best lady iti the World.** " So she will be, indeed I " 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. M " Well,** said I, " this beats all that ever ckme to my knowledgb ; and I wonder that you can indulge yourself in such bairnly whims. Here i* a young V I 28o CATRIONA. u \ « ! 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." But Catriona stopped square in the midst of the highway. " 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." 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. "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 improve- ment, 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." " Well, then, have you done ? " said she. " I have done," said I. " A very good thing," said she, and we went on again, but now in silence. It was an eerie employment to walk in the gross night, beholding only shadows and hearing nought CATRIONA. 2«I •Id to the ourselves, IS anyone ;r." idst of the ;ither you ick to yon ases 1 Or k of other this world; altogether and not so to be wise ke neither at I should for talking to it, and I 3nly design n improve- stice. Not pride and a I well; but she. we went on in the gross ring 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. 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. ** 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 ? '* 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. " You must try to be more patient of your friend," said I. I thought she seemed to lean the least thing in tha world against my bosom, or perhaps it was but fancy. " There will be no end to your goodness," said she. 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 grfeat 'chimney, J I I' r' 282 CATRIONA. 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. *' Catriona," said I, " I believe you have yet a shilling and three baubees ? " " Are you wanting it ? " said she, and passed me her purse. *' I am wishing it was five pounds I What will you want it for ? " " And what have we been walking for all night, like a pair of waif Egyptians I " 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." 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. " My torture ! are we beggars then ? " she cried. " You too ? O, I could have wi^ed for this same thing I 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 [i CATRIONA. 383 dancing over here, and might be paying for the curiosity of that sight." I could have kissed hei 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. 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. " And now, Davie," said she, " what will you do with me at all events ? " " 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 ? " " It will be more than seeming then," said she. " You are a very young maid," said I, " and I am but a very young callant. This is a great piece of diflficulty. What way are we to manage ? Unless indeed, you could pass to be my sister ? " " And what for no ? " said she, " if you would let me I " " 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." {I s84 CATRIONA. m " And now I will be Catriona Balfour,** she said. " And who is to ken ? They are all strange folk here." " If you think that it would do," says I. " I own it troubles me. X would like it very ill, if I advised you at all wrong." '* David, I have no friend here but you," she said. " 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." " I will have no choice left," said she. " My father James More has not used me very well, and n 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. ** No, but I ought to warn you," I began ; and then bethought me I was 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 5rou ? " "Well, and here I am," said she. * So that's soon settled." CATRIONA. «85 )avid, I am 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. A little beyond the Hague she fell very lame and made the rest of the distance heavily enough. Twice she must rest by the wayvside, 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. "I must not be disgracing my brother," said she, and was very merry with it all, although her face told tales of her. There is a garden in that city we were bound to, sanded below with clean sand, the trees meeting overhead, some of them trimmed, some pleached, and the whole place beautified with alleys and arbours. Here I left Catriona, and went forward by myself to find my correspondent. There I drew on my credit, and asked to be recommended to some decent, retired lodging. My baggage being 286 CATRIONA. I . 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 recommenda- tion 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 re- minded me of an infirm rabbit — he began to question me close. Here I fell in a panic. Suppose he accept my tale (thinks I), suppose he invite my sister to his house, and that I bring her. I shall have a fine ravelled pirn to unwind, and may end by disgracing both the lassie and myself. Thereupon I began hastily to expound to him my sister's character. She was of a bashful disposition, it appeared, and so extremely fearful of meeting strangers that I had left her at that moment sitting in a public place alone. And then, being launched upon the stream of falsehood, I must do like all the rest of the world in the same circumstance, and plunge in deeper than was any service ; adding some altoge- ther 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. The old gentleman was not so much deceived but what he discovered a willingness to be quit of CATRIONA. 287 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 ti' send his son to be my guide and caution in the matter of a lodging. This implied my present- ing 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 bashful- ness. 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. •*( CHAPTER XXIV. FULL STORY OF A COPY OF HEINECCIUS. 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 Holland 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. 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 chiefs; 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 CATRIONA 289 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. 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, J* 290 CATRIONA. after the strong admiration I had just experienced and the immoderacy with which I had continued iDfiy 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, judg- ing the case too problematical, I varied my question into this, whether I would so trust Catriona in the shands of a,ny 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 irregu- larly 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 i^trength to be enabled to ob$er>;^e them, and 9$ CATRIONA. 291 lore cause, a more human aid to the same end purchased a 8tudy-book in law. This being all I could think of I relaxed from these grave considerations ; where- upon 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. 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. *'' 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. 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 mast 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." She dropped me one of her curtseys, which were extraordinary taking. ** If you will be cross," said •he, " I must be making pretty manners at you, 292 CATftlONA. DaviGs 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." 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. In the midst of which I awoke to better re- collections, 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 ? So the rest of the evening flowed by almost without a speech. I COUI4 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 CATRIONA. 293 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 churlishness and that I must continue to practice the same ungrateful course or be dishonoured, put me beside my reason. I stood like a man between Scylla and Charybdis : What must she think of jTzs ? was my one thought that softened me continually into weakness. What is to become of usf the oti^er which steeled me again to resolution. This was my first night of wake- fulness 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. 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 I was able ; taking out classes and sitting as 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 1 could ever have compassed. The evil of this course was unhappily near as great as its 294 CATRIONA. f ! 1 i 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 overmaster me. These friendly offers I l w»: barbarously cast back ; and my rejection sometimes wcunded 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 dis- appointments, upon the which I could almost say (if it may be said with reverence) that I was crucified. The base of my trouble was Catriona's extra- ordinary 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 sim- plicity of woman, from whom I felt (in these mo- ments) that I was not worthy to be descended. 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 ward- CATRIONA. i9S al, but I tried the :h left to with an vermaster irbarously wounded 1 seek to that our and dis- Id almost e) that I ia*s extra- so much ion. She ^sition, no mark of 1 when I , did not rcre times she were catch me, se " ; and the sim- these mo- lded, on which this was jage had tiers from vo ward- robes; 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. Once, indeed, I was betrayed into a childishness greater than her own ; it fell in this way. On my return from classes, thinking upon her devoutly with a great deal of love and a good deal of annoyance in the bargain, the annoyance began to fade away out of my mind ; and spying in a window one of those forced flowers, of which the Hollanders are so skilled in the artifice, I gave way to an impulse and bought it for Catriona. I do not know the name of that flower, but it was of the pink colour, and I thought she would admire the same, and carried it home to her with a wonderful soft heart. I had left her in my clothes, and when I returned to find her all changed and a face to match, I cast but the one look at her from head to foot, ground my teeth together, flung the window open, and my flower into the court, and then (between rage and prudence) myself out of that room again, of which I slammed the door as I went out. 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 2^6 CATRIONA. i^ 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 hy 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. 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 -^ngrily (for I was in no spirit to be interrupted) saw Catriona drawing near. She was all changed again, to the clocked stockings. " Are we not to have our walk to-day ? " said she. I was looking at her in a maze. "Where is your brooch ? " says I. She carried her hand to her bosom and coloured^ high. "I will have forgotten it," said she. "1 will run upstairs for it quick, and then surely we*il can have our walk ? " There was a note of pleading in that lasl that staggered me ; I had neither words noi voice to utter them ; I could do no more than nod by way of answer ; and the moment sha CATRIONA 297 ry place, cost me y in the le canal, pie went I could no way had just had now to make :ime (and y to my from the e that I eard the now, and no spirit ear. She kings, to-day ? " Where is 1 coloured she. " 1 in surely that last ords noi lore than nent sh« nad left me, climbed into the tree and recovered my flower, which on her return I offered her. "I I. ought it for you. Catriona," said I. She fixed it in the midst of her bosom witli the brooch, I could have thought tenderly. "It is none the better of my handling," said I again, and blushed. "I will be liking it none the worse, you may be sure of that," said she. 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 walk- ing, 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. [ 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. We had our walk daily. Out in the streets I felt more safe ; I relaxed a little in my guarded- ness ; 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 ap- pointed, 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 |i«eyden, 2f)$ CATRIONA, n I I scarce a street or lane there, where we hav6 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. 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. "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." 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 tiitte beyond belief for freedom and sweetness. It was the dark night when we came to the CATRIONA. 299 we have r cotifiiie the fear J, which difficult, ^er suffer ielf ; but privately honest, divided ing that wn alone hard. I d venture liting for ralk," she Davie, in you only ill better hem; she )eat about upon her ir smiling I me with ould have uttermost gether all weetness. ne 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. 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. Suddenly she called out aloud. " O, why does not my father come ? " she cried, and fell at once into a storm of tears. I leaped up, flung Heineccius fairly in the fire, ran to her side, and cast an arm around her sobbing body. \ I f \i H IHj 1 ^^K' Im^h 1 i^^^H 1 1 I^H 1 i Id Hi H m ^ra 1 ' 300 CATRIONA. 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 ? " " Hate you ! " cries I, and held her firm. ** You blind lass, 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 nonour ; would you punish me for that ? Is it for that that you would spurn a loving servant ? " 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. " Did you kiss her truly ? " she asked. There went through me so great a heave of surprise that I was all shook with it. ** Miss Grant? " I cried, ail in a disorder. " Yes, I asked her to kiss me good-bye, the which she did." " Ah, well !" said she, "you have kissed me too, at all events." At the strangeness and sweetness of that word, I saw where we had fallen ; rose, and set her on her feet. " This will never do," said I. " This will never, CATRIONA. 301 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." She turned to obey me like a child, and the next I knew of it, had stopped in the very door- way. '^ " Good night, Davie ! " said she. " 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. 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. 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 I' : ill I 302 CATRIONA. choice or fault of ours, life had conspired to wall us together in that narrow place. I had a wild thought of marrying put 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. 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. " O, try to forgive me I " I cried out, " try, try to forgive me. Let us forget it all, let us try if we^U no can forget :*t I " 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. " 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." ii CHAPTER XXV. THE RETURN OF JAMES MORE, 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 extra- ordinary big laced hat, there stood James More. I ought to have been glad perhaps without admixture, for there was a sense in which the man came like an answer to prayer. I had been saying till my head was weary that Catriona and I must separate, and looking till my head ached for any possible means of separation. Here were the means come to me upon two legs, and joy was the hind' most of my thoughts. It is to be considered, how- ever, 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. " 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 door- way, 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 % ^J^ Elt 304 CATRIONA. 'f entrapped into by my confidence in that false-facCf 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." " I think, sir," said I, with a very painful air, " that it will be necessary we two should have an explanation." " There is nothing amiss ? " he asked. " My agent, Mr. Sprott " ** For God*s sake moderate your voice !" I cried. " She must not hear till we have had an explanation." *^ She is in this place ? " cries he. " That is her chamber door," said I. " You are here with her alone ? " he asked. " And who else would I have got to stay with us ? " cries I. I will do him the justice to admit that he turned pale. "This is very unusual," said he. "This is a very unusual circumstance. You are right, we must hold an explanation." 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 ^canned (I mav 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 CATRIONA. 305 dish, with some disorder of my clothes, and the unlighted chimney, made the only plenishing ; no mistake but ic 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 bad bought for her ; and I thought this contrast of poverty and prodigality bore an ill appearance. 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 extra- ordinary interview might end, it must pass if possible without waking Catriona ; and the one thing needful was that we should sit dose 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. " Well ? " says he. And " Well," I began, but found myself unable to go further. "You tell me she is here?" said he again but now with a spice of impatience that seemed to brace me up. "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 l.i I 306 CATRIONA. I ; i business v^as from the beginning. Here is a young lady landed on the coast of Europe with two shillings and a penny hal^enny. 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 bui damn and swear at the mere mention of your nam*;, and I must fee him out of my own pocket evtn to receive the custody of her effects. You speik 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." "But this is what I cannot understand the least," said James. " My daughter w^as 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." "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." "But the choice was not between me and somebody else, it was between me and nobody," cried I. "Nobody offered in my place, and 1 must say I think you show a very small degree of gratitude to me that did." " I shall wait until I understand my obligation a little more in the particular," says he. CATJE^lONA. 30> :ances, Mr. "Indeed, and I think it stares you in the /ace, 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 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." " You are a young man," he began. "So I hear you tell me," said I, with a good deal of heat. "You are a very young man," he repeated, "or you. would have understood the significancy of the step." "I think you speak very much at your ease," cried I. "What else waa I to do? It is a fact I might have hired some decent, poor woman to be a third of us, and I declare I never thought of it until this moment 1 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." "He that lives in a glass house should not 3o8 CATRIONA. n j ii; ii ' 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." " 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." He seemed to soothe me with a hand in the air. "There, there," said he. "You go too fast, you go too fEist, Mr. Balfour. It is a good thing that I have learned to be more patient. And I be- lieve you forget that I have yet to see my daughter." 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. "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. "What I would have looked for at your hands ! " says he ; and there was no mistake but what he said it civilly. 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 deter- mined to pursue what seemed to be my victory. CATRIONA. 309 " 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." "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.'^ "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 ? " " 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." "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 . 1 1 !" \\ n I i^ 310 GATRIONA. and delay the meal the matter of an hour, which will give you an interval to meet your daughter in." 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 ? " "To be frank with you, sir," says I, "I drink nothing else but spare, cold water." "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." "I shall make it my business to see you aie supplied," said I. "Why, very good," said he, "and we shall make a man of you yet, Mr. David." 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 Drum- mond, here is your father come at last.^' With that I went forth upon my errand, having ' (by two words) extraordinarily damaged my affairs. if CHAPTER XXVI. TKB THREESOME. 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! The trouble betwixt us seems to have been this : that whereas I (since I had first set eyes on 312 CATRIONA. I ' 1 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 extra- ordinary bright, and a painful and varying ex- pression, 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. But this was not for long. As I beheld her so regardless of her own interests, which I had jeopar- dised and was now endea- curing to recover, I redoubled my own coldness in the manner of a lesson to the girl. The more she came forward, the further I drew back ; the more she betrayed the closeness of our intimacy, the more pointedly civil I became, until even her father (if he had not been so engrossed with eating) might have observed CATRIONA. 313 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. 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 wav 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 to\7ards him and put myself (so to speak) in the man's hands. " Can I do anything for^o:<, Mr. Drummond?'* says L i iM CATRIONA. He stifled a yawn, which again I thought to be duplicity. ** Why, Mr. David," said he, " since you are so obhging 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." There was no more to say, and I got my hat and cloak to bear him company. " And as for you," says he to his daughter, " you had best go to your bed. I shall be late home, and Early to bed and early to rt'se^ j^ars bonny lasses have bright eyes^^ Whereupon he kissed her with a good deal ot 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. 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 CATRIONA. 3x5 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 fiill heart. 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 afteriioon, with porters bringing chairs and tables, found the girl once more left to herself. She greeted me on my admission civilly, but with- drew 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. " Catriona I " said I. 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 n^me on, as of one in a bitter trouble. 3i6 CATRIONA. !. fH *' Are we not lo have our walk to-day either ? ** so I faltered. " I am thanking you," said she. " I will not be car- ing much to walk, now that my father is come home." " But I think he has gone out himself and left you here alone," said I. "And do you think that was very kindly said?" she asked. " 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 ? " " I do not turn from you at all," she said, speak- ing 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 I 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." 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. 1 saw, for the first time, how very wrong I had done to place the child in that position, where she had CATRIONA. 317 nther ? " ot be car- I home." and left lysaid?" "What you that id, speak- ful to my his friend ny father Ference to lings said forgotten I am able, t is not so ing ! But hard. It too young remember lose your e she was Bt, so that trembling gentle. 1 ^ had done re she had been entrapped into a moment's weakness, and now stood before me like a person shamed. " 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." " I am thanking you," said she. We stood awhile silent, and my sorrow for my- self 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 be- ginning. "Well," baid I, "we shall be friends always, that's a certain thing. But this is a kind of fare- well, too : it's a kind of farewell after all ; I shall always ken Miss Druramond, but this is a farewell to my Catriona." 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. She shrank back like a person struck, her face flamed ; but the blood sprang no faster up into her 3i8 CATRIONA. 3 !.■ fi I 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. I think it was about five days that followed without any change. I saw her scarce ever but at meals, and then of course in the company of James More. If we were alone even for a moment, I made it my devoir to behave the more distantly and to multiply respectful attentions, having always in my mind's eye that picture of the girl shrinking and flaming in a blush, and in my heart more pity for her than I could depict in words. I was sorry enough for myself, I need not dwell on that, having fallen all my length and more than all my height in a few seconds ; but, indeed, I was near as sorry for the girl, and sorry enough to be scarce angry with her save by fits and starts. Her plea was good ; she was but a child ; she had been placed in an unfair position; if she had deceived herself and me, it was no more than was to have been looked for. 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 tavern^ when he had the money, which was more often than I could at all account for ; and even in the course '.f these few days, failed once to come to a meal, which Catriona and I were at last compelled to CATRIONA. 319 my own concern. it bowed rs out of followed rer but at of James loment) I distantly ng always shrinking more pity was sorry at, having my height as sorry irce angry plea was sen placed iTed herself have been very much is rather a 1 led away er without ; in tavern^ t often than the course to a meal, mpelled 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 chim- ney 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 (when- ever 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 miscon- ception. 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 oatside 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 320 CATRIONA. ^1 rs 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 bab- bling of a parrot. 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 de- jection 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 ^nd indeed beseech us to entertain him with our talk, a thing very difficult in the state of our relations ; and again break forth into pitiable regrets for his own land and friends, or into Gaelic singing. " 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 ■I J I 1 I I CATRIONA. 321 u ry little 5, might my first saw him cency io aggering a poor of my the bab- ved some k he was when he Its of de- There ost silent, holding egging ot him ; of I more to ;d beseet:h hing very and again own land irs of my y think it ^d it is to "But the , and the sn I mind irds 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 de- feated. 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 lan- guage, you would weep also because the words of it are beyond all expression, and it is mere mockery to tell you it in English." 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 se'^ Catriona so much concerned for the old rogue, und weeping herself to see him weep, when I was sure one half of ^ his distress flowed from his last night's drinking in Bome tavern. There were times when I was tempted to lend him a round sum, ana see the last of him for good ; but this would have been to see the last of Catriona as well, for which T 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. K* CHAPTER XXVIL A TWOSOME. I SELIKVE 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 intelli- gence?) and of rallying talk about Catriona, which it cut me to the quick to read in her very presence. 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 mad 3 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 pre-ordained before Agricola came into Scotland or Abraham set out upon his travels. The first that I opened was naturally Alan's ; ^d what more natural than that I should Qom- CATRIONA. 3*3 I know f gloom, ivas from ther two he same and my nkeillor^s ;w ; Miss itty than l written h intelli- ,, which it resence. US that I :hat I was : moment version for en the ill dent that and that oom with )wed from evented if they were Gotland or [y Alan's ; ould Qom- ment on his design to visit me ? but I observed James to sit up with an air of immediate attention. " Is that not Alan Breck that was suspected of the Appin accident ? ** he inquired. 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. ** 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 Drum- mossie. 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. 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. Meanwhile, I had opened Miss Grant's, and could not withhold an exclamation. "Catriona," I cried, forgettmg, the first time since her father was arrived, to address her by a handle, " I am come into my kingdom fairly, I am the laira of Shaws indeed — my uncle is dead at last." She clapped her hands together, leaping frofn 324 CATRIONA. ! ii ' i iii t 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. But James showed himself a ready hypocrite. **My daughter," says he," is this how my cousin learned you to behave? Mr. David has lost a near friend, and v/e should first condole with him on his bereavement." " 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." "It*s a good soldier^s philosophy," said 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 I But we may at least congratulate you on your accession to your estates." " 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 — I see not how anyone is to be bettered by this change." " Come, come," said he, " you are more affected than you let on, or you wr>"ld iiever 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." She looked up at him, a little wild at that : ( CATRIONA. 325 ve come ;e of joy :, staring lypocrite. ly cousin is lost a ivith him n a kind ices. His id James. [), all go. ur favour, igratulate lied, with ; what enough e in my 1 — which ess it I — I change." e affected e yourself lat means lame two ve known are alone, Kises." at that: ;e and he slid off at once into anotrier matter, the extent of my estate, which (during the most of the dinner time) he continued to dwell upon with interest. But it was to no purpose he dissembled ; he had touched the matter with too gross a hand ; and I knew what to expect. Dinner was scarce ate when he plainly discovered his designs. He reminded Catriona of an errand, and bid her attend to it. "I do not see you should be gone beyond the hour," he Jded, " 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 under- stood, I believe not ; but I was completely satisfied, and sat strengthening my mind for what should follow. The door had scarce closed behind her de- parture, 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. "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 Uved ever since the days of my late departed father, God sain him I iu a perfect spate of calumnies ? We hav« 3^6 CATRIONA. '4 I I 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. "To what effect, Mr. Drummond?" said I. " I would be obliged to you if you would approach your point." "Ay, ay," ^id he, laughing, "like your character^ indeed ! and what I most admire in it. But the point, my worthy fellow, is some- times 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." "I thank you for that," said I, pretty close upon my guard. .. />I have besides studied your character," he went on ; " your talents are fair ; you seem to have a moderate cQmpetence, 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." " I am afraid I am dull," said I. *' What ways are these ? " 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." CATRIONA. 337 consider t." And ilpit. " said I. approach ke your idmire in is some- of wine. are such ng. The daughter. I thought ifortunate ? 'Deed, etty close icter," he seem to no harm ; happy to ecided on 'hat way* iahly and " I think leman of cut your liter;' 6 " You are pleased to be quite plain at last/' said L ** And I believe I have been plain from the be- ginning ! " cries he robust iously. " I am a careful parent, Mr. Balfour ; but I thank God, a patient and deleeberate man. There is many a father, sir, that would have hirsled you at once either to the altar or the field. My esteem for your character " " 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." " Why, very true," says he, with an immediate change. ^'And you must excuse the agitations of a parent." "I understand youthen," I continued — '*for I will take no note of your other alternative, which per- haps 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 ? " "It is not possible to express my meaning better," said he, " and I see we shall do well together." ** 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." , " I was sure of it, I felt certain of you, David," he cried, and reached out his hand to me. 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 JH ' t I •A 326 CATKIONA. 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." "This is all beside the mark," says he. **I will engage for her acceptance." "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." He sat and glowered at me like one in doubt and a good deal of temper. " 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." ** 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 " 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 lea!>t of all." CATRIONA. 3^9 ve told bjection ason to he. *'I * said I, ive been ressions. 3 young the two that I I myself, >rced on in doubt included, jlithely, be the fear — dl affair, r a bit, of you, an seek else," y dealer exactly ; you the . , **Upon my v;ord, sir I" he exclaimed, *'and who are you to be the judge ? " " The bridegroom, I believe," said I. "This is to quibble," he cried. "You turn your back upon the facts. The girl, my daughter, has no choice left to exercise. Her characte. is gone." ^^And I ask your pardon/' said I, "but while this matter lies between her and you and me, that is not so." "What security have II" he cried. "Am I to let my daughter's reputation depend upon a chance ? " "You should have thought of all this long ago," said I, "before you were so misguided as to lose her ; and not atcerwards when it is quite too late. I refuse to regard myself as any way accountable for your neglect, and I will be brow- beat by no man living. My mind is quite made up, and come what may, I will not depart from it a hair's breadth. You and me are to sit here in company till her return : upon which, without either word or look from you, she and I are 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." He leaped out of his chair like a man stung. "I can spy your manoeuvre," he cried j " you would work upon her to refuse I " "Maybe ay, and maybe no,' said 1. "That ia the way it is to be, whatever »» 44 And if I refuse ? *' cries he. 330 CATRIONA. " Then, Mr. Drummond, it will have to oome to the throat-cutting," said I. 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 se m 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. A little while longer he continued to dispute with me, until J hit upon a word that silenced him. **If I find you so averse as 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." He gabbled some kind of an excuse. " But all this is very exhausting to both of our tempers," I added, ^* and I think we would do better to preserve a judicious silence." The which we did until the girl returned, and I must suppose would have cut a very ridiculous 6gure had there been any there to view us. come to It length is father, use this at all of s father. •*rom the to have e indeed :t that I unbraced news of i he had venture, elieve he 1 fall to i dispute silenced the lady ave very bout her h of our io better ed, and I idiculoui CHAPTER XXVIDL IN WHICH I AM LEFT ALONE. I OPENED the door to Catriona and stopped her on the threshold. "Your father wishes us to take our walk," said I. She looked to James More, who nodded, and at that, like a trained soldier, she turned to go with me. 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 knock- ing 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, alid 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. 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 j yet to avoid it wholly would have a very cold-like appearance. Between 333 CATRIONA. i I 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. "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." She promised me that simply. " 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 Fnday, I have no manner of right. We havij 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 h^s become merely necessary, and no way by it. You see, this estate of mine has fallen in, which makes of me rather a better match ; and the — the business would not have quite the same ridiculous- like appearance that it would before. Besides which, it's supposed that our affairs have got so much ravelled up (as I was saying) that it would be better to let them be the way they are. In my view, this part of the thing is vastly exaggerate, and if I were you I would not 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 CATRIONA. 333 have bit laged to om. ' painful I would promise 1 not to to say is no right ireen the of right, ny fault) is just to led fully, thoughts ^ dear, it ly by it. , which he — the iiculous- Besides ? got so vould be In my iggerate, :houghts le same, lence on s none so ki» town before. I think we did pretty well together. If you would look back, my dear " "I will look neither back nor forward," she interrupted. " Tell me the one thing : this is my father's doing ? " " He approves of it," said I. *^ He approved that I should ask your hand in marriage," and was going on again with somewhat more of an appeal upon her feelings ; but she marked me not, and struck into the midst. " 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." ^*He spoke of it the first, if that is what you meat ," I began. She was walking ever the faster, and looking fair in front of her ; but at this she made a little noise in her head, and I thought she would have run. " 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 ? " She stopped and turned round upon me. "Well, it is refused at all events," she cried, " and there will be an end of that." And she began again to walk forward, ** 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 »o for the last time, 334 CATRIONA. ;i I have done the best that I could manage, I am trying the same stilly 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." ** I am not thinking of you," she said, ** I am thinking of that man, my father." " 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 fathe** : for the way this talk \izs gone, an angry man will be James More." She stopped again. *^It is because I am dis- graced ? " she asked. " That is what he is thinking," I replied, " but I have told you already to make nought of it." " It will be all one to me," she cried. " I prefer to be disgraced I " I did not know very well what to answer, and stood silent. 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 ? " " My dear," said I, " what else was I to do ? " " I am not your dear," she said, " and I defy you to be calling me these words." " 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 wMi you would bear in view, if it wsis only u CATRIONA. 335 long enough to discuss it quietly; for there is going to be a coUieshangie when we two get home. Take my word for it, it will need the two of us to make this matter end in peace.'' " Ay," said she. There sprang a patch of red in either of her cheeks. "Was he for fighting you ? " said she. " Well, he was that," said I. She gave a dreadful kind of laugh. "At all events, it is complete I " 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 wiU be somebody worse than what we are. I am thanking the good God that he has let me see you «o. There will never be the girl made that will not scorn you." I had borne a good deal pretty patiently, but this was over the mark. ** 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 I O, it is too much." She kept looking at me with a hateful smile. ** Coward I " said she. " 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 ; !ittle I care which of us should fall I '>me,^' said I, " back to the house with us ; let us be done with it, let me be done with the whole Hiela\id crew of you! You will see what you think when I am dead.'* 336 CATRIONA. She shook her head at me with that same smile I could have struck her for. " O, smile away I " I cried. " 1 ftave seen your bonny father smile on the wrong side this day. Not that I mean he was afriid, of course," I added hastily, " but he preferred the other way of it." " What is this ? " she asked. " When I offered to draw with him," said I. " You oflfered to draw upon James More I " she cried. " And I did so," said I, " and found him back- ward enough, or how v/ould we be here ? " ^^ There is a meaning upon this," said she. " What is it you are meaning ? " " 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 ! *'And what if I refuse V said he. — * Then it must come to the throat-cutting^ says ly ^ for I will no more have a husband forced on that young lady^ than what I would have a wife forced upon myself^ 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 I have not behaved quite well to you, but that was weakness. And to think same smile seen your this day. ," I added of it." said I. lore ! " she him back- said she. lied, " and e free, and ipposed it I refuse V \t-cutting^ md forced ive a wife )rds, they paid for j^our own er in the e on this espected; have all t decency thought 'ed quite to think CATRIONA. 337 me a cowaid, and such a coward as that — O, ray lass, there was a stab for the last of it I " ** Davie, how would I guess ? " she cried. " O, this is a dreadful business ! Me and mine," — she gave a kind of wretched cry at the word — " me and mine are not fit to speak to you. O, I could be kneeling down to you in the street, I could be kissing your hands for forgiveness I " " 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." " What can you be thinking of this miserable girl ? " says she. " What I am trying to tell you all this while I " 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." "O, that I must be going out into the world alone with such a man I " 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." She turned, and began to go home and I to accompany her. At which she stopped. " I will be going alone," she said. " It is alone I must be seeing him." Some little time I raged about the streets, and 338 CATRIONA. M" I ■I i told myself I was the worst used lad in Cbristendom. 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. "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." That seemed to me .the chief affair ; to see theno 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 David Balfour was no longer by to be their milk- cow ; at which, to my own very great surprise, the dispositiou 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. 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 ; and James More breathed hard, his face was dotted with white spots, and his U CATRIONA. 339 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 bad 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. 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. " I will tell you what James More is meaning," said she. " He means we have come to you, beggar- folk, and have not behaved to you very well, and we are ashamed of our ingratitude and ill-behaviour. Now we are wanting to go away and be forgotten ; and my father will have guided his gear so ill, that we cannot even do that unless you will give us some more alms. For that is what we are, at all events, beggar-folk^and somers." ** By your leave. Miss Drummond," said I, " I must speak to your father by myself." She went into her own room and shut the door, without a word or a look. "You must excuse her, Mr. Balfour," says James More. " She has no delicacy." " I am not here to discuss that with you," said I, " but to be quit of yor . 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 340 CATRIONA. M 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." ^^ I bid you beware. I will stand no more bait- ing," 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." " If you would h?ve let me finish," says I, " you would have found I spoke for your advantage." " My dear friend," he cried, " I know I might have relied upon the generosity of your char- acter." " Man 1 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 m 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." Whereupon, I arranged with him that he was to communicate with me, as to his whereabouts and CATRIONA. 34> f your own 7 you have en, though r." more bait- r and you. )e a parent! There he Idier and a md on his -and I bid lys I, ** you itage." w I might youT char- I. " The if you are p>ur means, they are I do not If I durst 3uld never know you blustering •, I believe 1 for your oing with at he was ibouts and Catriona's welfare, in consideration of which I was to serve him a small stipend. 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 your- self than any of it yet ! I will serve you with a soldier's faithfulness " " Let me hear no more of it ! " says I. " You have got me to that pitch that the bare name of a soldier rises on my stom?ch. 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." I gave them good measure of time ; it was my one fear that I might see Catri ona 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 heiip 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. tat^ in the night, in a strict frost, and my 34* CATRIONA. 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 cons^'ancy 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 itiy 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 ob,'>erved there was a comer 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 comer crumpled in a knot and cast down by itself in another part of the floor. But when I argued with myself, I grew more B portion «lf. The and her lot to be constancy 1 ere the ave made sition has Lie thing ; se things ly seemed a corner etermined md made very little sometimes the heart though I n ; when, ^ore often ler neatly ry pretty ced ; and ed telling wore my nd like a the next I despair. 1 a knot rt of the rew more CATRIONA. 343 hopeful. She childish freak she had cast wondered at ; upon the first more pleased idea of that she had flung resentment had cut that corner off in some that was manifestly tender ; that it away again was little to be and I was inclined to dwell more than upon the second, and to be that she had ever conceived the keepsake, than concerned because it from her in an hour of natural I n: i CHAPTER XXIX, WE MEET IN DUNKIRK. Altogether, then, I was scarce so miserable the next days but what I had many hopeful and happy snatches ; threw myself with a good deal of constancy upon my studies ; and made out to endure the time till Alan should arrive, or I might hear word of Catriona by the means of James More. I had altogether three letters in the time of our separation. One was to announce their arrival in the town of Dunkirk in France, from which place James shortly after started alone upon a private mission. This was to England and to see Lord Holdemess ; and it has always been a bitter thought that my good money helped to pay the charges of the same. But he has need of a long spoon who sups with the deUl, 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 before- hand and leave it with Catriona to be despatched. The fact of our correspondence aroused her sus- picions, and he was no sooner gone than she had burst the seaL What I received began ac- cordingly in the writing of James More : *' My dear Sir, — Your esteemed favour came to hand duly, and I have to acknowledge the incloaure according to agree> ment. It shall be all faithfully expended on my daughter, who is well, and desires to be remembered to her dear friend CATRIONA. 345 arable the peful and good deal made out arrive, or means of letters in announce in France, irted alone ) England bas always od money ime. But with the is absence^ Btter ; and is stipend, it before- lespatched. L her sus- than she began ac- o hand duly, ing toagre6> ly daughter, ■ dear friend I find her in rather a melancholy disporition, bnt 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 melan- choly tunes of our native mountains, and by walking upon the margin of the sea that lies next to Scotland. It was better days with me when I lay with five wounds upon my body on the field of Gladsmuir. I have found employment here in the haras 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. •• My dear Sir. "Your afiiectionate. obedient servant, "Jambs Macgrbgor Drummond." Below it began in the hand of Catriona : — "Do not be believing him, it is all lies together.— C. M. D.*' Not only did she add this postscript, but 1 think she must have come near suppressing the letter ; for it came long after t.ate, 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 34^ CATRIONA. m i: t! .' 4 i 9 i ^ IS-' I II diffident to give particulars ; and this disposition was not anyway lessened by the nature of Alan's commentary upon those I gave. " 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." "There are whiles that I am of the same mind," said I. "The strange thing is that ye seem to have a kind of fancy for her too ! " said Alan. "The biggest k:r;d, Alan," said I, "and I think I'll take it to my grave with me." " V^ ell. ye beat me, whatever I " he would conclude. I showed him the letter with Catriona's post- script. " 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 bosiS as a drum ; he's just a wame a:}d a wheen words ; though I'll can never deny that he fought reasonably well at Gladsmuir, and it's true what he savs here about the five wounds. But the loss of him is that the man's boss." "Ye see, Alan," said I, "it goes against the grain with me to leave the maid in such poor hands." **Ye couldnae weel find poorer," he admitted. CATRIONA, 347 sposition Df Alan's le would made a that has : and I tell of a that you lust have he same to have d I think e would la's post- npossible ona, and man's as a wheen e fought ue what But the inst the ch poor dmitted. " 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." "Well, and I'm afraid that's true for me," said I. " And yet there's naething easier I " 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." "And can you no help itie?" I asked, "you that are so clever at the trade ? " " Ye see, David, I wasnae here," said he. " I'm like a field officer that has naebody but blind men for scouts and kcldireurs ; smd what would he ken? But it sticks in my mind that ye'U have made ,'sont6 kitid bf bauchle ; and if I was you I would have a try at her again." " Would ye so, man Alan ? " said I. " I would e'en't," says he. 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 pro- fessed to be in some concern upon his daughter's health, which I believe was never better; abounded 348 CATRIONA. i. m kind expressions to myself ; and finally proposed xbat I should visit them at Dunkirk. "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 ** *oud to receive our benefactor, whom we reg a brother and a son. The French nobleman h^ proved a person of the most filthy avarice of character, and I have been* necessitate to leave the haras. You will find us in consequence a little poorly lodged in the auherge 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 md my daughter divert yourselves in a manner nore befitting your age. I beg at least that iVfr. Stewart would come here ; my business with him opens a very wide door." ^* What does the man want with me ? " cried Alan, when he had read. " What he wants with you is clear enough — it's siller. But what can he want with Alan Breck ? " " O, it'll be jusi 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.'' CATRIONA. 349 proposed ty of my "Why > France ? Stewart^s I to meet K) mettle daughter enefactor, on. The 1 of the ave been 1 find us in the but the t but we rhen Mr. and you manner ast that less, with ?" cried nts with t can he .if J "He is rom my asks you to come "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 ! FU maybe have something for his hinder-end, before we're through with it. Dod, Pm thinking it would be a kind of divertisement to gang and see what he' 11 be after ! Forby that I could see your lassie then. What say ye, Davie ? Will ye ride with Alan ? " You may be sure I was not backward, and Alan's furlough running towards an end, we set forth presently upon this joint adventure. It was near dark of a January day wh^-*i we rode at last into the town of Dunkirk. We left our horses at the post, and found a juide to Bazin's Inn, which lay beyond the ^ alls. Night was quite fallen, so that we were the last to leave that fortress, and heard the doors of it close behind as 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 buUering 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. " Fotid Vauberge d Baziriy^ says the guide. Alan smacked his lips. " An unco lonely bit," said he, and I thought by his tone he was not wholly pleased. 350 CATRIONA. H ■■ MM A little after, and we stood in the lower storey of that house, which was all in the one apartment, with a stair leading to the chambers at the side, benches and tables by the wall, the cooking fire at the one end of it, and shelves of bottles and the cellar-trap at the other. Here Bazin, who was an ill-looking, big man, told us the Scottish gentleman was gone abroaid he knew not where, but the young lady was above, and he would call her down to us. I took £rom my breast that kerchief wanting the corner, and knottc^d it al;>out 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. **My father, James Morp, 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 ber 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 anima^on that she turned ^o welcome Alan. " And you will be his friend, Alan Breck ? *' she cried. ^^ Many is the dozen times I will have heard him tzU of you ; and I love you already for all your bravery and goodness." CATRIONA. 351 ir storey artment, :he side, g fire at and the was an ntleman but the er down [ting the I could i on the issions, I But the >tep pass i'his she with a tness, or dashed e Id. soon. And htened, de sure ily for a thought med ^o d, Alan times I )ve you "Well, well," says Alan, holcJing 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." I do not know that ever I heard him speak so straight to people's hearts : the sound of his voice was like song. "What? will he have been describing me!" she cried. "Little else of it since I ever came out of France 1 " says he, " forby a bit of a speciment one night in Scotland in a shaw of wood by Silvermills. But cheer up, my dear ! yeVe 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 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 I So now you can see what way you stand with Alan Breck, and ye'U find ye'll hardly lose on the transaction. He's no very bonny, my dear, but he's leal to them he loves." " 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 answeriiig with." 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 sur* rounded her with continual kind gallantries, and yet never gave me the most small occasion to be jealous : ^s» CATRIONA. 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 foce 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. 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. 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. CATRIONA. 353 and) and le nor I i seen us Jan was d, I had m, but I It night ; • (what I ng) that it in his des. As ay ; her IS a May pleased, if a dull, md, and ife, and nd that ;s More into a vening, ^ I kept an bear ^ke^ and er. So tion (as mess of 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. It was the more easy to be put off, because Alan and J. were pretty weary with our day's ride, and sat not ^ ery late after Catriona. • V/e were soon alone in a chamber where we were to make shift with a single bed. Alan looked on me with a queer smile. " Ye muckle ass I '' said he. " What do ye mean by that ? " I cried. " Mean ? What do I mean ? It's extraordinar, David man," says he, " that you should be so mortal stupit." Again I begged him to speak out. " 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 I But what's that neepkin at your craig ? " I told him. "I thocht it was something thereabout," said he. Nor would he say another word though I be sieged him long with importunities. much ; o know lis lies. CHAPTER XXX ri THK LETTKR PROM THE SHIP. Dayught 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 deep calm) to see the turning and following of each other of these great sails beyond 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 ^equented 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. 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 bLirst 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 ; CATRIONA. 355 stood. It all view t hills of y in the It over a ss's ears, strange calm) to r of these my road travelled '. Bazin's y trades, on of his nugglers I persons ait their behind, lered in y, I had ivarming fore the a little which set the hing of f heart ; and the appearing of the great sails one aftet another from behind the hill, diverted me ex- tremely. At times I could hear a creak of the machinery; and by half-past eight of the day, Catriona began to sing in the house. At this I would have cast my hat in the air ; and I thought this dreary, desert place was like a paradise. 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. At breakfast, which we took late, it was manifest that James More was in some danger or perplexity; manifest that Alan was alive to the same, and watched him close ; and this appearance of duplicity upon the one side, and vigilance upon the other, held me on live coals. The meal was no sooner over than James seemed to come to a resolve, and began to make apologies. He had an appointment of a private nature in the town (it was with the French nobleman, he told me), and we would please excuse him till about noon. Meanwhile he carried his daughter aside to the far end of the room, where he seemed to speak rather earnestly and she to listen with much inclination. " I am caring less and less abf)ut this man James," said Alan. ** Th'^'^e's something no right with the m-AH James, and I shouldnae wonder but 356 CATRIONA. I V '. I ■ what Alan Breck would give an eye to him this day. I would like fine to see yon French nohleman, Davie ; and I daresay you could find an employ to yoursel, and that would be to speir at the lassie for some news of your afifair. Just tell it to her plainly — ^tell her yeVe 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." " I cannae lee, Alan, I carinae do it naitural," says I, mocking him. " The more fool you ! " says he. " Then ye*ll can tell her that I recommended it ; thatUl 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 somekind of hocus-pocus about yon." " And is she so pleased with ye, then, Alan ? " I asked. " She thinks a heap of me," says he. " And Pm no like you : Vm one that can tell. That she does — she thinks a heap of Alan. And troth ! Pm thinking a good deal of him mysel ; and with your permission, Shaws, PU be getting a wee yont amang the bents, so that I can see what way James goes." One after another went, till I was left alone beiide 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; vet was none the better pleased with it for that, and bent CATRIONA. him this iobleman, imploy to lassie for er plainly set ; and laitural, I cind of a tiaitural/' 'hen ye'll '11 set her but what e pair of y and that I would out yon." A.lan ? " I And Vm she does 3th! Fm vith your It amang es goes." eft alone Dunkirk, rs to her and how vet was and bent 357 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 sand-hills, the fine morning would decoy her forth ; and once I had her in the open, I could please myself. 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. 1 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 e;round 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 sus- picion, waen I recognised the trim of the Sga/iorse, What should an English L,hip 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 st iside ? Presently I came forth behind ber in the front of the sandhills and above the bearh. It was here 3S« CATRIONA. \T'\ mil 1^" ir;. long and solitary ; with a man-o*- <d in a perfect gladness. It m gf.t havti been ten in the day before I came to a clear sense t f what a mercy had befallen me ; and sitting f>ver -.gainst her, with her hands in mine, gazed io her fiace, and laughed out loud for pleasur J like a ';hild, and called her foolish and kind name:. I have never seen the place that looked so %^ K ' i I, " is it a she, and lOW it — I ip back/' it day, if d. :he place be seen '. kneeled aced her ng that I ught was mency of I had stooped, som, and i. , is this ou were ars were e I came len me ; lands in loud for md kind :)oked so CATRIONA. 361 i> pretty as those bents by Dunkirk ; and the windmill sails, as they bobbed over the knowe, were like a tune of music. I know not how much longer we ru'giit hfve continued to forget all else besides ours^h'es, had I not chanced upon a reference to htr fether, which brought us to reality. "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." There came a sudden whiteness in her face, she plucked her hands from mine. " 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 Aian. Open it, Davie— open it and see." I took it, and looked at it, and shook my head. '*No," said I, "it goes against me, I cannot open a msm's letter." " Not to save your frieiid ? " she cried. " I cannae tell," said I. " I think not. If \ was only sure ! " " And you have but to break the seal " said she. "I know it," said I, '* but the thing ^c^s against inc." 362 CATRIONA. i I Hi U ** Give it here," said she, •* and! will open it myself. " " Nor you neither," said 1. ** 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 sho'ild be opened; but somehow, not by you nor me." I was about thus far with it, and my spirit very much ojeroome 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 Seahorse^ a deserter, a rebel, and now a condemned nurderer. " The i"e," said I, " there is the man that has the best right to open it : or not, as he thinks fit." With which I called upon his name, and we both stood up to be a mark for him. "If it is so — if it be more disgrace — will you can bear it?" she asked, looking upon me with a burning eye. *' I was asked sometning of the same question when I had seen you but the once," said I. *^What do you think 1 answered? That if I liked you as I thought I did — and O, but I like you better ! — 1 would marry you at his gallows' fool,** fall. It srhich we e place is lere, and Seer that ;r ; there ^ we are tie letter »» nor me. lirit very i hidden ain from nong the urse, and ier when 1 him, if dff, and serter, a that has ks fit." and we will you ne with :iuestion said I. at if I ike you fooL,** CATRIONA. 363 s \ face ; she came close me, holding my hand : The blood rose in her tip and pressed upon m^, and it waj. so that we awaited Alan. He came with one of his queer smiles. "What was T telling ye, David? " says he. " 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," " I have been upon a fool's errand," said he. "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 tne ship. " That is the Seahorse^ Captain Palliser." "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 ? "' " 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." ** A letter to James More ? " said he. ** The same," said I. "Well, and I can tell you 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." " Alan I " cried I, " you slept all night, and I am here to prove it." 364 CATRIONA. ** Ay, but I would never trust Al ,. CATRIONA. %^1 idliness, 50 that k smell 3nts. solitary t have n ; and daffing Drum- f yours rather it will 1. "It IT ; for gotten but he *e you of my minds h rich is that fit?'' " I ken the place^ Mr. Stewart, and can take you there/' said James. " This crowns all I " says Alan. ^* Well, and Fm glad I came to Dunkirk. And so this was your busi- ness, was it ? Halvers, I'm thinking ? " " That is the business, sir," said James. " Well, well," said Alan ; and then in the same tone of childlike interest, " it has naething to do 4> with the Seahorse^ then ? " he asked. " With what ? " says James. " Or the lad that I have just kicked the bottom of behind yon windmill ? " pursued Alan. " Hut, man 1 have done with your lees I 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." James was taken all aback with it. He stood a second, motionless and white, then swelled with the living anger. " Do you talk to me, you bastard ? " he roared out. I . "Ye glee'd st, Ine ! " cried Alan, and hit him a sounding buffet on the mouth, and the next wink of time their blades clashed together. 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. '* Keep back, Davie I Are ye daft ? Damn ye, keep back I " roared Alan. "Your blood be on your ain heid then 1 " I beat their blades down twice. I was knocked 368 CATRIONA. eeling 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. " Will you be killing him before my eyes, and me his daughter after all ? " she cried. " 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. Awhile she stood before the man, panting, with big eyes, then swung suddenly about and faced him. " Begone I " was her word, " take your shame out of my sight ; leave me with clean folk. I am a daughter of Alpin I Shame of the sons of Alpin, begone ! " 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. "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— V CATRIONA. betwixt : at each L how I ; one of business in the le stair, he same d some- 1. I saw >od sick, yes, and d Alan, crossed tig, with :ed him. shame I am a Alpin, oke me I. The on her m well in the elf to a though is over 369 "There goes no pockmantie out of this place except with me," says Alan. ** Sir I " cries James. " James More,^' says Alan, ** this lady daughter of yours is to riarry 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 sup- pose it, there are leeraits to my temper." " Be damned, sir, but my money's there ! " said James. " 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." James seemed to cast about for a moment in his mind ; but it's to be thought he had enough of Alan's swordmanship, for he suddenly put oflf his hat to us and (with a face like one of the damned) bade us farewell in a series. With which he was gone. At the same time a spell was lifted hum me. "Catriona," I cried, "it was me — it was my sword. O, are you much hurt ? " " 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." Joy that she should be so little hurt, and the love of her brave nature, transported me. I em- bxaced her, I kissed the wound. 370 CATRIONA. Iding their ane thing 1 g story, and 11. ffc ILC