"Nor can I say that either," I replied, with the same heat. "It is a
good estate; what matters that to a lone man that has enough already? I
had a good revenue before in my frugality; and but for the man's
death--which gratifies me, shame to me that must confess it!--I see not
how anyone is to be bettered by this change."

"Come, come," said he, "you are more affected than you let on, or you
would never make yourself out so lonely. Here are three letters; that
means three that wish you well; and I could name two more, here in this
very chamber. I have known you not so very long, but Catriona, when we
are alone, is never done with the singing of your praises."

She looked up at him, a little wild at that; and he slid off at once
into another matter, the extent of my estate, which (during the most of
the dinner time) he continued to dwell upon with interest. But it was to
no purpose he dissembled; he had touched the matter with too gross a
hand: and I knew what to expect. Dinner was scarce ate when he plainly
discovered his designs. He reminded Catriona of an errand, and bid her
attend to it. "I do not see you should be gone beyond the hour," he
added, "and friend David will be good enough to bear me company till you
return." She made haste to obey him without words. I do not know if she
understood, I believe not; but I was completely satisfied, and sat
strengthening my mind for what should follow.

The door had scarce closed behind her departure, when the man leaned
back in his chair and addressed me with a good affectation of easiness.
Only the one thing betrayed him and that was his face; which suddenly
shone all over with fine points of sweat.

"I am rather glad to have a word alone with you," says he, "because in
our first interview there were some expressions you misapprehended and I
have long meant to set you right upon. My daughter stands beyond doubt.
So do you, and I would make that good with my sword against all
gainsayers. But, my dear David, this world is a censorious place--as who
should know it better than myself, who have lived ever since the days of
my late departed father, God sain him! in a perfect spate of calumnies?
We have to face to that; you and me have to consider of that; we have to
consider of that." And he wagged his head like a minister in a pulpit.

"To what effect, Mr. Drummond?" said I. "I would be obliged to you if
you would approach your point."

"Ay, ay," says he, laughing, "like your character indeed! and what I
most admire in it. But the point, my worthy fellow, is sometimes in a
kittle bit." He filled a glass of wine. "Though between you and me, that
are such fast friends, it need not bother us long. The point, I need
scarcely tell you, is my daughter. And the first thing is that I have no
thought in my mind of blaming you. In the unfortunate circumstances,
what could you do else? 'Deed, and I cannot tell."

"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 competence; which does no harm; and
one thing with another, I am very happy to have to announce to you that
I have decided on the latter of the two ways open."

"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."

"You are pleased to be quite plain at last," said I.

"And I believe I have been plain from the beginning!" cries he
robustiously. "I am a careful parent, Mr. Balfour; but I thank God, a
patient and deleeberate man. There is many a father, sir, that would
have hirsled you at once either to the altar or the field. My esteem for
your character--"

"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 you then," I continued--"for I will take no note of your
other alternative, which perhaps it was a pity you let fall--I
understand you rather to offer me encouragement in case I should desire
to apply for your daughter's hand?"

"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 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 this is to be the way of it," I concluded. "I will marry Miss
Drummond, and that blythely, 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 least of
all."

"Upon my word, sir!" 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 character 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 I!" 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 afterwards, when it is quite too
late. I refuse to regard myself as any way accountable for your neglect,
and I will be browbeat by no man living. My mind is quite made up, and
come what may, I will not depart from it a hair's breadth. You and me
are to sit here in company till her return; upon which, without either
word or look from you, she and I are to go forth again to hold our talk.
If she can satisfy me that she is willing to this step, I will then make
it; and if she cannot, I will not."

He leaped out of his seat like a man stung. "I can spy your manoeuvre,"
he cried; "you would work upon her to refuse!"

"Maybe ay, and maybe no," said I. "That is the way it is to be,
whatever."

"And if I refuse?" cries he.

"Then, Mr. Drummond, it will have to come 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 some trepidation, to say nothing at all of the
circumstance that he was Catriona's father. But I might have spared
myself alarms. From the poorness of my lodging--he does not seem to have
remarked his daughter's dresses, which were indeed all equally new to
him--and from the fact that I had shown myself averse to lend, he had
embraced a strong idea of my poverty. The sudden news of my estate
convinced him of his error, and he had made but the one bound of it on
this fresh venture, to which he was now so wedded, that I believe he
would have suffered anything rather than fall to the alternative of
fighting.

A little while longer he continued to dispute with me until I hit upon a
word that silenced him.

"If I find you so averse to let me see the lady by herself," said I, "I
must suppose you have very good grounds to think me in the right about
her unwillingness."

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 figure, had there been any there to view us.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XXVIII

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 knocking of her little shoes
upon the way sounded extraordinary pretty and sad; and I thought it a
strange moment that I should be so near both ends of it at once, and
walk in the midst between two destinies, and could not tell whether I
was hearing these steps for the last time, or whether the sound of them
was to go in and out with me till death should part us.

She avoided even to look at me, only walked before her, like one who had
a guess of what was coming. I saw I must speak soon before my courage
was run out, but where to begin I knew not. In this painful situation,
when the girl was as good as forced into my arms and had already
besought my forbearance, any excess of pressure must have seemed
indecent; yet to avoid it wholly would have a very cold-like appearance.
Between these extremes I stood helpless, and could have bit my fingers;
so that, when at last I managed to speak at all, it may be said I spoke
at random.

"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 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 Friday, I have no manner of right. We have
got so ravelled up (and all by my fault) that I know very well the least
I could do is just to hold my tongue, which was what I intended fully,
and there was nothing further from my thoughts than to have troubled you
again. But, my dear, it has become merely necessary, and no way by it.
You see, this estate of mine has fallen in, which makes 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
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 mean," 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 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 so for the last time. I have done the best that I could
manage, I am trying the same still, and only vexed that I can do no
better. It is a strange thing to me that you can take any pleasure to be
hard to me."

"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 father; for the way this talk has gone, an angry man
will be James More."

She stopped again. "It is because I am disgraced?" 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 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 wish you would bear in
view, if it was only long enough to discuss it quietly; for there is
going to be a collieshangie when we two get home. Take my word for it,
it will need the two of us to make this matter end in peace."

"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!" she
cried. And then turning on me: "My father and I are a fine pair," she
said, "but I am thanking the good God there will be somebody worse than
what we are. I am thanking the good God that he has let me see you so.
There will never be the girl made that would not scorn you."

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? And here is my repayment! O, it is too
much."

She kept looking at me with a hateful smile. "Coward!" 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; little I care which of us should fall! Come," said I, "back to
the house with us; let us be done with it, let me be done with the whole
Hieland crew of you! You will see what you think when I am dead."

She shook her head at me with that same smile I could have struck her
for.

"O, smile away!" I cried. "I have seen your bonny father smile on the
wrong side this day. Not that I mean he was afraid, of course," I added
hastily, "but he preferred the other way of it."

"What is this?" she asked.

"When I offered to draw with him," said I.

"You offered to draw upon James More?" she cried.

"And I did so," said I, "and found him backward enough, or how would 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_?' says
he.--'_Then it must come to the throat cutting_,' says I, '_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 been paid for them! Now you have refused me of
your own clear free will, and there lives no father in the Highlands, or
out of them, that can force on this marriage. I will see that your
wishes are respected; I will make the same my business, as I have all
through. But I think you might have that decency as to affect some
gratitude. 'Deed, and I thought you knew me better! I have not behaved
quite well to you, but that was weakness. And to think me a coward and
such a coward as that--O, my lass, there was a stab for the last of it!"

"Davie, how would I guess?" she cried. "O, this is a dreadful business!
Me and mine,"--she gave a kind of wretched cry at the word--"me and mine
are not fit to speak to you. O, I could be kneeling down to you in the
street, I could be kissing your hands for your forgiveness!"

"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!" 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!" 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 while I raged about the streets, and told myself I was the
worst used lad in Christendom. Anger choked me; it was all very well for
me to breathe deep; it seemed there was not air enough about Leyden to
supply me, and I thought I would have burst like a man at the bottom of
the sea. I stopped and laughed at myself at a street corner a minute
together, laughing out loud, so that a passenger looked at me, which
brought me to myself.

"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 them go. I dwelled upon the
idea fiercely; and presently slipped on, in a kind of malevolence, to
consider how very poorly they were like to fare when Davie Balfour was
no longer by to be their milk-cow; at which, to my own very great
surprise, the disposition of my mind turned bottom up. I was still
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; James More breathed hard, his face was dotted with white spots,
and his nose upon one side. As soon as I came in, the girl looked at him
with a steady, clear, dark look that might very well have been followed
by a blow. It was a hint that was more contemptuous than a command, and
I was surprised to see James More accept it. It was plain he had had a
master talking-to; and I could see there must be more of the devil in
the girl than I had guessed, and more good-humor 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
sorners."

"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
you. And to that end I must talk of your position. Now, Mr. Drummond, I
have kept the run of your affairs more closely than you bargained for. I
know you had money of your own when you were borrowing mine. I know you
have had more since you were here in Leyden, though you concealed it
even from your daughter."

"I bid you beware. I will stand no more baiting," he broke out. "I am
sick of her and you. What kind of a damned trade is this to be a parent!
I have had expressions used to me----" There he broke off. "Sir, this is
the heart of a soldier and a parent," he went on again, laying his hand
on his bosom, "outraged in both characters--and I bid you beware."

"If you would have 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 character."

"Man! will you let me speak?" said I. "The fact is that I cannot win to
find out if you are rich or poor. But it is my idea that your means, as
they are mysterious in their source, so they are something insufficient
in amount; and I do not choose your daughter to be lacking. If I durst
speak to herself, you may be certain I would never dream of trusting it
to you; because I know you like the back of my hand, and all your
blustering talk is that much wind to me. However, I believe in your way
you do still care something for your daughter after all; and I must just
be doing with that ground of confidence, such as it is."

Whereupon, I arranged with him that he was to communicate with me, as to
his whereabouts and Catriona's welfare, in consideration of which I was
to serve him a small stipend.

He heard the business out with a great deal of eagerness; and when it
was done, "My dear fellow, my dear son," he cried out, "this is more
like yourself than any of it yet! I will serve you with a soldier's
faithfulness----"

"Let me hear no more of it!" says I. "You have got me to that pitch that
the bare name of soldier rises on my stomach. Our traffic is settled; I
am now going forth and will return in one half-hour, when I expect to
find my chambers purged of you."

I gave them good measure of time; it was my one fear that I might see
Catriona again, because tears and weakness were ready in my heart, and I
cherished my anger like a piece of dignity. Perhaps an hour went by; the
sun had gone down, a little wisp of a new moon was following it across a
scarlet sunset; already there were stars in the east, and in my
chambers, when at last I entered them, the night lay blue. I lit a taper
and reviewed the rooms; in the first there remained nothing so much as
to awake a memory of those who were gone; but in the second, in a corner
of the floor, I spied a little heap that brought my heart into my mouth.
She had left behind at her departure all that ever she had of me. It was
the blow that I felt sorest, perhaps because it was the last; and I fell
upon that pile of clothing and behaved myself more foolish than I care
to tell of.

Late in the night, in a strict frost, and my teeth chattering, I came
again by some portion of my manhood and considered with myself. The
sight of these poor frocks and ribbons, and her shifts, and the clocked
stockings, was not to be endured; and if I were to recover any constancy
of mind, I saw I must be rid of them ere the morning. It was my first
thought to have made a fire and burned them; but my disposition has
always been opposed to wastery, for one thing; and for another, to have
burned these things that she had worn so close upon her body, seemed in
the nature of a cruelty. There was a corner cupboard in that chamber;
there I determined to bestow them. The which I did and made it a long
business, folding them with very little skill indeed but the more care;
and sometimes dropping them with my tears. All the heart was gone out of
me, I was weary as though I had run miles, and sore like one beaten;
when, as I was folding a kerchief that she wore often at her neck, I
observed there was a corner neatly cut from it. It was a kerchief of a
very pretty hue, on which I had frequently remarked; and once that she
had it on, I remembered telling her (by way of a banter) that she wore
my colours. There came a glow of hope and like a tide of sweetness in my
bosom; and the next moment I was plunged back in a fresh despair. For
there was the corner crumpled in a knot and cast down by itself in
another part of the floor.

But when I argued with myself, I grew more hopeful. She had cut that
corner off in some childish freak that was manifestly tender; that she
had cast it away again was little to be wondered at; and I was inclined
to dwell more upon the first than upon the second, and to be more
pleased that she had ever conceived the idea of that keepsake, than
concerned because she had flung it from her in an hour of natural
resentment.

       *       *       *       *       *




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 Holderness; and it has always been a
bitter thought that my good money helped to pay the charges of the same.
But he has need of a long spoon who sups with the deil, or James More
either. During this absence, the time was to fall due for another
letter; and as the letter was the condition of his stipend, he had been
so careful as prepare it beforehand and leave it with Catriona to be
despatched. The fact of our correspondence aroused her suspicions, and
he was no sooner gone than she had burst the seal. What I received began
accordingly in the writing of James More:

"My dear Sir,--Your esteemed favour came to hand duly, and I have to
acknowledge the inclosure according to agreement. It shall be all
faithfully expended on my daughter, who is well, and desires to be
remembered to her dear friend. I find her in rather a melancholy
disposition, but trusts in the mercy of Grod to see her re-established.
Our manner of life is very much alone, but we solace ourselves with the
melancholy tunes of our native mountains, and by walking upon the margin
of the sea that lies next to Scotland. It was better days with me when I
lay with five wounds upon my body on the field of Gladsmuir. I have found
employment here in the _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 affectionate obedient servant,

"JAMES MACGREGOR DRUMMOND."

Below it began again in the hand of Catriona:--

    "Do not be believing him, it is all lies together.
    "C.M.D."

Not only did she add this postcript, but I think she must have come near
suppressing the letter; for it came long after date, and was closely
followed by the third. In the time betwixt them, Alan had arrived, and
made another life to me with his merry conversation; I had been
presented to his cousin of the Scots-Dutch, a man that drank more than I
could have thought possible and was not otherwise of interest; I had
been entertained to many jovial dinners and given some myself, all with
no great change upon my sorrow; and we two (by which I mean Alan and
myself, and not at all the cousin) had discussed a good deal the nature
of my relations with James More and his daughter. I was naturally
diffident to give particulars; and this disposition was not anyway
lessened by the nature of Alan's commentary upon those I gave.

"I cannae make head nor tail of it," he would say, "but it sticks in my
mind ye've made a gowk of yourself. There's few people that has had more
experience than Alan Breck; and I can never call to mind to have heard
tell of a lassie like this one of yours. The way that you tell it, the
thing's fair impossible. Ye must have made a terrible hash of the
business, David."

"There are whiles that I am of the same mind," said I.

"The strange thing is that ye seem to have a kind of a fancy for her
too!" said Alan.

"The biggest kind, Alan," said I, "and I think I'll take it to my grave
with me."

"Well, ye beat me, whatever!" he would conclude.

I showed him the letter with Catriona's postcript. "And here again!" he
cried. "Impossible to deny a kind of decency to this Catriona, and sense
forby! As for James More, the man's as boss as a drum; he's just a wame
and a wheen words; though I'll can never deny that he fought reasonably
well at Gladsmuir, and it's true what he says here about the five
wounds. But the loss of him is that the man's boss."

"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. "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!" 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 diffeeculty comes in!"

"And can _you_ no help me?" I asked, "you that's 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 _Г©claireurs_; and what would he
ken? But it sticks in my mind that ye'll have made some kind of bauchle;
and if I was you, I would have a try at her again."

"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 professed to
be in some concern upon his daughter's health, which I believe was never
better; abounded in kind expressions to myself; and finally proposed
that I should visit them at Dunkirk.

"You will now be enjoying the society of my old comrade, Mr. Stewart,"
he wrote. "Why not accompany him so far in his return to France? I have
something very particular for Mr. Stewart's ear; and, at any rate, I
would be pleased to meet in with an old fellow-soldier and one so mettle
as himself. As for you, my dear sir, my daughter and I would be proud to
receive our benefactor, whom we regard as a brother and a son. The
French nobleman has proved a person of the most filthy avarice of
character, and I have been necessitate to leave the _haras_. You will
find us, in consequence, a little poorly lodged in the _auberge_ of a
man Bazin on the dunes; but the situation is caller, and I make no doubt
but we might spend some very pleasant days, when Mr. Stewart and I could
recall our services, and you and my daughter divert yourselves in a
manner more befitting your age. I beg at least that Mr. Stewart would
come here; my business with him opens a very wide door."

"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 just an excuse," said I. "He is still after this marriage,
which I wish from my heart that we could bring about. And he asks you
because he thinks I would be less likely to come wanting you."

"Well, I wish that I kent," says Alan. "Him and me were never onyways
pack; we used to girn at ither like a pair of pipers. 'Something for my
ear,' quo' he! I'll maybe have something for his hinder end, before
we're through with it. Dod, I'm thinking it would be a kind of a
divertisement to gang and see what he'll be after! Forby that I could
see your lassie then. What say ye, Davie? Will ye ride with Alan?"

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 when we rode at last into the town of
Dunkirk. We left our horses at the post, and found a guide to Bazin's
Inn, which lay beyond the walls. Night was quite fallen, so that we were
the last to leave that fortress, and heard the doors of it close behind
us as we passed the bridge. On the other side there lay a lighted
suburb, which we thridded for a while, then turned into a dark lane, and
presently found ourselves wading in the night among deep sand where we
could hear a bullering of the sea. We travelled in this fashion for some
while, following our conductor mostly by the sound of his voice; and I
had begun to think he was perhaps misleading us, when we came to the top
of a small brae, and there appeared out of the darkness a dim light in a
window.

"_VoilГ  l'auberge Г , Bazin_," says the guide.

Alan smacked his lips. "An unco lonely bit," said he, and I thought by
his tone he was not wholly pleased.

A little after, and we stood in the lower storey of the house, which was
all in the one apartment, with a stair leading to the chambers at the
side, benches and tables by the wall, the cooking fire at the one end of
it, and shelves of bottles and the cellar-trap at the other. Here Bazin,
who was an ill-looking, big man, told us the Scottish gentleman was gone
abroad he knew not where, but the young lady was above, and he would
call her down to us.

I took from my breast the kerchief wanting the corner, and knotted it
about my throat. I could hear my heart go; and Alan patting me on the
shoulder with some of his laughable expressions, I could scarce refrain
from a sharp word. But the time was not long to wait. I heard her step
pass overhead, and saw her on the stair. This she descended very
quietly, and greeted me with a pale face and certain seeming of
earnestness, or uneasiness, in her manner that extremely dashed me.

"My father, James More, will be here soon. He will be very pleased to
see you," she said. And then of a sudden her face flamed, her eyes
lightened, the speech stopped upon her lips; and I made sure she had
observed the kerchief. It was only for a breath that she was
discomposed; but methought it was with a new animation that she turned
to welcome Alan. "And you will be his friend Alan Breck?" she cried.
"Many is the dozen times I will have heard him tell of you; and I love
you already for all your bravery and goodness."

"Well, well," says Alan, holding her hand in his and viewing her, "and
so this is the young lady at the last of it! David, you're an awful poor
hand of a description."

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!" says he, "forby a
bit of speciment one night in Scotland in a shaw of wood by Silvermills.
But cheer up, my dear! ye're bonnier than what he said. And now there's
one thing sure: you and me are to be a pair of friends. I'm a kind of a
henchman to Davie here; I'm like a tyke at his heels; and whatever he
cares for, I've got to care for too--and by the holy airn! they've got
to care for me! So now you can see what way you stand with Alan Breck,
and ye'll find ye'll hardly lose on the transaction. He's no very
bonnie, my dear, but he's leal to them he loves."

"I thank you with my heart for your good words," said she. "I have that
honour for a brave, honest man that I cannot find any to be answering
with."

Using travellers' freedom, we spared to wait for James More, and sat
down to meat, we threesome. Alan had Catriona sit by him and wait upon
his wants: he made her drink first out of his glass, he surrounded her
with continual kind gallantries, and yet never gave me the most small
occasion to be jealous; and he kept the talk so much in his own hand,
and that in so merry a note, that neither she nor I remembered to be
embarrassed. If any one had seen us there, it must have been supposed
that Alan was the old friend and I the stranger. Indeed, I had often
cause to love and to admire the man, but I never loved or admired him
better than that night; and I could not help remarking to myself (what I
was sometimes rather in danger of forgetting) that he had not only much
experience of life, but in his own way a great deal of natural ability
besides. As for Catriona she seemed quite carried away; her laugh was
like a peal of bells, her face gay as a May morning; and I own, although
I was very well pleased, yet I was a little sad also, and thought myself
a dull, stockish character in comparison of my friend, and very unfit to
come into a young maid's life, and perhaps ding down her gaiety.

But if that was like to be my part, I found at least that I was not
alone in it; for, James More returning suddenly, the girl was changed
into a piece of stone. Through the rest of that evening, until she made
an excuse and slipped to bed, I kept an eye upon her without cease: and
I can bear testimony that she never smiled, scarce spoke, and looked
mostly on the board in front of her. So that I really marvelled to see
so much devotion (as it used to be) changed into the very sickness of
hate.

Of James More it is unnecessary to say much; you know the man already,
what there was to know of him; and I am weary of writing out his lies.
Enough that he drank a great deal, and told us very little that was to
any possible purpose. As for the business with Alan, that was to be
reserved for the morrow and his private hearing.

It was the more easy to be put off, because Alan and I were pretty weary
with our day's ride, and sat not very late after Catriona.

We were soon alone in a chamber where we were to make shift with a
single bed. Alan looked on me with a queer smile.

"Ye muckle ass!" 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 there about," said he.

Nor would he say another word though I besieged him long with
importunities.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER XXX

THE LETTER FROM THE SHIP


Daylight showed us how solitary the inn stood. It was plainly hard upon
the sea, yet out of all view of it, and beset on every side with scabbit
hills of sand. There was, indeed, only one thing in the nature of a
prospect, where there stood out over a brae the two sails of a windmill,
like an ass's ears, but with the ass quite hidden. It was strange (after
the wind rose, for at first it was dead calm) to see the turning and
following of each other of these great sails behind the hillock. Scarce
any road came by there; but a number of footways travelled among the
bents in all directions up to Mr. Bazin's door. The truth is, he was a
man of many trades, not any one of them honest, and the position of his
inn was the best of his livelihood. Smugglers frequented it; political
agents and forfeited persons bound across the water came there to await
their passages; and I daresay there was worse behind, for a whole family
might have been butchered in that house and nobody the wiser.

I slept little and ill. Long ere it was day, I had slipped from beside
my bedfellow, and was warming myself at the fire or walking to and fro
before the door. Dawn broke mighty sullen; but a little after, sprang up
a wind out of the west, which burst the clouds, let through the sun, and
set the mill to the turning. There was something of spring in the
sunshine, or else it was in my heart; and the appearing of the great
sails one after another from behind the hill, diverted me extremely. At
times I could hear a creak of the machinery; and by half-past eight of
the day, Catriona began to sing in the house. At this I would have cast
my 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
without much inclination.

"I am caring less and less about this man James," said Alan. "There's
something no right with the man James, and I wouldnae wonder but what
Alan Breck would give an eye to him this day. I would like fine to see
yon French nobleman, Davie; and I daresay you could find an employ to
yoursel, and that would be to speer at the lassie for some news of your
affair. Just tell it to her plainly--tell her ye're a muckle ass at the
off-set; and then, if I were you, and ye could do it naitural, I would
just mint to her I was in some kind of a danger; a' weemenfolk likes
that."

"I cannae lee, Alan, I cannae do it naitural," says I, mocking him.

"The more fool you!" says he. "Then ye'll can tell her that I
recommended it; that'll set her to the laughing; and I wouldnae wonder
but what that was the next best. But see to the pair of them! If I
didnae feel just sure of the lassie, and that she was awful pleased and
chief with Alan, I would think there was some kind of hocus-pocus about
yon."

"And is she so pleased with ye, then, Alan?" I asked.

"She thinks a heap of me," says he. "And I'm no like you: I'm one that
can tell. That she does--she thinks a heap of Alan. And troth! I'm
thinking a good deal of him mysel; and with your permission, Shaws, I'll
be getting a wee yont amang the bents, so that I can see what way James
goes."

One after another went, till I was left alone beside the breakfast
table; James to Dunkirk, Alan dogging him, Catriona up the stairs to her
own chamber. I could very well understand how she should avoid to be
alone with me; yet was none the better pleased with it for that, and
bent my mind to entrap her to an interview before the men returned. Upon
the whole, the best appeared to me to do like Alan. If I was out of view
among the sand hills, the fine morning would decoy her out; 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. I was in no haste to make my presence known; the further
she went I made sure of the longer hearing to my suit; and the ground
being all sandy, it was easy to follow her unheard. The path rose and
came at last to the head of a knowe. Thence I had a picture for the
first time of what a desolate wilderness that inn stood hidden in; where
was no man to be seen, nor any house of man, except just Bazin's and the
windmill. Only a little further on, the sea appeared and two or three
ships upon it, pretty as a drawing. One of these was extremely close in
to be so great a vessel; and I was aware of a shock of new suspicion,
when I recognized the trim of the _Seahorse_. What should an English
ship be doing so near in France? Why was Alan brought into her
neighbourhood, and that in a place so far from any hope of rescue? and
was it by accident, or by design, that the daughter of James More should
walk that day to the seaside?

Presently I came forth behind her in the front of the sand hills and
above the beach. It was here long and solitary; with a man-o'-war's boat
drawn up about the middle of the prospect, and an officer in charge and
pacing the sands like one who waited. I sat immediately down where the
rough grass a good deal covered me, and looked for what should follow.
Catriona went straight to the boat; the officer met her with civilities;
they had ten words together; I saw a letter changing hands; and there
was Catriona returning. At the same time, as if this was all her
business on the Continent, the boat shoved off and was headed for the
_Seahorse_. But I observed the officer to remain behind and disappear
among the bents.

I liked the business little; and the more I considered of it, liked it
less. Was it Alan the officer was seeking? or Catriona? She drew near
with her head down, looking constantly on the sand, and made so tender a
picture that I could not bear to doubt her innocency. The next, she
raised her face and recognised me; seemed to hesitate, and then came on
again, but more slowly, and I thought with a changed colour. And at that
thought, all else that was upon my bosom--fears, suspicions, the care of
my friend's life--was clean swallowed up; and I rose to my feet and
stood waiting her in a drunkenness of hope.

I gave her "good-morning" as she came up, which she returned with a good
deal of composure.

"Will you forgive my having followed you?" said I.

"I know you are always meaning kindly," she replied; and then, with a
little outburst, "But why will you be sending money to that man? It must
not be."

"I never sent it for him," said I, "but for you, as you know well."

"And you have no right to be sending it to either one of us," said she.
"David, it is not right."

"It is not, it is all wrong," said I; "and I pray God he will help this
dull fellow (if it be at all possible), to make it better. Catriona,
this is no kind of life for you to lead, and I ask your pardon for the
word, but yon man is no fit father to take care of you."

"Do not be speaking of him, even!" was her cry.

"And I need speak of him no more, it is not of him that I am thinking,
O, be sure of that!" says I. "I think of the one thing. I have been
alone now this long time in Leyden; and when I was by way of at my
studies, still I was thinking of that. Next Alan came, and I went among
soldier-men to their big dinners; and still I had the same thought. And
it was the same before, when I had her there beside me. Catriona, do you
see this napkin at my throat? You cut a corner from it once and then
cast it from you. They're _your_ colours now; I wear them in my heart.
My dear, I cannot want you. O, try to put up with me!"

I stepped before her so as to intercept her walking on.

"Try to put up with me," I was saying, "try and bear me with a little."

Still she had never the word, and a fear began to rise in me like a fear
of death.

"Catriona," I cried, gazing on her hard, "is it a mistake again? Am I
quite lost?"

She raised her face to me, breathless.

"Do you want me, Davie, truly?" said she, and I scarce could hear her
say it.

"I do that," said I. "O, sure you know it--I do that."

"I have nothing left to give or to keep back," said she. "I was all
yours from the first day, if you would have had a gift of me!" she said.

This was on the summit of a brae; the place was windy and conspicuous,
we were to be seen there even from the English ship; but I kneeled down
before her in the sand, and embraced her knees, and burst into that
storm of weeping that I thought it must have broken me. All thought was
wholly beaten from my mind by the vehemency of my discomposure. I knew
not where I was, I had forgot why I was happy; only I knew she stooped,
and I felt her cherish me to her face and bosom, and heard her words out
of a whirl.