"Davie," she was saying, "O, Davie, is this what you think of me? Is it
so that you were caring for poor me? O, Davie, Davie!"

With that she wept also, and our tears were commingled in a perfect
gladness.

It might have been ten in the day before I came to a clear sense of what
a mercy had befallen me; and sitting over against her, with her hands in
mine, gazed in her face, and laughed out loud for pleasure like a child,
and called her foolish and kind names. I have never seen the place look
so pretty as these 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 might have continued to forget all else
besides ourselves, had I not chanced upon a reference to her father,
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 Alan. 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 man's letter."

"Not to save your friend?" she cried.

"I cannae tell," said I. "I think not. If I was only sure!"

"And you have but to break the seal!" said she.

"I know it," said I, "but the thing goes against me."

"Give it here," said she, "and I will open it myself."

"Nor you neither," said I. "You least of all. It concerns your father,
and his honour, dear, which we are both misdoubting. No question but the
place is dangerous-like, and the English ship being here, and your
father having word of it, and yon officer that stayed ashore! He would
not be alone either; there must be more along with him; I daresay we are
spied upon this minute. Ay, no doubt, the letter should be opened; but
somehow, not by you nor me."

I was about this far with it, and my spirit very much overcome with a
sense of danger and hidden enemies, when I spied Alan, come back again
from following James and walking by himself among the sand hills. He was
in his soldier's coat, of course, and mighty fine; but I could not avoid
to shudder when I thought how little that jacket would avail him, if he
were once caught and flung in a skiff, and carried on board of the
_Seahorse_, a deserter, a rebel, and now a condemned murderer.

"There," 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 something of the same question when I had seen you but the
once," said I. "What do you think I answered? That if I liked you as I
thought I did--and O, but I like you better!--I would marry you at his
gallows' foot."

The blood rose in her face; she came close up and pressed upon me,
holding my hand: and it was so that we awaited Alan.

He came with one of his queer smiles. "What was I 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 the 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 ye more than that," said Alan. "For last night
when you were fast asleep, I heard the man colloquing with some one in
the French, and then the door of that inn to be opened and shut."

"Alan!" cried I, "you slept all night, and I am here to prove it."

"Ay, but I would never trust Alan whether he was asleep or waking!" says
he. "But the business looks bad. Let's see the letter."

I gave it him.

"Catriona," said he, "ye'll have to excuse me, my dear; but there's
nothing less than my fine bones upon the cast of it, and I'll have to
break this seal."

"It is my wish," said Catriona.

He opened it, glanced it through, and flung his hand in the air.

"The stinking brock!" says he, and crammed the paper in his pocket.
"Here, let's get our things thegether. This place is fair death to me."
And he began to walk towards the inn.

It was Catriona who spoke the first. "He has sold you?" she asked.

"Sold me, my dear," said Alan. "But thanks to you and Davie, I'll can
jink him yet. Just let me win upon my horse!" he added.

"Catriona must come with us," said I. "She can have no more traffic with
that man. She and I are to be married." At which she pressed my hand to
her side.

"Are ye there with it?" says Alan, looking back. "The best day's work
that ever either of ye did yet I And I'm bound to say, my dawtie, ye
make a real, bonny couple."

The way that he was following brought us close in by the windmill, where
I was aware of a man in seaman's trousers, who seemed to be spying from
behind it. Only, of course, we took him in the rear.

"See, Alan!" said I.

"Wheesht!" said he, "this is my affairs."

The man was, no doubt, a little deafened by the clattering of the mill,
and we got up close before he noticed. Then he turned, and we saw he was
a big fellow with a mahogany face.

"I think, sir," says Alan, "that you speak the English?"

"_Non, monsieur_," says he, with an incredible bad accent.

"_Non, monsieur_," cries Alan, mocking him. "Is that how they learn you
French on the _Seahorse?_ Ye muckle, gutsey hash, here's a Scots boot to
your English hurdies!"

And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt the man a kick that
laid him on his nose. Then he stood, with a savage smile, and watched
him scramble to his feet and scamper off into the sand hills.

"But it's high time I was clear of these empty bents!" said Alan; and
continued his way at top speed and we still following, to the back door
of Bazin's inn.

It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came face to face with
James More entering by the other.

"Here!" said I to Catriona, "quick! upstairs with you and make your
packets; this is no fit scene for you."

In the meanwhile James and Alan had met in the midst of the long room.
She passed them close by to reach the stairs; and after she was some way
up I saw her turn and glance at them again, though without pausing.
Indeed, they were worth looking at. Alan wore as they met one of his
best appearances of courtesy and friendliness, yet with something
eminently warlike, so that James smelled danger off the man, as folk
smell fire in a house, and stood prepared for accidents.

Time pressed. Alan's situation in that solitary place, and his enemies
about him, might have daunted Cæsar. It made no change in him; and it
was in his old spirit of mockery and daffing that he began the
interview.

"A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond," said he. "What'll yon
business of yours be just about?"

"Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long story," says James,
"I think it will keep very well till we have eaten."

"I'm none so sure of that," said Alan. "It sticks in my mind it's either
now or never; for the fact is me and Mr. Balfour here have gotten a
line, and we're thinking of the road."

I saw a little surprise in James's eye; but he held himself stoutly.

"I have but the one word to say to cure you of that," said he, "and that
is the name of my business."

"Say it then," says Alan. "Hout! wha minds for Davie?"

"It is a matter that would make us both rich men," said James.

"Do ye tell me that?" cries Alan.

"I do, sir," said James. "The plain fact is that it is Cluny's
Treasure."

"No!" cried Alan. "Have ye got word of it?"

"I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there," said James.

"This crowns all!" says Alan. "Well, and I'm glad I came to Dunkirk. And
so this was your business, was it? Halvers, I'm thinking?"

"That is the business, sir," says James.

"Well, well," says Alan; and then in the same tone of childlike
interest, "It has naething to do 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! have done with your lees! I have Palliser's
letter here in my pouch. You're by with it, James More. You can never
show your face again with dacent folk."

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.

"Ye glee'd swine!" cried Alan, and hit him a sounding buffet on the
mouth, and the next wink of time their blades clashed together.

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! Are ye daft? Damn ye, keep back!" roared Alan. "Your
blood be on your ain heid then!"

I beat their blades down twice. I was knocked reeling against the wall;
I was back again betwixt them. They took no heed of me, thrusting at
each other like two furies. I can never think how I avoided being
stabbed myself or stabbing one of these two Rodomonts, and the whole
business turned about me like a piece of a dream; in the midst of which
I heard a great cry from the stair, and Catriona sprang before her
father. In the same moment the point of my sword encountered something
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!" was her word, "take your shame out of my sight; leave me with
clean folk. I am a daughter of Alpin! Shame of the sons of Alpin,
begone!"

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---"

"There goes no pockmantie out of this place except with me," says Alan.

"Sir!" cries James.

"James More," says Alan, "this lady daughter of yours is to marry my
friend Davie, upon the which account I let you pack with a hale carcase.
But take you my advice of it and get that carcase out of harm's way or
ower late. Little as you suppose it, there are leemits to my temper."

"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 swordsmanship, for he suddenly put off
his hat to us and (with a face like one of the damned) bade us farewell
in a series. With which he was gone.

At the same time a spell was lifted from me.

"Catriona," I cried, "it was me--it was my sword. O, are ye 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 embraced her, I kissed the wound.

"And am I to be out of the kissing, me that never lost a chance?" says
Alan; and putting me aside and taking Catriona by either shoulder, "My
dear," he said, "you're a true daughter of Alpin. By all accounts, he
was a very fine man, and he may weel be proud of you. If ever I was to
get married, it's the marrow of you I would be seeking for a mother to
my sons. And I bear a king's name and speak the truth."

He said it with a serious heat of admiration that was honey to the girl,
and through her, to me. It seemed to wipe us clean of all James More's
disgraces. And the next moment he was just himself again.

"And now by your leave, my dawties," said he, "this is a' very bonny;
but Alan Breck'll be a wee thing nearer to the gallows than he's caring
for; and Dod! I think this is a grand place to be leaving."

The word recalled us to some wisdom. Alan ran upstairs and returned with
our saddle-bags and James More's portmanteau; I picked up Catriona's
bundle where she had dropped it on the stair; and we were setting forth
out of that dangerous house, when Bazin stopped the way with cries and
gesticulations. He had whipped under a table when the swords were drawn,
but now he was as bold as a lion. There was his bill to be settled,
there was a chair broken, Alan had sat among his dinner things, James
More had fled.

"Here," I cried, "pay yourself," and flung him down some Lewie d'ors;
for I thought it was no time to be accounting.

He sprang upon that money, and we passed him by, and ran forth into the
open. Upon three sides of the house were seamen hasting and closing in;
a little nearer to us James More waved his hat as if to hurry them; and
right behind him, like some foolish person holding up its hands, were
the sails of the windmill turning.

Alan gave but the one glance, and laid himself down to run. He carried a
great weight in James More's portmanteau; but I think he would as soon
have lost his life as cast away that booty which was his revenge; and he
ran so that I was distressed to follow him, and marvelled and exulted to
see the girl bounding at my side.

As soon as we appeared, they cast off all disguise upon the other side;
and the seamen pursued us with shouts and view-hullohs. We had a start
of some two hundred yards, and they were but bandy-legged tarpaulins
after all, that could not hope to better us at such an exercise. I
suppose they were armed, but did not care to use their pistols on French
ground. And as soon as I perceived that we not only held our advantage
but drew a little away, I began to feel quite easy of the issue. For all
which, it was a hot, brisk bit of work, so long as it lasted; Dunkirk
was still far off; and when we popped over a knowe, and found a company
of the garrison marching on the other side on some manoeuvre, I could
very well understand the word that Alan had.

He stopped running at once; and mopping at his brow, "They're a real
bonny folk, the French nation," says he.

       *       *       *       *       *




CONCLUSION


No sooner were we safe within the walls of Dunkirk than we held a very
necessary council-of-war on our position. We had taken a daughter from
her father at the sword's point; any judge would give her back to him at
once, and by all likelihood clap me and Alan into jail; and though we
had an argument upon our side in Captain Palisser's letter, neither
Catriona nor I were very keen to be using it in public. Upon all
accounts it seemed the most prudent to carry the girl to Paris to the
hands of her own chieftain, Macgregor of Bohaldie, who would be very
willing to help his kinswoman, on the one hand, and not at all anxious
to dishonour James upon the other.

We made but a slow journey of it up, for Catriona was not so good at the
riding as the running, and had scarce sat in a saddle since the
'Forty-five. But we made it out at last, reached Paris early of a
Sabbath morning, and made all speed, under Alan's guidance, to find
Bohaldie. He was finely lodged, and lived in a good style, having a
pension in the Scots Fund, as well as private means; greeted Catriona
like one of his own house, and seemed altogether very civil and
discreet, but not particularly open. We asked of the news of James More.
"Poor James!" said he, and shook his head and smiled, so that I thought
he knew further than he meant to tell. Then we showed him Palisser's
letter, and he drew a long face at that.

"Poor James!" said he again. "Well, there are worse folk than James
More, too. But this is dreadful bad. Tut, tut, he must have forgot
himself entirely! This is a most undesirable letter. But, for all that,
gentlemen, I cannot see what we would want to make it public for. It's
an ill bird that fouls his own nest, and we are all Scots folk and all
Hieland."

Upon this we were all agreed, save perhaps Alan; and still more upon the
question of our marriage, which Bohaldie took in his own hands, as
though there had been no such person as James More, and gave Catriona
away with very pretty manners and agreeable compliments in French. It
was not till all was over, and our healths drunk, that he told us James
was in that city, whither he had preceded us some days, and where he now
lay sick, and like to die. I thought I saw by my wife's face what way
her inclination pointed.

"And let us go see him, then," said I.

"If it is your pleasure," said Catriona. These were early days.

He was lodged in the same quarter of the city with his chief, in a great
house upon a corner; and we were guided up to the garret where he lay by
the sound of Highland piping. It seemed he had just borrowed a set of
them from Bohaldie to amuse his sickness; though he was no such hand as
was his brother Rob, he made good music of the kind; and it was strange
to observe the French folk crowding on the stairs, and some of them
laughing. He lay propped in a pallet. The first look of him I saw he was
upon his last business; and, doubtless, this was a strange place for him
to die in. But even now I find I can scarce dwell upon his end with
patience. Doubtless, Bohaldie had prepared him; he seemed to know we
were married, complimented us on the event, and gave us a benediction
like a patriarch.

"I have been never understood," said he. "I forgive you both without an
after-thought;" after which he spoke for all the world in his old
manner, was so obliging as to play us a tune or two upon his pipes, and
borrowed a small sum before I left. I could not trace even a hint of
shame in any part of his behaviour; but he was great upon forgiveness;
it seemed always fresh to him. I think he forgave me every time we met;
and when after some four days he passed away in a kind of odour of
affectionate sanctity, I could have torn my hair out for exasperation. I
had him buried; but what to put upon his tomb was quite beyond me, till
at last I considered the date would look best alone.

I thought it wiser to resign all thoughts of Leyden, where we had
appeared once as brother and sister, and it would certainly look strange
to return in a new character. Scotland would be doing for us; and
thither, after I had recovered that which I had left behind, we sailed
in a Low Country ship.

And now, Miss Barbara Balfour (to set the ladies first) and Mr. Alan
Balfour, younger of Shaws, here is the story brought fairly to an end. A
great many of the folk that took a part in it, you will find (if you
think well) that you have seen and spoken with. Alison Hastie in
Limekilns was the lass that rocked your cradle when you were too small
to know of it, and walked abroad with you in the policy when you were
bigger. That very fine great lady that is Miss Barbara's name-mamma is
no other than the same Miss Grant that made so much a fool of David
Balfour in the house of the Lord Advocate. And I wonder whether you
remember a little, lean, lively gentleman in a scratchwig and a
wraprascal, that came to Shaws very late of a dark night, and whom you
were awakened out of your beds and brought down to the dining-hall to be
presented to, by the name of Mr. Jamieson? Or has Alan forgotten what he
did at Mr. Jamieson's request--a most disloyal act--for which, by the
letter of the law, he might be hanged--no less than drinking the king's
health _across the water_? These were strange doings in a good Whig
house! But Mr. Jamieson is a man privileged, and might set fire to my
corn-barn; and the name they know him by now in France is the Chevalier
Stewart.

As for Davie and Catriona, I shall watch you pretty close in the next
days, and see if you are so bold as to be laughing at papa and mamma. It
is true we were not so wise as we might have been, and made a great deal
of sorrow out of nothing; but you will find as you grow up that even the
artful Miss Barbara, and even the valiant Mr. Alan will be not so very
much wiser than their parents. For the life of man upon this world of
ours is a funny business. They talk of the angels weeping; but I think
they must more often be holding their sides, as they look on; and there
was one thing I determined to do when I began this long story, and that
was to tell out everything as it befell.








Footnote 1: Conspicuous.

Footnote 2: Country.

Footnote 3: The Fairies.

Footnote 4: Flatteries.

Footnote 5: Trust to.

Footnote 6: This must have reference to Dr. Cameron on his first
visit.--D.B.

Footnote 7: Sweethearts.

Footnote 8: Child.

Footnote 9: Palm.

Footnote 10: Gallows.

Footnote 11: My Catechism.

Footnote 12: Now Prince's Street.

Footnote 13: A learned folklorist of my acquaintance hereby identifies
Alan's air. It has been printed (it seems) in Campbell's _Tales of the
West Highlands_, Vol. II., p. 91. Upon examination it would really seem
as if Miss Grant's unrhymed doggrel (see chapter V.) would fit with a
little humouring to the notes in question.

Footnote 14: A ball placed upon a little mound for convenience of
striking.

Footnote 15: Patched shoes.

Footnote 16: Shoemaker.

Footnote 17: Tamson's mare, to go afoot.

Footnote 18: Beard.

Footnote 19: Ragged.

Footnote 20: Fine things.

Footnote 21: Catch.

Footnote 22: Victuals.

Footnote 23: Trust.

Footnote 24: Sea fog.

Footnote 25: Bashful.

Footnote 26: Rest.