"You can speak out of your mouth, I see," said the old lady. "Praise
God, and so can I! I was fool enough to take charge of this rogue's
daughter: a fine charge I have gotten; but it's mine, and I'll carry it
the way I want to. Do ye mean to tell me, Mr. Balfour of Shaws, that you
would marry James More's daughter, and him hanged? Well, then, where
there's no possible marriage there shall be no manner of carryings on,
and take that for said. Lasses are bruckle things," she added, with a
nod; "and though ye would never think it by my wrunkled chafts, I was a
lassie mysel', and a bonny one."

"Lady Allardyce," said I, "for that I suppose to be your name, you seem
to do the two sides of the talking, which is a very poor manner to come
to an agreement. You give me rather a home thrust when you ask if I
would marry, at the gallows' foot, a young lady whom I have seen but the
once. I have told you already I would never be so untenty as to commit
myself. And yet I'll go some way with you. If I continue to like the
lass as well as I have reason to expect, it will be something more than
her father, or the gallows either, that keeps the two of us apart. As
for my family, I found it by the wayside like a lost bawbee! I owe less
than nothing to my uncle; and if ever I marry, it will be to please one
person: that's myself."

"I have heard this kind of talk before ye were born," said Mrs. Ogilvy,
"which is perhaps the reason that I think of it so little. There's much
to be considered. This James More is a kinsman of mine, to my shame be
it spoken. But the better the family, the mair men hanged or heided,
that's always been poor Scotland's story. And if it was just the
hanging! For my part, I think I would be best pleased with James upon
the gallows, which would be at least an end to him. Catrine's a good
lass enough, and a good-hearted, and lets herself be deaved all day with
a runt of an auld wife like me. But, ye see, there's the weak bit. She's
daft about that long, false, fleeching beggar of a father of hers, and
red-mad about the Gregara, and proscribed names, and King James, and a
wheen blethers. And you might think ye could guide her, ye would find
yourself sore mista'en. Ye say ye've seen her but the once..."

"Spoke with her but the once, I should have said," I interrupted. "I saw
her again this morning 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," she cries, "as to who and what you are. By your
way of it, you're Balfour of the Shaws; but for what I ken you may be
Balfour of the Deevil's oxter. It's possible ye may come here for what
ye say, and it's equally possible ye may come here for deil care what!
I'm good enough whig to sit quiet, and to have keepit all my men-folk's
heads upon their shoulders. But I'm not just a good enough whig to be
made a fool of neither. And I tell you fairly, there's too much
Advocate's door and Advocate's window here for a man that comes taigling
after a Macgregor's daughter. Ye can tell that to the Advocate that sent
ye, with my fond love. And I kiss my loof to ye, Mr. Balfour," says she,
suiting the action to the word, "and a braw journey to ye back to where
ye cam frae."

"If you think me a spy," I broke out, and speech stuck in my throat. I
stood and looked murder at the old lady for a space, then bowed and
turned away.

"Here! Hoots! The callant's in a creel!" she cried. "Think ye a spy?
what else would I think ye--me that kens naething by ye? But I see that
I was wrong; and as I cannot fight, I'll have to apologise. A bonny
figure I would be with a broadsword. Ay! ay!" she went on, "you're none
such a bad lad in your way; I think ye'll have some redeeming vices.
But, oh, Davit Balfour, ye're damned countryfeed. Ye'll have to win over
that, lad; ye'll have to soople your back-bone, and think a wee pickle
less of your dainty self; and ye'll have to try to find out that
women-folk are nae grenadiers. But that can never be. To your last day
you'll ken no more of women-folk than what I do of sow-gelding."

I had never been used with such expressions from a lady's tongue, the
only two ladies I had known, Mrs. Campbell and my mother, being most
devout and most particular women; and I suppose my amazement must have
been depicted in my countenance, for Mrs. Ogilvy burst forth suddenly in
a fit of laughter.

"Keep me!" she cried, struggling with her mirth, "you have the finest
timber face--and you to marry the daughter of a Hieland cateran! Davie,
my dear, I think we'll have to make a match of it--if it was just to see
the weans. And now," she went on, "there's no manner of service in your
daidling here, for the young woman is from home, and it's my fear that
the old woman is no suitable companion for your father's son. Forbye
that I have nobody but myself to look after my reputation, and have been
long enough alone with a sedooctive youth. And come back another day for
your saxpence!" she cried after me as I left.

My skirmish with this disconcerting lady gave my thoughts a boldness
they had otherwise wanted. For two days the image of Catriona had mixed
in all my meditations; she made their background, so that I scarce
enjoyed my own company without a glint of her in a corner of my mind.
But now she came immediately near; I seemed to touch her, whom I had
never touched but the once; I let myself flow out to her in a happy
weakness, and looking all about, and before and behind, saw the world
like an undesirable desert, where men go as soldiers on a march,
following their duty with what constancy they have, and Catriona alone
there to offer me some pleasure of my days; I wondered at myself that I
could dwell on such considerations in that time of my peril and
disgrace; and when I remembered my youth I was ashamed. I had my studies
to complete; I had to be called into some useful business; I had yet to
take my part of service in a place where all must serve; I had yet to
learn, and know, and prove myself a man; and I had so much sense as
blush that I should be already tempted with these further-on and holier
delights and duties. My education spoke home to me sharply; I was never
brought up on sugar biscuits, but on the hard food of the truth. I knew
that he was quite unfit to be a husband who was not prepared to be a
father also; and for a boy like me to play the father was a mere
derision.

When I was in the midst of these thoughts and about half-way back to
town I saw a figure coming to meet me, and the trouble of my heart was
heightened. It seemed I had everything in the world to say to her, but
nothing to say first; and remembering how tongue-tied I had been that
morning at the Advocate's, I made sure that I would find myself struck
dumb. But when she came up my fears fled away; not even the
consciousness of what I had been privately thinking disconcerted me the
least; and I found I could talk with her as easily and rationally as I
might with Alan.

"O!" 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, and 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 in the house."

"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 Drummond," 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 wrong," said I; "for I was as uncouth as a
sea-fish upon the brae of a mountain. The truth is that I am better
fitted to go about with rudas men than pretty ladies."

"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."

"O, I 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; I recalled the man, and the little I knew and the
much I guessed of him; and comparing the one with the other, felt like a
traitor to be silent.

"Speaking of which," said I, "I met your father 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 did even that," said I.

Then I think things went the worst way for me that was humanly possible.
She gave me a look of mere gratitude. "Ah, thank you for that!" says
she.

"You thank me for very little," said I, and then stopped. But it seemed
when I was holding back so much, something at least had to come out. "I
spoke rather ill to him," said I; "I did not like him very much; I spoke
him rather ill, and he was 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 good spirits at
Prestongrange's. I daresay we both have anxious business there, for it's
a dangerous house. I was sorry for him too, and spoke to him the first,
if I could but have spoken the wiser. And for one thing, in my opinion,
you will soon find that his affairs are mending."

"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, "I am alone in this 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 came this day in the hopes of a kind word
that I am sore in want of. I know that what I said must hurt you, and I
knew it then. It would have been easy to have spoken smooth, easy to lie
to you; can you not think how I was tempted to the same? Cannot you see
the truth of my heart shine out?"

"I think here is a great deal of work, Mr. Balfour," said she. "I think
we will have met but the once, and will can part like gentle-folk."

"O, let me have one to believe in me!" I pleaded, "I cannae bear it
else. The whole world is clanned against me. How am I to go through with
my dreadful fate? If there's to be none to believe in me I cannot do it.
The man must just die, for I cannot do it."

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. I am
to be brought in a party to the murder; I am to have held Glenure in
talk for money and old clothes; I am to be killed and shamed. If this is
the way I am to fall, and me scarce a man--if this is the story to be
told of me in all Scotland--if you are to believe it too, and my name is
to be nothing but a by-word--Catriona, how can I go through with it? The
thing's not possible; it's more than a man has in his heart."

I poured my words out in a whirl, one upon the other; and when I stopped
I found her gazing on me with a startled face.

"Glenure! 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!"

"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 _I_ have no honour, then? or that I am
one that would betray a friend? I hold up my right hand to you and
swear."

"O, I knew you would be true!" said I. "It's me--it's here. I that stood
but this morning and out-faced them, that risked rather to die disgraced
upon the gallows than do wrong--and a few hours after I throw my honour
away by the roadside in common talk! 'There is one thing clear upon our
interview,' says he, 'that I can rely on your pledged word.' Where is my
word now? Who could believe me now? _You_ could not believe me. I am
clean fallen down; I had best die!" All this I said with a weeping
voice, but I had no tears in my body.

"My heart is sore for you," said she, "but be sure you are too nice. I
would not believe you, do you say? I would trust you with anything. And
these men? I would not be thinking of them! Men who go about to entrap
and to destroy you! Fy! this is no time to crouch. Look up! Do you not
think I will be admiring you like a great hero of the good--and you a
boy not much older than myself? And because you said a word too much in
a friend's ear, that would die ere she betrayed you--to make such a
matter! It is one thing that we must both forget."

"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
I. "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."

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 dealing being alone omitted.

"Well," she said, when I had finished, "you are a hero, surely, and I
never would have thought that same! And I think you are in peril, too.
O, Symon 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. I delayed to go home to my lodging, for I had a terror
of immediate arrest; but got some supper at a change house, and the
better part of that night walked by myself in the barley-fields, and had
such a sense of Catriona's presence that I seemed to bear her in my
arms.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER VIII

THE BRAVO


The next day, August 29th, I kept my appointment at the Advocate's in a
coat that I had made to my own measure, and was but newly ready.

"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. "Your testimony is after all to be
received; and you may go, if you will, in my company to the trial, which
is to be held at Inverary, Thursday, 21st _proximo_."

I was too much amazed to find words.

"In the meanwhile," he continued, "though I will not ask you to renew
your pledge, I must caution you strictly to be reticent. To-morrow your
precognition must be taken; and outside of that, do you know, I think
least said will be soonest mended."

"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 must try and manage to believe
it," says he, soothing-like, "and I am very glad to hear your
acknowledgment of obligation, for I think you may be able to repay me
very shortly"--he coughed--"or even now. The matter is much changed.
Your testimony, which I shall not trouble you for to-day, will doubtless
alter the complexion of the case for all concerned, and this makes it
less delicate for me to enter with you on a side issue."

"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 upon me like a father as he spoke, playing the while with a
new pen; methought it was impossible there could be any shadow of
deception in the man: yet when he drew to him a sheet of paper, dipped
his pen among the ink, and began again to address me, I was somehow not
so certain, and fell instinctively into an attitude of guard.

"There is a point I wish to touch upon," he began. "I purposely left it
before upon one side, which need be now no longer necessary. This is
not, of course, a part of your examination, which is to follow by
another hand; this is a private interest of my own. You say you
encountered 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 I. "The question will be put to me at the
assize."

"Mr. Balfour," said he, "will you not understand that all this is
without prejudice to yourself? I have promised you life and honour; and,
believe me, I can keep my word. You are therefore clear of all anxiety.
Alan, it appears, you suppose you can protect; and you talk to me of
your gratitude, which I think (if you push me) is not ill-deserved.
There are a great many different considerations all pointing the same
way; and I will never be persuaded that you could not help us (if you
chose) to put salt on Alan's tail."

"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.

"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 accordingly 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 something that at times appeared like mirth; and though I
thought I did myself more justice than the day before, it was not
without some effort. Upon our reaching the park I was launched on a bevy
of eight or ten young gentlemen (some of them cockaded officers, the
rest chiefly advocates) who crowded to attend upon these beauties; and
though I was presented to all of them in very good words, it seemed I
was by all immediately forgotten. Young folk in a company are like to
savage animals: they fall upon or scorn a stranger without civility, or
I may say, humanity; and I am sure, if I had been among baboons, they
would have shown me quite as much of both. Some of the advocates set up
to be wits, and some of the soldiers to be rattles; and I could not tell
which of these extremes annoyed me most. All had a manner of handling
their swords and coat-skirts, for the which (in mere black envy) I could
have kicked them from that park. I daresay, upon their side, they
grudged me extremely the fine company in which I had arrived; and
altogether I had soon fallen behind, and stepped stiffly in the rear of
all that merriment with my own thoughts.

From these I was recalled by one of the officers, Lieutenant Hector
Duncansby, a gawky, leering, Highland boy, asking if my name was not
"Palfour."

I told him it was, not very kindly, for his manner was scant civil.

"Ha, Palfour," says he, and then, repeating it, "Palfour, Palfour!"

"I am afraid you do not like my name, sir," says I, annoyed with myself
to be annoyed with such a rustical fellow.

"No," says he, "but I wass thinking."

"I would not advise you to make a practice of that, sir," says I. "I
feel sure you would not find it to agree with you."

"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, that 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 first."

He took me by the sleeve with a nod and a wink, and led me quietly
outside Hope Park. But no sooner were we beyond the view of the
promenaders, than the fashion of his countenance changed. "You tam
lowland scoon'rel!" cries he, and hit me a buffet on the jaw with his
closed fist.

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
king's officer he cannae speak Cot's English? We have swords at our
hurdies, and here is the King's Park at hand. Will ye walk first, or let
me show ye the way?"

I returned his bow, told him to go first, and followed him. As he went I
heard him grumble to himself about _Cot's English_ and the _King's
coat_, so that I might have supposed him to be seriously offended. But
his manner at the beginning of our interview was there to belie him. It
was manifest he had come prepared to fasten a quarrel on me, right or
wrong; manifest that I was taken in a fresh contrivance of my enemies;
and to me (conscious as I was of my deficiencies) manifest enough that I
should be the one to fall in our encounter.

As we came into that rough rocky desert of the King's Park I was tempted
half-a-dozen times to take to my heels and run for it, so loath was I to
show my ignorance in fencing, and so much averse to die or even to be
wounded. But I considered if their malice went as far as this, it would
likely stick at nothing; and that to fall by the sword, however
ungracefully, was still an improvement on the gallows. I considered
besides that by the unguarded pertness of my words and the quickness of
my blow I had put myself quite out of court; and that even if I ran, my
adversary would, probably pursue and catch me, which would add disgrace
to my misfortune. So that, taking all in all, I continued marching
behind him, much as a man follows the hangman, and certainly with no
more hope.

We went about the end of the long craigs, and came into the Hunter's
Bog. Here, on a piece of fair turf, my adversary drew. There was nobody
there to see us but some birds; and no resource for me but to follow his
example, and stand on guard with the best face I could display. It seems
it was not good enough for Mr. Duncansby, who spied some flaw in my
manoeuvres, paused, looked upon me sharply, and came off and on, and
menaced me with his blade in the air. As I had seen no such proceedings
from Alan, and was besides a good deal affected with the proximity of
death, I grew quite bewildered, stood helpless, and could have longed to
run away.

"Fat, deil, ails her?" cries the lieutenant.

And suddenly engaging, he twitched the sword out of my grasp and sent it
flying far among the 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 upbringing; and would he do me the
justice to say I had given him all the satisfaction it was unfortunately
in my power to offer, and had stood up like a man?

"And that is the truth," said he. "I am fery prave myself, and pold as a
lions. But to stand up there--and you ken naething of fence!--the way
that you did, I declare it was peyond me. And I am sorry for the plow;
though I declare I pelief your own was the elder brother, and my held
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! And I will tell the Master so, and fecht him,
by Cot, himself!"

"And if you knew the nature of Mr. Symon'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 the true service. For though he has sent me a gallant
adversary for the first, the thought in Mr. Symon's mind is merely
murder. There will be a second and then a third; and by what you have
seen of my cleverness with the cold steel, you can judge for yourself
what is like to be upshot."

"And I would not like it myself, if I was no more of a man than what you
wass!" he cried. "But I will do you right, Palfour. Lead on!"

If I had walked slowly on the way into that accursed park my heels were
light enough on the way out. They kept time to a very good old air, that
is as ancient as the Bible, and the words of it are: "_Surely the
bitterness of death is passed_." I mind that I was extremely thirsty,
and had a drink at Saint Margaret's well on the road down, and the
sweetness of that water passed belief. We went through the sanctuary, up
the Canongate, in by the Netherbow, and straight to Prestongrange's
door, talking as we came and arranging the details of our affair. The
footman owned his master was at home, but declared him engaged with
other gentlemen on very private business, and his door forbidden.

"My business is but for three minutes, and it cannot wait," said I. "You
may say it is by no means private, and I shall be even glad to have some
witnesses."

As the man departed unwillingly enough upon this errand, we made so bold
as to follow him to the antechamber, whence I could hear for a while the
murmuring of several voices in the room within. The truth is, they were
three at the one table--Prestongrange, Symon Fraser, and Mr. Erskine,
Sheriff of Perth; and as they were met in consultation on the very
business of the Appin murder, they were a little disturbed at my
appearance, but decided to receive me.

"Well, well, Mr. Balfour, and what brings you here again? and who is
this you bring with you?" says Prestongrange.

As for Fraser, he looked before him on the table.

"He is here to bear a little testimony in my favour, my lord, which I
think it very needful you should hear," said I, and turned to Duncansby.

"I have only to say this," said the lieutenant, "that I stood up this
day with Palfour in the Hunter's Pog, which I am now fery sorry for, and
he behaved himself as pretty as a shentlemans could ask it. And I have
creat respects for Palfour," he added.

"I thank you for your honest expressions," said I.

Whereupon Duncansby made his bow to the company, and left the chamber,
as we had agreed upon before.

"What have I to do with this?" says Prestongrange.

"I will tell your lordship in two words," said I. "I have brought this
gentleman, a King's officer, to do me so much justice. Now I think my
character is covered, and until a certain date, which your lordship can
very well supply, it will be quite in vain to despatch against me any
more officers. I will not consent to fight my way through the garrison
of the castle."

The veins swelled on Prestongrange's brow, and he regarded me with fury.

"I think the devil uncoupled this dog of a lad between my legs!" he
cried; and then, turning fiercely on his neighbour, "This is some of
your work, Symon," he said. "I spy your hand in the business, and, let
me tell you, I resent it. It is disloyal, when we are agreed upon one
expedient, to follow another in the dark. You are disloyal to me. What!
you let me send this lad to the place with my very daughters! And
because I let drop a word to you ... Fy, sir, keep your dishonours to
yourself!"

Symon was deadly pale. "I will be a kick-ball between you and the Duke
no longer," he exclaimed. "Either come to an agreement, or come to a
differ, and have it out among yourselves. But I will no longer fetch and
carry, and get your contrary instructions, and be blamed by both. For if
I were to tell you what I think of all your Hanover business it would
make your head sing."

But Sheriff Erskine had preserved his temper, and now intervened
smoothly. "And in the meantime," says he, "I think we should tell Mr.
Balfour that his character for valour is quite established. He may sleep
in peace. Until the date he was so good as to refer to it shall be put
to the proof no more."

His coolness brought the others to their prudence; and they made haste,
with a somewhat distracted civility, to pack me from the house.

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER IX

THE HEATHER ON FIRE


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
Symon practising against my life by the hands of the Highland soldier,
but (as appeared from his own language) Prestongrange himself had some
design in operation. I counted my enemies: Prestongrange with all the
King's authority behind him; and the Duke with the power of the West
Highlands; and the Lovat interest by their side to help them with so
great a force in the north, and the whole clan of old Jacobite spies and
traffickers. And when I remembered James More, and the red head of Neil
the son of Duncan, I thought there was perhaps a fourth in the
confederacy, and what remained of Rob Roy's old desperate sept of
caterans would be banded against me with the others. One thing was
requisite, some strong friend or wise adviser. The country must be full
of such, both able and eager to support me, or Lovat and the Duke and
Prestongrange had not been nosing for expedients; and it made me rage to
think that I might brush against my champions in the street and be no
wiser.

And just then (like an answer) a gentleman brushed against me going by,
gave me a meaning look, and turned into a close. I knew him with the
tail of my eye--it was Stewart the Writer; and, blessing my good
fortune, turned in to follow him. As soon as I had entered the close I
saw him standing in the mouth of a stair, where he made me a signal and
immediately vanished. Seven storeys up, there he was again in a house
door, the which he 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 we're 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 to-morrow,
Wednesday. He was keen to say good-by to ye, but the way that things
were going, I was feared the pair of ye was maybe best apart. And that
brings me to the essential: how does your business speed?"

"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!" cried Stewart. "I'll never believe 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 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 arrestment," said he. "Sound law,
too. It would be a bonny thing if, by the escape of one ill-doer another
was to go scatheless, and the remeid is to summon the principal and put
him to outlawry for the non-compearance. Now there's four places where a
person can be summoned: at his dwelling-house; at a place where he has
resided forty days; at the head burgh of the shire where he ordinarily
resorts; or lastly (if there be ground to think him forth of Scotland),
_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 is no shire where he resorts whether
ordinarily or extraordinarily; if he has a domicile at all, which I
misdoubt, it must be with his regiment in France; and if he is not yet
forth of Scotland (as we happen to know and they happen to guess) it
must be evident to the most dull it's what he's aiming for. Where, then,
and what way should he be summoned? I ask it at yourself, a layman."

"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 Prestongrange, then!" cries the
Writer. "He has had Alan summoned once; that was on the twenty-fifth,
the day that we first met. Once, and done with it. And where? Where, but
at the cross of Inverary, the head burgh of the Campbells. A word in
your ear, Mr. Balfour--they're not seeking Alan."

"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. They think perhaps he might set up a fair defence,
upon the back of which James, the man they're really after, might climb
out. This is not a case, ye see, it's a conspiracy."

"Yet I can tell you Prestongrange asked after Alan keenly," said I;
"though, when I come to think of it, he was something of the easiest put
by."

"See that!" says he. "But there! I may be right or wrong, that's
guesswork at the best, and let me get to my facts again. It comes to my
ears that James and the witnesses--the witnesses, Mr. Balfour!--lay in
close dungeons, and shackled forbye, in the military prison at Fort
William; none allowed in to them, nor they to write. The witnesses, Mr.
Balfour; heard ye ever the match of that? I assure ye, no old, crooked
Stewart of the gang ever outfaced the law more impudently. It's clean in
the two eyes of the Act of Parliament of 1700, anent wrongous
imprisonment. No sooner did I get the news than I petitioned the Lord
Justice Clerk. I have his word to-day. There's law for ye! here's
justice!"

He put a paper in my hand, that same mealy-mouthed, false-faced paper
that was printed since in the pamphlet "by a bystander," for behoof (as
the title says) of James's "poor widow and five children."

"See," said Stewart, "he couldn't dare to refuse me access to my client,
so he _recommends the commanding officer to let me in_. Recommends!--the
Lord Justice Clerk of Scotland recommends. Is not the purpose of such
language plain? They hope the officer may be so dull, or so very much
the reverse, as to refuse the recommendation. I would have to make the
journey back again betwixt here and Fort William. There would follow a
fresh delay till I got fresh authority, and they had disavowed the
officer--military man, notoriously ignorant of the law, and that--I ken
the cant of it. Then the journey a third time; and there we should be on
the immediate heels of the trial before I had received my first
instruction. Am I not right to call this a conspiracy?"

"It will bear that colour," said I.

"And I'll go on to prove it you outright," said he. "They have the right
to hold James in prison, yet they cannot deny me to visit him. They have
no right to hold the witnesses; but am I to get a sight of them, that
should be as free as the Lord Justice Clerk himself? See--read: _For the
rest, refuses to give any orders to keepers of prisons who are not
accused as having done anything contrary to the duties of their office_.
Anything contrary! Sirs! And the Act of seventeen hunner! Mr. Balfour,
this makes my heart to burst. The heather is on fire inside my wame."

"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 responsibilities
of his office and the great facilities afforded 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 law_ that shall command the
party."

It was actually so--it was actually on the wayside near Tynedrum, and by
the connivance of a soldier officer, that Mr. Stewart first saw the
witnesses upon the case.

"There is nothing that would surprise me in this business," I remarked.

"I'll surprise you ere I'm done!" cries he. "Do ye see this?"--producing
a print still wet from the press. "This is the libel: see, there's
Prestongrange's name to the list of witnesses, and I find no word of any
Balfour. But here is not the question. Who do ye think paid for the
printing of this paper?"

"I suppose it would likely be King George," said I.

"But it happens it was me!" he cried. "Not but it was printed by and for
themselves, for the Grants and the Erskines, and yon thief of the black
midnight, Symon Fraser. But could _I_ win to get a copy? No! I was to go
blindfold to my defence; I was to hear the charges for the first time in
court alongst the jury."

"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 Providence! A stranger is in
Fleming's printing house, spies a proof on the floor, picks it up, and
carries it to me. Of all things, it was just this libel. Whereupon I had
it set again--printed at the expense of the defence: _sumptibus moesti
rei_; 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?"

"Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill," said I.

"And now you see how it is," he concluded, "and why, when you tell me
your evidence is to be let in, I laugh aloud in your face."

It was now my turn. I laid before him in brief Mr. Symon's threats and
offers, and the whole incident of the bravo, with the subsequent scene
at Prestongrange's. Of my first talk, according to promise, I said
nothing, nor indeed was it necessary. All the time I was talking Stewart
nodded his head like a mechanical figure; and no sooner had my voice
ceased, than he opened his mouth and gave me his opinion in two words,
dwelling strong on both of them.

"Disappear yourself," said he.

"I do not take you," said I.

"Then I'll carry you there," said he. "By my view of it you're to
disappear whatever. O, that's outside debate. The Advocate, who is not
without some spunks of a remainder decency, has wrung your life-safe out
of Symon 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 Symon and the Duke can keep faith with neither friend nor
enemy. Ye're not to be tried then, and ye're not to be murdered; but I'm
in bitter error if ye're not to be kidnapped and carried away like the
Lady Grange. Bet me what you please--there was their _expedient!_"

"You make me think," said I, and told him of the whistle and the
red-headed retainer, Neil.

"Wherever James More is there's one big rogue, never be deceived on
that," said he. "His father was none so ill a man, though a kenning on
the wrong side of the law, and no friend to my family, that I should
waste my breath to be defending him! But as for James he's a brock and a
blagyard. I like the appearing of this red-headed Neil as little as
yourself. It looks uncanny: fiegh! it smells bad. It was old Lovat that
managed the Lady Grange affair, if young Lovat is to handle yours, it'll
be all in the family. What's James More in prison for? The same offence:
abduction. His men have had practice in the business. He'll be to lend
them to be Symon'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 you 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 to the trial." He emptied his pockets on the floor. "Here
is all that I have by me," he went on. "Take it, ye'll want it ere ye're
through. Go straight down this close, there's a way out by there to the
Lang Dykes, and by my will of it! see no more of Edinburgh till the
clash is over."

"Where am I to go, then?" I inquired.

"And I wish that I could tell ye!" says he, "but all the places that I
could send ye to, would be just the places they would seek. No, ye must
fend for yourself, and God be your guiding! Five days before the trial,
September the sixteen, get word to me at the _King's Arms_ in Stirling;
and if ye've managed for yourself as long as that, I'll see that ye
reach Inverary."

"One thing more," said I. "Can I no see Alan?"

He seemed boggled. "Hech, I would rather you wouldnae," said he. "But I
can never deny that Alan is extremely keen of it, and is to lie this
night by Silvermills on purpose. If you're sure that you're not
followed, Mr. Balfour--but make sure of that--lie in a good place and
watch your road for a clear hour before ye risk it. It would be a
dreadful business if both you and him was to miscarry!"

       *       *       *       *       *




CHAPTER X

THE RED-HEADED MAN


It was about half-past three when I came forth on the Lang Dykes. Dean
was where I wanted to go. Since Catriona dwelled there, and the Glengyle
Macgregors appeared almost certainly to be employed against me, it was
just one of the few places I should have kept away from; and being a
very young man, and beginning to be very much in love, I turned my face
in that direction without pause. As a salve to my conscience and common
sense, however, I took a measure of precaution. Coming over the crown of
a bit of a rise in the road, I clapped down suddenly among the barley
and lay waiting. After a while, a man went by that looked to be a
Highlandman, but I had never seen him till that hour. Presently after
came Neil of the red head. The next to go past was a miller's cart, and
after that nothing but manifest country people. Here was enough to have
turned the most foolhardy from his purpose, but my inclination ran too
strong the other way. I argued it out that if Neil was on that road, it
was the right road to find him in, leading direct to his chief's
daughter; as for the other Highlandman, if I was to be startled off by
every Highlandman I saw, I would scarce reach anywhere. And having quite
satisfied myself with this disingenuous debate, I made the better speed
of it, and came a little after four to Mrs. Drummond-Ogilvy's.

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 Rankeillor at the
Queensferry, whom she knew to be the doer for Shaws, and had then in her
pocket a letter from that good friend of mine, presenting, in the most
favourable view, my character and prospects. But had I read it I could
scarce have seen more clear in her designs. Maybe I was _countryfeed_;
at least, I was not so much so as she thought; and it was plain enough,
even to my homespun wits, that she was bent to hammer up a match between
her cousin and a beardless boy that was something of a laird in Lothian.

"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 deal of pains to
flatter me; always cleverly, always with the appearance of a banter,
still calling me Saxpence, but with such a turn that should rather
uplift me in my own opinion. When Catriona returned the design became if
possible more obvious, and she showed off the girl's advantages like a
horse-couper with a horse. My face flamed that she should think me so
obtuse. Now I would fancy the girl was being innocently made a show of,
and then I could have beaten the old carline wife with a cudgel; and
now, that perhaps these two had set their heads together to entrap me,
and at that I sat and gloomed betwixt them like the very image of
ill-will. At last the matchmaker had a better device, which was to leave
the pair of us alone. When my suspicions are anyway roused it is
sometimes a little the wrong side of easy to allay them. But though I
knew what breed she was of, and that was a breed of thieves, I could
never look in Catriona's face and disbelieve her.

"I must not ask?" says she, eagerly, the same moment we were left alone.

"Ah, but to-day I can talk with a free conscience," I replied. "I am
lightened of my pledge, and indeed (after what has come and gone since
morning) I would not have renewed it were it asked."

"Tell me," she said. "My cousin will not be so long."

So I told her the tale of the lieutenant from the first step to the last
of it, making it as mirthful as I could, and, indeed, there was matter
of mirth in that absurdity.

"And I think you will be as little fitted for the rudas men as for the
pretty ladies, after all!" says she, when I had done. "But what was your
father that he could not learn you to draw the sword? It is most
ungentle; I have not heard the match of that in anyone."