This she descended very quietly, and greeted me with a pale face

and a certain seeming of earnestness, or uneasiness, in her manner

that extremely dashed me.



"My father, James 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, ye're an

awful poor hand of a description."



I do not know that ever I heard him speak so straight to people's

hearts; the sound of his voice was like song.



"What? will he have been describing me?" she cried.



"Little else of it since I ever came out of France!" says he,

"forby a bit of a speciment one night in Scotland in a shaw of wood

by Silvermills.  But cheer up, my dear! ye're bonnier than what he

said.  And now there's one thing sure; you and me are to be a pair

of friends.  I'm a kind of a henchman to Davie here; I'm like a

tyke at his heels; and whatever he cares for, I've got to care for

too--and by the holy airn! they've got to care for me!  So now you

can see what way you stand with Alan Breck, and ye'll find ye'll

hardly lose on the transaction.  He's no very bonnie, my dear, but

he's leal to them he loves."



"I thank you from my heart for your good words," said she.  "I have

that honour for a brave, honest man that I cannot find any to be

answering with."



Using travellers' freedom, we spared to wait for James More, and

sat down to meat, we threesome.  Alan had Catriona sit by him and

wait upon his wants:  he made her drink first out of his glass, he

surrounded her with continual kind gallantries, and yet never gave

me the most small occasion to be jealous; and he kept the talk so

much in his own hand, and that in so merry a note, that neither she

nor I remembered to be embarrassed.  If any had seen us there, it

must have been supposed that Alan was the old friend and I the

stranger.  Indeed, I had often cause to love and to admire the man,

but I never loved or admired him better than that night; and I

could not help remarking to myself (what I was sometimes rather in

danger of forgetting) that he had not only much experience of life,

but in his own way a great deal of natural ability besides.  As for

Catriona, she seemed quite carried away; her laugh was like a peal

of bells, her face gay as a May morning; and I own, although I was

well pleased, yet I was a little sad also, and thought myself a

dull, stockish character in comparison of my friend, and very unfit

to come into a young maid's life, and perhaps ding down her gaiety.



But if that was like to be my part, I found that at least I was not

alone in it; for, James More returning suddenly, the girl was

changed into a piece of stone.  Through the rest of that evening,

until she made an excuse and slipped to bed, I kept an eye upon her

without cease; and I can bear testimony that she never smiled,

scarce spoke, and looked mostly on the board in front of her.  So

that I really marvelled to see so much devotion (as it used to be)

changed into the very sickness of hate.



Of James More it is unnecessary to say much; you know the man

already, what there was to know of him; and I am weary of writing

out his lies.  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 four 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," say 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!  But what's that

neepkin at your craig?"



I told him.



"I thocht it was something thereabout" said he.



Nor would he say another word though I 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, 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 began

to make apologies.  He had an appointment of a private nature in

the town (it was with the French nobleman, he told me), and we

would please excuse him till about noon.  Meanwhile he carried his

daughter aside to the far end of the room, where he seemed to speak

rather earnestly and she to listen with much inclination.



"I am caring less and less about this man James," said Alan.

"There's something no right with the man James, and I shouldnae

wonder but what Alan Breck would give an eye to him this day.  I

would like fine to see yon French nobleman, Davie; and I daresay

you could find an employ to yoursel, and that would be to speir at

the lassie for some news o' your affair.  Just tell it to her

plainly--tell her ye're a muckle ass at the off-set; and then, if I

were you, and ye could do it naitural, I would just mint to her I

was in some kind of a danger; a' weemenfolk likes that."



"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 you."



"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 sandhills, the fine morning

would decoy her forth; and once I had her in the open, I could

please myself.



No sooner said than done; nor was I long under the bield of a

hillock before she appeared at the inn door, looked here and there,

and (seeing nobody) set out by a path that led directly seaward,

and by which I followed her.  I was in no haste to make my presence

known; the further she went I made sure of the longer hearing to my

suit; and the ground being all sandy it was easy to follow her

unheard.  The path rose and came at last to the head of a knowe.

Thence I had a picture for the first time of what a desolate

wilderness that inn stood hidden in; where was no man to be seen,

nor any house of man, except just Bazin's and the windmill.  Only a

little further on, the sea appeared and two or three ships upon it,

pretty as a drawing.  One of these was extremely close in to be so

great a vessel; and I was aware of a shock of new suspicion, when I

recognised the trim of the Seahorse.  What should an English ship

be doing so near in to France?  Why was Alan brought into her

neighbourhood, and that in a place so far from any hope of rescue?

and was it by accident, or by design, that the daughter of James

More should walk that day to the seaside?



Presently I came forth behind her in the front of the sandhills and

above the beach.  It was here long and solitary; with a man-o'-

war's boat drawn up about the middle of the prospect, and an

officer in charge and pacing the sands like one who waited.  I sat

down where the rough grass a good deal covered me, and looked for

what should follow.  Catriona went straight to the boat; the

officer met her with civilities; they had ten words together; I saw

a letter changing hands; and there was Catriona returning.  At the

same time, as if this were all her business on the Continent, the

boat shoved off and was headed for the 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

innocence.  The next, she raised her face and recognised me; seemed

to hesitate, and then came on again, but more slowly, and I thought

with a changed colour.  And at that thought, all else that was upon

my bosom--fears, suspicions, the care of my friend's life--was

clean swallowed up; and I rose to my feet and stood waiting her in

a drunkenness of hope.



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," she

said.  "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 be

wanting 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.



"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 that looked so pretty as those bents by

Dunkirk; and the windmill sails, as they bobbed over the knowe,

were like a tune of music.



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 from it, and yon officer

that stayed ashore.  He would not be alone either; there must be

more along with him; I daresay we are spied upon this minute.  Ay,

no doubt, the letter should be opened; but somehow, not by you nor

me."



I was about thus far with it, and my spirit very much overcome with

a sense of danger and hidden enemies, when I spied Alan, come back

again from following James and walking by himself among the sand-

hills.  He was in his soldier's coat, of course, and mighty fine;

but I could not avoid to shudder when I thought how little that

jacket would avail him, if he were once caught and flung in a

skiff, and carried on board of the 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 the last

night, when you were fast asleep, I heard the man colloguing with

some one in the French, and then the door of that inn to be opened

and shut."



"Alan!" 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, "you have to excuse me, my dear; but there's

nothing less than my fine bones upon the cast of it, and I'll have

to break this seal."



"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 together.  This place is fair death to

me."  And he began to walk towards the inn.



It was Catriona that 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 you did yet!  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!"



"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

backdoor 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 Caesar.  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 you 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," said James.



"Well, well," said 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 some thing yielding.  It came back to

me reddened.  I saw the blood flow on the girl's kerchief, and

stood sick.



"Will you be killing him before my eyes, and me his daughter after

all!" she cried.



"My dear, I have done with him," said Alan, and went, and sat on a

table, with his arms crossed and the sword naked in his hand.



Awhile she stood before the man, panting, with big eyes, then swung

suddenly about and faced him.



"Begone!" 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 you much

hurt?"



"I know it, Davie, I am loving you for the pain of it; it was done

defending that bad man, my father.  See!" she said, and showed me a

bleeding scratch, "see, you have made a man of me now.  I will

carry a wound like an old soldier."



Joy that she should be so little hurt, and the love of her brave

nature, supported 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's 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 his hands, were the sails of the windmill turning.



Alan gave but one glance, and laid himself down to run.  He carried

a great weight in James More's portmanteau; but I think he would as

soon have lost his life as cast away that booty which was his

revenge; and he ran so that I was distressed to follow him, and

marvelled and exulted to see the girl bounding at my side.



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

Palliser's letter, neither Catriona nor I were very keen to be

using it in public.  Upon all accounts it seemed the most prudent

to carry the girl to Paris to the hands of her own chieftain,

Macgregor of Bohaldie, who would be very willing to help his

kinswoman, on the one hand, and not at all anxious to dishonour

James upon other.



We made but a slow journey of it up, for Catriona was not so good

at the riding as the running, and had scarce sat in the saddle

since the 'Forty-five.  But we made it out at last, reached Paris

early of a Sabbath morning, and made all speed, under Alan's

guidance, to find Bohaldie.  He was finely lodged, and lived in a

good style, having a pension on the Scots Fund, as well as private

means; greeted Catriona like one of his own house, and seemed

altogether very civil and discreet, but not particularly open.  We

asked of the news of James More.  "Poor James!" said he, and shook

his head and smiled, so that I thought he knew further than he

meant to tell.  Then we showed him Palliser's letter, and he drew a

long face at that.



"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 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 afterthought;" after which he spoke for all the world in

his old manner, was so obliging as to play us a tune or two upon

his pipes, and borrowed a small sum before I left.



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 scratch-wig and a wraprascal, that came to Shaws

very late of a dark night, and whom you were awakened out of your

beds and brought down to the dining-hall to be presented to, by the

name of Mr. Jamieson?  Or has Alan forgotten what he did at Mr.

Jamieson's request--a most disloyal act--for which, by the letter

of the law, he might be hanged--no less than drinking the king's

health 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.







Footnotes



{1}  Conspicuous.



{2}  Country.



{3}  The Fairies.



{4}  Flatteries.



{5}  Trust to.



{6}  This must have reference to Dr. Cameron on his first visit.--

D. B.



{7}  Sweetheart.



{8}  Child.



{9}  Palm.



{10}  Gallows.



{11}  My Catechism.



{12}  Now Prince's Street.



{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 little humouring to the notes in question.



{14}  A ball placed upon a little mound for convenience of

striking.



{15}  Patched shoes.



{16}  Shoemaker.



{17}  Tamson's mere--to go afoot.



{18}  Beard.



{19}  Ragged.



{20}  Fine things.



{21}  Catch.



{22}  Victuals.



{23}  Trust.



{24}  Sea fog.



{25}  Bashful.



{26}  Rest.