river, I inquired my way of a miller's man, who sent me up the hill

upon the farther side by a plain path, and so to a decent-like

small house in a garden of lawns and apple-trees.  My heart beat

high as I stepped inside the garden hedge, but it fell low indeed

when I came face to face with a grim and fierce old lady, walking

there in a white mutch with a man's hat strapped upon the top of

it.



"What do ye come seeking here?" she asked.



I told her I was after Miss Drummond.



"And what may be your business with Miss Drummond?" says she.



I told her I had met her on Saturday last, had been so fortunate as

to render her a trifling service, and was come now on the young

lady's invitation.



"O, so you're Saxpence!" she cried, with a very sneering manner.

"A braw gift, a bonny gentleman.  And hae ye ony ither name and

designation, or were ye bapteesed Saxpence?" she asked.



I told my name.



"Preserve me!" she cried.  "Has Ebenezer gotten a son?"



"No, ma'am," said I.  "I am a son of Alexander's.  It's I that am

the Laird of Shaws."



"Ye'll find your work cut out for ye to establish that," quoth she.



"I perceive you know my uncle," said I; "and I daresay you may be

the better pleased to hear that business is arranged."



"And what brings ye here after Miss Drummond?" she pursued.



"I'm come after my saxpence, mem," said I.  "It's to be thought,

being my uncle's nephew, I would be found a careful lad."



"So ye have a spark of sleeness in ye?" observed the old lady, with

some approval.  "I thought ye had just been a cuif--you and your

saxpence, and your LUCKY DAY and your SAKE OF BALWHIDDER"--from

which I was gratified to learn that Catriona had not forgotten some

of our talk.  "But all this is by the purpose," she resumed.  "Am I

to understand that ye come here keeping company?"



"This is surely rather an early question," said I.  "The maid is

young, so am I, worse fortune.  I have but seen her the once.  I'll

not deny," I added, making up my mind to try her with some

frankness, "I'll not deny but she has run in my head a good deal

since I met in with her.  That is one thing; but it would be quite

another, and I think I would look very like a fool, to commit

myself."



"You can speak out of your mouth, I see," said the old lady.

"Praise God, and so can 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 gallow's foot, a young lady

whom I have seen but once.  I have told you already I would never

be so untenty as to commit myself.  And yet I'll go some way with

you.  If I continue to like the lass as well as I have reason to

expect, it 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 headed, 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, O! Davit Balfour, ye're damned

countryfeed.  Ye'll have to win over that, lad; ye'll have to

soople your back-bone, and think a wee 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 no 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

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 dealings 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, Simon Fraser! to think upon that man!  For his life

and the dirty money, to be dealing in such traffic!"  And just then

she called out aloud with a queer word that was common with her,

and belongs, I believe, to her own language.  "My torture!" says

she, "look at the sun!"



Indeed, it was already dipping towards the mountains.



She bid me come again soon, gave me her hand, and left me in a

turmoil of glad spirits.  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 in 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 Alan Breck upon the hill?"



"I did, my lord," said I



"This was immediately after the murder?"



"It was."



"Did you speak to him?"



"I did."



"You had known him before, I think?" says my lord, carelessly.



"I cannot guess your reason for so thinking, my lord," I replied,

"but such in 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 the 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 hurdles, 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.

Dancansby, 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 heid still sings with it.  And I declare if I

had kent what way it wass, I would not put a hand to such a piece

of pusiness."



"That is handsomely said," I replied, "and I am sure you will not

stand up a second time to be the actor for my private enemies."



"Indeed, no, Palfour," said he; "and I think I was used extremely

suffeeciently myself to be set up to fecht with an auld wife, or

all the same as a bairn whateffer!  And I will tell the Master so,

and fecht him, by Cot, himself!"



"And if you knew the nature of Mr. Simon's quarrel with me," said

I, "you would be yet the more affronted to be mingled up with such

affairs."



He swore he could well believe it; that all the Lovats were made of

the same meal and the devil was the miller that ground that; then

suddenly shaking me by the hand, he vowed I was a pretty enough

fellow after all, that it was a thousand pities I had been

neglected, and that if he could find the time, he would give an eye

himself to have me educated.



"You can do me a better service than even what you propose," said

I; and when he had asked its nature--"Come with me to the house of

one of my enemies, and testify how I have carried myself this day,"

I told him.  "That will be the true service.  For though he has

sent me a gallant adversary for the first, the thought in Mr.

Simon'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 the 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 ante-chamber, 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, Simon

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 in 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, Simon," 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!"



Simon 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 Simon practising against my life by the hands of

the Highland soldier, but (as appeared from his own language)

Prestongrange himself had some design in 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 looked 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-bye 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 out-

faced 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.  Then 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 I 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, Simon 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. Simon's threats

and offers, and the whole incident of the bravo, with the

subsequent scene at Prestongrange's.  Of my first talk, according

to promise, I said nothing, nor indeed was it 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 Simon and the Duke.  He has refused to put you on

your trial, and refused to have you killed; and there is the clue

to their ill words together, for Simon and the Duke can keep faith

with neither friend nor enemy.  Ye're not to be tried then, and

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 ye

please--there was their EXPEDIENT!"



"You make me think," said I, and told him of the whistle and the

red-headed retainer, Neil.



"Wherever 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 appearance 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 Simon's instruments; and the next thing we'll be

hearing, James will have made his peace, or else he'll have

escaped; and you'll be in Benbecula or Applecross."



"Ye make a strong case," I admitted.



"And what I want," he resumed, "is that you should disappear

yourself ere they can get their hands upon ye.  Lie quiet until

just before the trial, and spring upon them at the last of it when

they'll be looking for you least.  This is always supposing Mr.

Balfour, that your evidence is worth so very great a measure of

both risk and fash."



"I will tell 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

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

her kinsfolk the Glengyle Macgregors appeared almost certainly to

be employed against me, it was just one of the few places I should

have kept away from; and being a very young man, and beginning to

be very much in love, I turned my face in that direction without

pause.  As a slave to my conscience and common sense, however, I

took a measure of precaution.  Coming over the crown of a bit of a