have proved, the most grave injustice; and I think he was at once

far more sincere, and a far more artful performer, than I supposed.



But I had some warrant for my incredulity in the behaviour of that

court of young advocates that hung about in the hope of patronage.

The sudden favour of a lad not previously heard of troubled them at

first out of measure; but two days were not gone by before I found

myself surrounded with flattery and attention.  I was the same

young man, and neither better nor bonnier, that they had rejected a

month before; and now there was no civility too fine for me!  The

same, do I say?  It was not so; and the by-name by which I went

behind my back confirmed it.  Seeing me so firm with the Advocate,

and persuaded that I was to fly high and far, they had taken a word

from the golfing green, and called me THE TEE'D BALL. {14}  I was

told I was now "one of themselves"; I was to taste of their soft

lining, who had already made my own experience of the roughness of

the outer husk; and one, to whom I had been presented in Hope Park,

was so aspired as even to remind me of that meeting.  I told him I

had not the pleasure of remembering it.



"Why" says he, "it was Miss Grant herself presented me!  My name is

so-and-so."



"It may very well be, sir," said I; "but I have kept no mind of

it."



At which he desisted; and in the midst of the disgust that commonly

overflowed my spirits I had a glisk of pleasure.



But I have not patience to dwell upon that time at length.  When I

was in company with these young politics I was borne down with

shame for myself and my own plain ways, and scorn for them and

their duplicity.  Of the two evils, I thought Prestongrange to be

the least; and while I was always as stiff as buckram to the young

bloods, I made rather a dissimulation of my hard feelings towards

the Advocate, and was (in old Mr. Campbell's word) "soople to the

laird."  Himself commented on the difference, and bid me be more of

my age, and make friends with my young comrades.



I told him I was slow of making friends.



"I will take the word back," said he.  "But there is such a thing

as FAIR GUDE S'EN AND FAIR GUDE DAY, Mr. David.  These are the same

young men with whom you are to pass your days and get through life:

your backwardness has a look of arrogance; and unless you can

assume a little more lightness of manner, I fear you will meet

difficulties in the path."



"It will be an ill job to make a silk purse of a sow's ear," said

I.



On the morning of October 1st I was awakened by the clattering in

of an express; and getting to my window almost before he had

dismounted, I saw the messenger had ridden hard.  Somewhile after I

was called to Prestongrange, where he was sitting in his bedgown

and nightcap, with his letters round him.



"Mr. David," add he, "I have a piece of news for you.  It concerns

some friends of yours, of whom I sometimes think you are a little

ashamed, for you have never referred to their existence."



I suppose I blushed.



"See you understand, since you make the answering signal," said he.

"And I must compliment you on your excellent taste in beauty.  But

do you know, Mr. David? this seems to me a very enterprising lass.

She crops up from every side.  The Government of Scotland appears

unable to proceed for Mistress Katrine Drummond, which was somewhat

the case (no great while back) with a certain Mr. David Balfour.

Should not these make a good match?  Her first intromission in

politics--but I must not tell you that story, the authorities have

decided you are to hear it otherwise and from a livelier narrator.

This new example is more serious, however; and I am afraid I must

alarm you with the intelligence that she is now in prison."



I cried out.



"Yes," said he, "the little lady is in prison.  But I would not

have you to despair.  Unless you (with your friends and memorials)

shall procure my downfall, she is to suffer nothing."



"But what has she done?  What is her offence?" I cried.



"It might be almost construed a high treason," he returned, "for

she has broke the king's Castle of Edinburgh."



"The lady is much my friend," I said.  "I know you would not mock

me if the thing were serious."



"And yet it is serious in a sense," said he; "for this rogue of a

Katrine--or Cateran, as we may call her--has set adrift again upon

the world that very doubtful character, her papa."



Here was one of my previsions justified:  James More was once again

at liberty.  He had lent his men to keep me a prisoner; he had

volunteered his testimony in the Appin case, and the same (no

matter by what subterfuge) had been employed to influence the jury.

Now came his reward, and he was free.  It might please the

authorities to give to it the colour of an escape; but I knew

better--I knew it must be the fulfilment of a bargain.  The same

course of thought relieved me of the least alarm for Catriona.  She

might be thought to have broke prison for her father; she might

have believed so herself.  But the chief hand in the whole business

was that of Prestongrange; and I was sure, so far from letting her

come to punishment, he would not suffer her to be even tried.

Whereupon thus came out of me the not very politic ejaculation:



"Ah! I was expecting that!"



"You have at times a great deal of discretion, too!" says

Prestongrange.



"And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?" I asked.



"I was just marvelling", he replied, "that being so clever as to

draw these inferences, you should not be clever enough to keep them

to yourself.  But I think you would like to hear the details of the

affair.  I have received two versions:  and the least official is

the more full and far the more entertaining, being from the lively

pen of my eldest daughter.  'Here is all the town bizzing with a

fine piece of work,' she writes, 'and what would make the thing

more noted (if it were only known) the malefactor is a protegee of

his lordship my papa.  I am sure your heart is too much in your

duty (if it were nothing else) to have forgotten Grey Eyes.  What

does she do, but get a broad hat with the flaps open, a long hairy-

like man's greatcoat, and a big gravatt; kilt her coats up to GUDE

KENS WHAUR, clap two pair of boot-hose upon her legs, take a pair

of CLOUTED BROGUES {15} in her hand, and off to the Castle!  Here

she gives herself out to be a soutar {16} in the employ of James

More, and gets admitted to his cell, the lieutenant (who seems to

have been full of pleasantry) making sport among his soldiers of

the soutar's greatcoat.  Presently they hear disputation and the

sound of blows inside.  Out flies the cobbler, his coat flying, the

flaps of his hat beat about his face, and the lieutenant and his

soldiers mock at him as he runs off.  They laughed no so hearty the

next time they had occasion to visit the cell and found nobody but

a tall, pretty, grey-eyed lass in the female habit!  As for the

cobbler, he was 'over the hills ayout Dumblane,' and it's thought

that poor Scotland will have to console herself without him.  I

drank Catriona's health this night in public.



Indeed, the whole town admires her; and I think the beaux would

wear bits of her garters in their button-holes if they could only

get them.  I would have gone to visit her in prison too, only I

remembered in time I was papa's daughter; so I wrote her a billet

instead, which I entrusted to the faithful Doig, and I hope you

will admit I can be political when I please.  The same faithful

gomeral is to despatch this letter by the express along with those

of the wiseacres, so that you may hear Tom Fool in company with

Solomon.  Talking of GOMERALS, do tell DAUVIT BALFOUR.  I would I

could see the face of him at the thought of a long-legged lass in

such a predicament; to say nothing of the levities of your

affectionate daughter, and his respectful friend.'  So my rascal

signs herself!" continued Prestongrange.  "And you see, Mr. David,

it is quite true what I tell you, that my daughters regard you with

the most affectionate playfulness."



"The gomeral is much obliged," said I.



"And was not this prettily done!" he went on.  "Is not this

Highland maid a piece of a heroine?"



"I was always sure she had a great heart," said I.  "And I wager

she guessed nothing . . . But I beg your pardon, this is to tread

upon forbidden subjects."



"I will go bail she did not," he returned, quite openly.  "I will

go bail she thought she was flying straight into King George's

face."



Remembrance of Catriona and the thought of her lying in captivity,

moved me strangely.  I could see that even Prestongrange admired,

and could not withhold his lips from smiling when he considered her

behaviour.  As for Miss Grant, for all her ill habit of mockery,

her admiration shone out plain.  A kind of a heat came on me.



"I am not your lordship's daughter. . . " I began.



"That I know of!" he put in, smiling.



"I speak like a fool," said I; "or rather I began wrong.  It would

doubtless be unwise in Mistress Grant to go to her in prison; but

for me, I think I would look like a half-hearted friend if I did

not fly there instantly."



"So-ho, Mr. David," says he; "I thought that you and I were in a

bargain?"



"My lord," I said, "when I made that bargain I was a good deal

affected by your goodness, but I'll never can deny that I was moved

besides by my own interest.  There was self-seeking in my heart,

and I think shame of it now.  It may be for your lordship's safety

to say this fashious Davie Balfour is your friend and housemate.

Say it then; I'll never contradict you.  But as for your patronage,

I give it all back.  I ask but the one thing--let me go, and give

me a pass to see her in her prison."



He looked at me with a hard eye.  "You put the cart before the

horse, I think," says he.  "That which I had given was a portion of

my liking, which your thankless nature does not seem to have

remarked.  But for my patronage, it is not given, nor (to be exact)

is it yet offered."  He paused a bit.  "And I warn you, you do not

know yourself," he added.  "Youth is a hasty season; you will think

better of all this before a year."



"Well, and I would like to be that kind of youth!" I cried.  "I

have seen too much of the other party in these young advocates that

fawn upon your lordship and are even at the pains to fawn on me.

And I have seen it in the old ones also.  They are all for by-ends,

the whole clan of them!  It's this that makes me seem to misdoubt

your lordship's liking.  Why would I think that you would like me?

But ye told me yourself ye had an interest!"



I stopped at this, confounded that I had run so far; he was

observing me with an unfathomable face.



"My lord, I ask your pardon," I resumed.  "I have nothing in my

chafts but a rough country tongue.  I think it would be only

decent-like if I would go to see my friend in her captivity; but

I'm owing you my life--I'll never forget that; and if it's for your

lordship's good, here I'll stay.  That's barely gratitude."



"This might have been reached in fewer words," says Prestongrange

grimly.  "It is easy, and it is at times gracious, to say a plain

Scots 'ay'."



"Ah, but, my lord, I think ye take me not yet entirely!" cried I.

"For YOUR sake, for my life-safe, and the kindness that ye say ye

bear to me--for these, I'll consent; but not for any good that

might be coming to myself.  If I stand aside when this young maid

is in her trial, it's a thing I will be noways advantaged by; I

will lose by it, I will never gain.  I would rather make a

shipwreck wholly than to build on that foundation."



He was a minute serious, then smiled.  "You mind me of the man with

the long nose," said he; "was you to see the moon by a telescope

you would see David Balfour there!  But you shall have your way of

it.  I will ask at you one service, and then set you free:  My

clerks are overdriven; be so good as copy me these few pages, and

when that is done, I shall bid you God speed!  I would never charge

myself with Mr. David's conscience; and if you could cast some part

of it (as you went by) in a moss hag, you would find yourself to

ride much easier without it."



"Perhaps not just entirely in the same direction though, my lord!"

says I.



"And you shall have the last word, too!" cries he gaily.



Indeed, he had some cause for gaiety, having now found the means to

gain his purpose.  To lessen the weight of the memorial, or to have

a readier answer at his hand, he desired I should appear publicly

in the character of his intimate.  But if I were to appear with the

same publicity as a visitor to Catriona in her prison the world

would scarce stint to draw conclusions, and the true nature of

James More's escape must become evident to all.  This was the

little problem I had to set him of a sudden, and to which he had so

briskly found an answer.  I was to be tethered in Glasgow by that

job of copying, which in mere outward decency I could not well

refuse; and during these hours of employment Catriona was privately

got rid of.  I think shame to write of this man that loaded me with

so many goodnesses.  He was kind to me as any father, yet I ever

thought him as false as a cracked bell.







CHAPTER XIX--I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES







The copying was a weary business, the more so as I perceived very

early there was no sort of urgency in the matters treated, and

began very early to consider my employment a pretext.  I had no

sooner finished than I got to horse, used what remained of daylight

to the best purpose, and being at last fairly benighted, slept in a

house by Almond-Water side.  I was in the saddle again before the

day, and the Edinburgh booths were just opening when I clattered in

by the West Bow and drew up a smoking horse at my lord Advocate's

door.  I had a written word for Doig, my lord's private hand that

was thought to be in all his secrets--a worthy little plain man,

all fat and snuff and self-sufficiency.  Him I found already at his

desk and already bedabbled with maccabaw, in the same anteroom

where I rencountered with James More.  He read the note

scrupulously through like a chapter in his Bible.



"H'm," says he; "ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. Balfour.  The

bird's flaen--we hae letten her out."



"Miss Drummond is set free?" I cried.



"Achy!" said he.  "What would we keep her for, ye ken?  To hae made

a steer about the bairn would has pleased naebody."



"And where'll she be now?" says I.



"Gude kens!" says Doig, with a shrug.



"She'll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I'm thinking," said I.



"That'll be it," said he.



"Then I'll gang there straight," says I.



"But ye'll be for a bite or ye go?" said he.



"Neither bite nor sup," said I.  "I had a good wauch of milk in by

Ratho."



"Aweel, aweel," says Doig.  "But ye'll can leave your horse here

and your bags, for it seems we're to have your up-put."



"Na, na", said I.  "Tamson's mear {17} would never be the thing for

me this day of all days."



Doig speaking somewhat broad, I had been led by imitation into an

accent much more countrified than I was usually careful to affect a

good deal broader, indeed, than I have written it down; and I was

the more ashamed when another voice joined in behind me with a

scrap of a ballad:





"Gae saddle me the bonny black,

Gae saddle sune and mak' him ready

For I will down the Gatehope-slack,

And a' to see my bonny leddy."





The young lady, when I turned to her, stood in a morning gown, and

her hands muffled in the same, as if to hold me at a distance.  Yet

I could not but think there was kindness in the eye with which she

saw me.



"My best respects to you, Mistress Grant," said I, bowing.



"The like to yourself, Mr. David," she replied with a deep

courtesy.  "And I beg to remind you of an old musty saw, that meat

and mass never hindered man.  The mass I cannot afford you, for we

are all good Protestants.  But the meat I press on your attention.

And I would not wonder but I could find something for your private

ear that would be worth the stopping for."



"Mistress Grant," said I, "I believe I am already your debtor for

some merry words--and I think they were kind too--on a piece of

unsigned paper."



"Unsigned paper?" says she, and made a droll face, which was

likewise wondrous beautiful, as of one trying to remember.



"Or else I am the more deceived," I went on.  "But to be sure, we

shall have the time to speak of these, since your father is so good

as to make me for a while your inmate; and the GOMERAL begs you at

this time only for the favour of his liberty,"



"You give yourself hard names," said she.



"Mr. Doig and I would be blythe to take harder at your clever pen,"

says I.



"Once more I have to admire the discretion of all men-folk," she

replied.  "But if you will not eat, off with you at once; you will

be back the sooner, for you go on a fool's errand.  Off with you,

Mr. David," she continued, opening the door.





"He has lowpen on his bonny grey,

He rade the richt gate and the ready

I trow he would neither stint nor stay,

For he was seeking his bonny leddy."





I did not wait to be twice bidden, and did justice to Miss Grant's

citation on the way to Dean.



Old Lady Allardyce walked there alone in the garden, in her hat and

mutch, and having a silver-mounted staff of some black wood to lean

upon.  As I alighted from my horse, and drew near to her with

CONGEES, I could see the blood come in her face, and her head fling

into the air like what I had conceived of empresses.



"What brings you to my poor door?" she cried, speaking high through

her nose.  "I cannot bar it.  The males of my house are dead and

buried; I have neither son nor husband to stand in the gate for me;

any beggar can pluck me by the baird {18}--and a baird there is,

and that's the worst of it yet?" she added partly to herself.



I was extremely put out at this reception, and the last remark,

which seemed like a daft wife's, left me near hand speechless.



"I see I have fallen under your displeasure, ma'am," said I.  "Yet

I will still be so bold as ask after Mistress Drummond."



She considered me with a burning eye, her lips pressed close

together into twenty creases, her hand shaking on her staff.  "This

cows all!" she cried.  "Ye come to me to speir for her?  Would God

I knew!"



"She is not here?" I cried.



She threw up her chin and made a step and a cry at me, so that I

fell back incontinent.



"Out upon your leeing throat!" she cried.  "What! ye come and speir

at me!  She's in jyle, whaur ye took her to--that's all there is to

it.  And of a' the beings ever I beheld in breeks, to think it

should be to you!  Ye timmer scoun'rel, if I had a male left to my

name I would have your jaicket dustit till ye raired."



I thought it not good to delay longer in that place, because I

remarked her passion to be rising.  As I turned to the horse-post

she even followed me; and I make no shame to confess that I rode

away with the one stirrup on and scrambling for the other.



As I knew no other quarter where I could push my inquiries, there

was nothing left me but to return to the Advocate's.  I was well

received by the four ladies, who were now in company together, and

must give the news of Prestongrange and what word went in the west

country, at the most inordinate length and with great weariness to

myself; while all the time that young lady, with whom I so much

desired to be alone again, observed me quizzically and seemed to

find pleasure in the sight of my impatience.  At last, after I had

endured a meal with them, and was come very near the point of

appealing for an interview before her aunt, she went and stood by

the music-case, and picking out a tune, sang to it on a high key--

"He that will not when he may, When he will he shall have nay."

But this was the end of her rigours, and presently, after making

some excuse of which I have no mind, she carried me away in private

to her father's library.  I should not fail to say she was dressed

to the nines, and appeared extraordinary handsome.



"Now, Mr. David, sit ye down here and let us have a two-handed

crack," said she.  "For I have much to tell you, and it appears

besides that I have been grossly unjust to your good taste."



"In what manner, Mistress Grant?" I asked.  "I trust I have never

seemed to fail in due respect."



"I will be your surety, Mr, David," said she.  "Your respect,

whether to yourself or your poor neighbours, has been always and

most fortunately beyond imitation.  But that is by the question.

You got a note from me?" she asked.



"I was so bold as to suppose so upon inference," said I, "and it

was kindly thought upon."



"It must have prodigiously surprised you," said she.  "But let us

begin with the beginning.  You have not perhaps forgot a day when

you were so kind as to escort three very tedious misses to Hope

Park?  I have the less cause to forget it myself, because you was

so particular obliging as to introduce me to some of the principles

of the Latin grammar, a thing which wrote itself profoundly on my

gratitude."



"I fear I was sadly pedantical," said I, overcome with confusion at

the memory.  "You are only to consider I am quite unused with the

society of ladies."



"I will say the less about the grammar then," she replied.  "But

how came you to desert your charge?  'He has thrown her out,

overboard, his ain dear Annie!'" she hummed; "and his ain dear

Annie and her two sisters had to taigle home by theirselves like a

string of green geese!  It seems you returned to my papa's, where

you showed yourself excessively martial, and then on to realms

unknown, with an eye (it appears) to the Bass Rock; solan geese

being perhaps more to your mind than bonny lasses."



Through all this raillery there was something indulgent in the

lady's eye which made me suppose there might be better coming.



"You take a pleasure to torment me," said I, "and I make a very

feckless plaything; but let me ask you to be more merciful.  At

this time there is but the one thing that I care to hear of, and

that will be news of Catriona."



"Do you call her by that name to her face, Mr. Balfour?" she asked.



"In troth, and I am not very sure," I stammered.



"I would not do so in any case to strangers," said Miss Grant.

"And why are you so much immersed in the affairs of this young

lady?"



"I heard she was in prison," said I.



"Well, and now you hear that she is out of it," she replied, "and

what more would you have?  She has no need of any further

champion."



"I may have the greater need of her, ma'am," said I.



"Come, this is better!" says Miss Grant.  "But look me fairly in

the face; am I not bonnier than she?"



"I would be the last to be denying it," said I.  "There is not your

marrow in all Scotland."



"Well, here you have the pick of the two at your hand, and must

needs speak of the other," said she.  "This is never the way to

please the ladies, Mr. Balfour."



"But, mistress," said I, "there are surely other things besides

mere beauty."



"By which I am to understand that I am no better than I should be,

perhaps?" she asked.



"By which you will please understand that I am like the cock in the

midden in the fable book," said I.  "I see the braw jewel--and I

like fine to see it too--but I have more need of the pickle corn."



"Bravissimo!" she cried.  "There is a word well said at last, and I

will reward you for it with my story.  That same night of your

desertion I came late from a friend's house--where I was

excessively admired, whatever you may think of it--and what should

I hear but that a lass in a tartan screen desired to speak with me?

She had been there an hour or better, said the servant-lass, and

she grat in to herself as she sat waiting.  I went to her direct;

she rose as I came in, and I knew her at a look.  'Grey Eyes!' says

I to myself, but was more wise than to let on.  YOU WILL BE MISS

GRANT AT LAST? she says, rising and looking at me hard and pitiful.

AY, IT WAS TRUE HE SAID, YOU ARE BONNY AT ALL EVENTS.--THE WAY GOD

MADE ME, MY DEAR, I said, BUT I WOULD BE GEY AND OBLIGED IF YOU

COULD TELL ME WHAT BROUGHT YOU HERE AT SUCH A TIME OF THE NIGHT.--

LADY, she said, WE ARE KINSFOLK, WE ARE BOTH COME OF THE BLOOD OF

THE SONS OF ALPIN.--MY DEAR, I replied, I THINK NO MORE OF ALPIN OR

HIS SONS THAN WHAT I DO OF A KALESTOCK.  YOU HAVE A BETTER ARGUMENT

IN THESE TEARS UPON YOUR BONNY FACE.  And at that I was so weak-

minded as to kiss her, which is what you would like to do dearly,

and I wager will never find the courage of.  I say it was weak-

minded of me, for I knew no more of her than the outside; but it

was the wisest stroke I could have hit upon.  She is a very

staunch, brave nature, but I think she has been little used with

tenderness; and at that caress (though to say the truth, it was but

lightly given) her heart went out to me.  I will never betray the

secrets of my sex, Mr. Davie; I will never tell you the way she

turned me round her thumb, because it is the same she will use to

twist yourself.  Ay, it is a fine lass!  She is as clean as hill

well water."



"She is e'en't!" I cried.



"Well, then, she told me her concerns," pursued Miss Grant, "and in

what a swither she was in about her papa, and what a taking about

yourself, with very little cause, and in what a perplexity she had

found herself after you was gone away.  AND THEN I MINDED AT LONG

LAST, says she, THAT WE WERE KINSWOMEN, AND THAT MR. DAVID SHOULD

HAVE GIVEN YOU THE NAME OF THE BONNIEST OF THE BONNY, AND I WAS

THINKING TO MYSELF 'IF SHE IS SO BONNY SHE WILL BE GOOD AT ALL

EVENTS'; AND I TOOK UP MY FOOT SOLES OUT OF THAT.  That was when I

forgave yourself, Mr. Davie.  When you was in my society, you

seemed upon hot iron:  by all marks, if ever I saw a young man that

wanted to be gone, it was yourself, and I and my two sisters were

the ladies you were so desirous to be gone from; and now it

appeared you had given me some notice in the by-going, and was so

kind as to comment on my attractions!  From that hour you may date

our friendship, and I began to think with tenderness upon the Latin

grammar."



"You will have many hours to rally me in," said I; "and I think

besides you do yourself injustice.  I think it was Catriona turned

your heart in my direction.  She is too simple to perceive as you

do the stiffness of her friend."



"I would not like to wager upon that, Mr. David," said she.  "The

lasses have clear eyes.  But at least she is your friend entirely,

as I was to see.  I carried her in to his lordship my papa; and his

Advocacy being in a favourable stage of claret, was so good as to

receive the pair of us.  HERE IS GREY EYES THAT YOU HAVE BEEN

DEAVED WITH THESE DAYS PAST, said I, SHE IS COME TO PROVE THAT WE

SPOKE TRUE, AND I LAY THE PRETTIEST LASS IN THE THREE LOTHIANS AT

YOUR FEET--making a papistical reservation of myself.  She suited

her action to my words:  down she went upon her knees to him--I

would not like to swear but he saw two of her, which doubtless made

her appeal the more irresistible, for you are all a pack of

Mahomedans--told him what had passed that night, and how she had

withheld her father's man from following of you, and what a case

she was in about her father, and what a flutter for yourself; and

begged with weeping for the lives of both of you (neither of which

was in the slightest danger), till I vow I was proud of my sex

because it was done so pretty, and ashamed for it because of the

smallness of the occasion.  She had not gone far, I assure you,

before the Advocate was wholly sober, to see his inmost politics

ravelled out by a young lass and discovered to the most unruly of

his daughters.  But we took him in hand, the pair of us, and

brought that matter straight.  Properly managed--and that means

managed by me--there is no one to compare with my papa."



"He has been a good man to me," said I.



"Well, he was a good man to Katrine, and I was there to see to it,"

said she.



"And she pled for me?" say I.



"She did that, and very movingly," said Miss Grant.  "I would not

like to tell you what she said--I find you vain enough already."



"God reward her for it!" cried I.



"With Mr. David Balfour, I suppose?" says she.



"You do me too much injustice at the last!" I cried.  "I would

tremble to think of her in such hard hands.  Do you think I would

presume, because she begged my life?  She would do that for a new

whelped puppy!  I have had more than that to set me up, if you but

ken'd.  She kissed that hand of mine.  Ay, but she did.  And why?

because she thought I was playing a brave part and might be going

to my death.  It was not for my sake--but I need not be telling

that to you, that cannot look at me without laughter.  It was for

the love of what she thought was bravery.  I believe there is none

but me and poor Prince Charlie had that honour done them.  Was this

not to make a god of me? and do you not think my heart would quake

when I remember it?"



"I do laugh at you a good deal, and a good deal more than is quite

civil," said she; "but I will tell you one thing:  if you speak to

her like that, you have some glimmerings of a chance."



"Me?" I cried, "I would never dare.  I can speak to you, Miss

Grant, because it's a matter of indifference what ye think of me.

But her? no fear!" said I.



"I think you have the largest feet in all broad Scotland," says

she.



"Troth they are no very small," said I, looking down.



"Ah, poor Catriona!" cries Miss Grant.



And I could but stare upon her; for though I now see very well what

she was driving at (and perhaps some justification for the same), I

was never swift at the uptake in such flimsy talk.



"Ah well, Mr. David," she said, "it goes sore against my

conscience, but I see I shall have to be your speaking board.  She

shall know you came to her straight upon the news of her

imprisonment; she shall know you would not pause to eat; and of our

conversation she shall hear just so much as I think convenient for

a maid of her age and inexperience.  Believe me, you will be in

that way much better served than you could serve yourself, for I

will keep the big feet out of the platter."



"You know where she is, then?" I exclaimed.



"That I do, Mr. David, and will never tell," said she.



"Why that?" I asked.



"Well," she said, "I am a good friend, as you will soon discover;

and the chief of those that I am friend to is my papa.  I assure

you, you will never heat nor melt me out of that, so you may spare

me your sheep's eyes; and adieu to your David-Balfourship for the

now."



"But there is yet one thing more," I cried.  "There is one thing

that must be stopped, being mere ruin to herself, and to me too."



"Well," she said, "be brief; I have spent half the day on you

already."



"My Lady Allardyce believes," I began--"she supposes--she thinks

that I abducted her."



The colour came into Miss Grant's face, so that at first I was

quite abashed to find her ear so delicate, till I bethought me she

was struggling rather with mirth, a notion in which I was

altogether confirmed by the shaking of her voice as she replied -



"I will take up the defence of your reputation," she said.  "You

may leave it in my hands."



And with that she withdrew out of the library.







CHAPTER XX--I CONTINUE TO MOVE IN GOOD SOCIETY







For about exactly two months I remained a guest in Prestongrange's

family, where I bettered my acquaintance with the bench, the bar,

and the flower of Edinburgh company.  You are not to suppose my

education was neglected; on the contrary, I was kept extremely

busy.  I studied the French, so as to be more prepared to go to

Leyden; I set myself to the fencing, and wrought hard, sometimes

three hours in the day, with notable advancement; at the suggestion

of my cousin, Pilrig, who was an apt musician, I was put to a

singing class; and by the orders of my Miss Grant, to one for the

dancing, at which I must say I proved far from ornamental.

However, all were good enough to say it gave me an address a little

more genteel; and there is no question but I learned to manage my

coat skirts and sword with more dexterity, and to stand in a room

as though the same belonged to me.  My clothes themselves were all

earnestly re-ordered; and the most trifling circumstance, such as

where I should tie my hair, or the colour of my ribbon, debated

among the three misses like a thing of weight.  One way with

another, no doubt I was a good deal improved to look at, and

acquired a bit of modest air that would have surprised the good

folks at Essendean.



The two younger misses were very willing to discuss a point of my

habiliment, because that was in the line of their chief thoughts.

I cannot say that they appeared any other way conscious of my

presence; and though always more than civil, with a kind of

heartless cordiality, could not hide how much I wearied them.  As

for the aunt, she was a wonderful still woman; and I think she gave

me much the same attention as she gave the rest of the family,

which was little enough.  The eldest daughter and the Advocate

himself were thus my principal friends, and our familiarity was

much increased by a pleasure that we took in common.  Before the

court met we spent a day or two at the house of Grange, living very

nobly with an open table, and here it was that we three began to

ride out together in the fields, a practice afterwards maintained

in Edinburgh, so far as the Advocate's continual affairs permitted.

When we were put in a good frame by the briskness of the exercise,

the difficulties of the way, or the accidents of bad weather, my

shyness wore entirely off; we forgot that we were strangers, and

speech not being required, it flowed the more naturally on.  Then

it was that they had my story from me, bit by bit, from the time

that I left Essendean, with my voyage and battle in the Covenant,

wanderings in the heather, etc.; and from the interest they found

in my adventures sprung the circumstance of a jaunt we made a

little later on, on a day when the courts were not sitting, and of

which I will tell a trifle more at length.



We took horse early, and passed first by the house of Shaws, where

it stood smokeless in a great field of white frost, for it was yet

early in the day.  Here Prestongrange alighted down, gave me his

horse, an proceeded alone to visit my uncle.  My heart, I remember,

swelled up bitter within me at the sight of that bare house and the

thought of the old miser sitting chittering within in the cold

kitchen!



"There is my home," said I; "and my family."



"Poor David Balfour!" said Miss Grant.



What passed during the visit I have never heard; but it would

doubtless not be very agreeable to Ebenezer, for when the Advocate

came forth again his face was dark.



"I think you will soon be the laird indeed, Mr. Davie," says he,

turning half about with the one foot in the stirrup.



"I will never pretend sorrow," said I; and, to say the truth,

during his absence Miss Grant and I had been embellishing the place

in fancy with plantations, parterres, and a terrace--much as I have

since carried out in fact.



Thence we pushed to the Queensferry, where Rankeillor gave us a

good welcome, being indeed out of the body to receive so great a

visitor.  Here the Advocate was so unaffectedly good as to go quite

fully over my affairs, sitting perhaps two hours with the Writer in

his study, and expressing (I was told) a great esteem for myself

and concern for my fortunes.  To while this time, Miss Grant and I

and young Rankeillor took boat and passed the Hope to Limekilns.

Rankeillor made himself very ridiculous (and, I thought, offensive)

with his admiration for the young lady, and to my wonder (only it

is so common a weakness of her sex) she seemed, if anything, to be

a little gratified.  One use it had:  for when we were come to the

other side, she laid her commands on him to mind the boat, while

she and I passed a little further to the alehouse.  This was her

own thought, for she had been taken with my account of Alison

Hastie, and desired to see the lass herself.  We found her once

more alone--indeed, I believe her father wrought all day in the

fields--and she curtsied dutifully to the gentry-folk and the

beautiful young lady in the riding-coat.



"Is this all the welcome I am to get?" said I, holding out my hand.

"And have you no more memory of old friends?"



"Keep me! wha's this of it?" she cried, and then, "God's truth,

it's the tautit {19} laddie!"



"The very same," says



"Mony's the time I've thocht upon you and your freen, and blythe am

I to see in your braws," {20} she cried.  "Though I kent ye were

come to your ain folk by the grand present that ye sent me and that

I thank ye for with a' my heart."



"There," said Miss Grant to me, "run out by with ye, like a guid

bairn.  I didnae come here to stand and haud a candle; it's her and

me that are to crack."



I suppose she stayed ten minutes in the house, but when she came

forth I observed two things--that her eyes were reddened, and a

silver brooch was gone out of her bosom.  This very much affected

me.



"I never saw you so well adorned," said I.



"O Davie man, dinna be a pompous gowk!" said she, and was more than

usually sharp to me the remainder of the day.



About candlelight we came home from this excursion.



For a good while I heard nothing further of Catriona--my Miss Grant

remaining quite impenetrable, and stopping my mouth with

pleasantries.  At last, one day that she returned from walking and

found me alone in the parlour over my French, I thought there was

something unusual in her looks; the colour heightened, the eyes

sparkling high, and a bit of a smile continually bitten in as she

regarded me.  She seemed indeed like the very spirit of mischief,

and, walking briskly in the room, had soon involved me in a kind of

quarrel over nothing and (at the least) with nothing intended on my

side.  I was like Christian in the slough--the more I tried to

clamber out upon the side, the deeper I became involved; until at

last I heard her declare, with a great deal of passion, that she

would take that answer from the hands of none, and I must down upon

my knees for pardon.



The causelessness of all this fuff stirred my own bile.  "I have

said nothing you can properly object to," said I, "and as for my

knees, that is an attitude I keep for God."



"And as a goddess I am to be served!" she cried, shaking her brown

locks at me and with a bright colour.  "Every man that comes within

waft of my petticoats shall use me so!"



"I will go so far as ask your pardon for the fashion's sake,

although I vow I know not why," I replied.  "But for these play-

acting postures, you can go to others."



"O Davie!" she said.  "Not if I was to beg you?"



I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is the same as to

say a child, and that upon a point entirely formal.



"I think it a bairnly thing," I said, "not worthy in you to ask, or

me to render.  Yet I will not refuse you, neither," said I; "and

the stain, if there be any, rests with yourself."  And at that I

kneeled fairly down.



"There!" she cried.  "There is the proper station, there is where I

have been manoeuvring to bring you."  And then, suddenly, "Kep,"

{21} said she, flung me a folded billet, and ran from the apartment

laughing.



The billet had neither place nor date.  "Dear Mr. David," it began,

"I get your news continually by my cousin, Miss Grant, and it is a

pleisand hearing.  I am very well, in a good place, among good

folk, but necessitated to be quite private, though I am hoping that

at long last we may meet again.  All your friendships have been

told me by my loving cousin, who loves us both.  She bids me to

send you this writing, and oversees the same.  I will be asking you

to do all her commands, and rest your affectionate friend, Catriona

Macgregor-Drummond.  P.S.--Will you not see my cousin, Allardyce?"



I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers

say) that I should have done as I was here bidden and gone

forthright to the house by Dean.  But the old lady was now entirely

changed and supple as a glove.  By what means Miss Grant had

brought this round I could never guess; I am sure, at least, she

dared not to appear openly in the affair, for her papa was

compromised in it pretty deep.  It was he, indeed, who had

persuaded Catriona to leave, or rather, not to return, to her

cousin's, placing her instead with a family of Gregorys--decent

people, quite at the Advocate's disposition, and in whom she might

have the more confidence because they were of his own clan and

family.  These kept her private till all was ripe, heated and

helped her to attempt her father's rescue, and after she was

discharged from prison received her again into the same secrecy.

Thus Prestongrange obtained and used his instrument; nor did there

leak out the smallest word of his acquaintance with the daughter of

James More.  There was some whispering, of course, upon the escape

of that discredited person; but the Government replied by a show of

rigour, one of the cell porters was flogged, the lieutenant of the

guard (my poor friend, Duncansby) was broken of his rank, and as

for Catriona, all men were well enough pleased that her fault

should be passed by in silence.



I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer.  "No," she

would say, when I persisted, "I am going to keep the big feet out

of the platter."  This was the more hard to bear, as I was aware

she saw my little friend many times in the week, and carried her my

news whenever (as she said) I "had behaved myself."  At last she

treated me to what she called an indulgence, and I thought rather

more of a banter.  She was certainly a strong, almost a violent,

friend to all she liked, chief among whom was a certain frail old

gentlewoman, very blind and very witty, who dwelt on the top of a

tall land on a strait close, with a nest of linnets in a cage, and

thronged all day with visitors.  Miss Grant was very fond to carry

me there and put me to entertain her friend with the narrative of

my misfortunes:  and Miss Tibbie Ramsay (that was her name) was

particular kind, and told me a great deal that was worth knowledge

of old folks and past affairs in Scotland.  I should say that from

her chamber window, and not three feet away, such is the straitness

of that close, it was possible to look into a barred loophole

lighting the stairway of the opposite house.



Here, upon some pretext, Miss Grant left me one day alone with Miss

Ramsay.  I mind I thought that lady inattentive and like one

preoccupied.  I was besides very uncomfortable, for the window,

contrary to custom, was left open and the day was cold.  All at

once the voice of Miss Grant sounded in my ears as from a distance.



"Here, Shaws!" she cried, "keek out of the window and see what I

have broughten you."



I think it was the prettiest sight that ever I beheld.  The well of

the close was all in clear shadow where a man could see distinctly,

the walls very black and dingy; and there from the barred loophole

I saw two faces smiling across at me--Miss Grant's and Catriona's.



"There!" says Miss Grant, "I wanted her to see you in your braws

like the lass of Limekilns.  I wanted her to see what I could make

of you, when I buckled to the job in earnest!"



It came in my mind that she had been more than common particular

that day upon my dress; and I think that some of the same care had

been bestowed upon Catriona.  For so merry and sensible a lady,

Miss Grant was certainly wonderful taken up with duds.



"Catriona!" was all I could get out.



As for her, she said nothing in the world, but only waved her hand

and smiled to me, and was suddenly carried away again from before

the loophole.



That vision was no sooner lost than I ran to the house door, where

I found I was locked in; thence back to Miss Ramsay, crying for the

key, but might as well have cried upon the castle rock.  She had

passed her word, she said, and I must be a good lad.  It was

impossible to burst the door, even if it had been mannerly; it was

impossible I should leap from the window, being seven storeys above

ground.  All I could do was to crane over the close and watch for

their reappearance from the stair.  It was little to see, being no

more than the tops of their two heads each on a ridiculous bobbin

of skirts, like to a pair of pincushions.  Nor did Catriona so much

as look up for a farewell; being prevented (as I heard afterwards)

by Miss Grant, who told her folk were never seen to less advantage

than from above downward.



On the way home, as soon as I was set free, I upbraided Miss Grant

with her cruelty.



"I am sorry you was disappointed," says she demurely.  "For my part

I was very pleased.  You looked better than I dreaded; you looked--

if it will not make you vain--a mighty pretty young man when you

appeared in the window.  You are to remember that she could not see

your feet," says she, with the manner of one reassuring me.



"O!" cried I, "leave my feet be--they are no bigger than my

neighbours'."



"They are even smaller than some," said she, "but I speak in

parables like a Hebrew prophet."



"I marvel little they were sometimes stoned!" says I.  "But, you

miserable girl, how could you do it?  Why should you care to

tantalise me with a moment?"



"Love is like folk," says she; "it needs some kind of vivers." {22}



"Oh, Barbara, let me see her properly!" I pleaded.  "YOU can--you

see her when you please; let me have half an hour."



"Who is it that is managing this love affair!  You!  Or me?" she

asked, and as I continued to press her with my instances, fell back

upon a deadly expedient:  that of imitating the tones of my voice

when I called on Catriona by name; with which, indeed, she held me

in subjection for some days to follow.



There was never the least word heard of the memorial, or none by

me.  Prestongrange and his grace the Lord President may have heard

of it (for what I know) on the deafest sides of their heads; they

kept it to themselves, at least--the public was none the wiser; and

in course of time, on November 8th, and in the midst of a

prodigious storm of wind and rain, poor James of the Glens was duly

hanged at Lettermore by Ballachulish.



So there was the final upshot of my politics!  Innocent men have

perished before James, and are like to keep on perishing (in spite

of all our wisdom) till the end of time.  And till the end of time

young folk (who are not yet used with the duplicity of life and

men) will struggle as I did, and make heroical resolves, and take

long risks; and the course of events will push them upon the one

side and go on like a marching army.  James was hanged; and here

was I dwelling in the house of Prestongrange, and grateful to him

for his fatherly attention.  He was hanged; and behold! when I met

Mr. Simon in the causeway, I was fain to pull off my beaver to him

like a good little boy before his dominie.  He had been hanged by

fraud and violence, and the world wagged along, and there was not a

pennyweight of difference; and the villains of that horrid plot

were decent, kind, respectable fathers of families, who went to

kirk and took the sacrament!



But I had had my view of that detestable business they call

politics--I had seen it from behind, when it is all bones and

blackness; and I was cured for life of any temptations to take part

in it again.  A plain, quiet, private path was that which I was

ambitious to walk in, when I might keep my head out of the way of

dangers and my conscience out of the road of temptation.  For, upon

a retrospect, it appeared I had not done so grandly, after all; but

with the greatest possible amount of big speech and preparation,

had accomplished nothing.



The 25th of the same month a ship was advertised to sail from

Leith; and I was suddenly recommended to make up my mails for

Leyden.  To Prestongrange I could, of course, say nothing; for I

had already been a long while sorning on his house and table.  But

with his daughter I was more open, bewailing my fate that I should

be sent out of the country, and assuring her, unless she should

bring me to farewell with Catriona, I would refuse at the last

hour.



"Have I not given you my advice?" she asked.



"I know you have," said I, "and I know how much I am beholden to

you already, and that I am bidden to obey your orders.  But you

must confess you are something too merry a lass at times to lippen

{23} to entirely."



"I will tell you, then," said she.  "Be you on board by nine

o'clock forenoon; the ship does not sail before one; keep your boat

alongside; and if you are not pleased with my farewells when I

shall send them, you can come ashore again and seek Katrine for

yourself."



Since I could make no more of her, I was fain to be content with

this.



The day came round at last when she and I were to separate.  We had

been extremely intimate and familiar; I was much in her debt; and

what way we were to part was a thing that put me from my sleep,

like the vails I was to give to the domestic servants.  I knew she

considered me too backward, and rather desired to rise in her

opinion on that head.  Besides which, after so much affection shown