by John Galt
CHAPTER XII
After lying about the period of an hour in great perturbation, he beganto grow more collected, and the din and resort of strangers in the housealso subsided, by which he was enabled, with help from on high, togather his scattered thoughts and to bind them up into the sheaves ofpurpose and resolution. Accordingly, when all was still, and severalyoung men that were sitting by the fire on account of every bed beingoccupied, gave note, by their deep breathing, that sleep had descendedupon them, and darkened their senses with her gracious and downy wings,he rose softly from the side of Winterton, and stepping over him,slipped to the door, which he unbarred, and the moon shining bright hewent to the stable to take out his horse. It was not his intent to havedone this, but to have gone up into the streets of the city and walkedthe walls thereof till he thought his adversary was gone, but seeing themoon so fair and clear he determined to take his horse and forthwithproceed on his journey, for the river was low and fordable, and trintledits waters with a silvery sheen in the stillness of the beautiful light.
Scarcely, however, had he pulled the latch of the stable door--even ashe was just entering in--when he heard Winterton coming from the houserousing the hostler, whom he profanely rated for allowing him tooversleep himself. For, wakening just as his bedfellow rose, he thoughtthe morning was come and that his orders had been neglected.
In this extremity my grandfather saw no chance of evasion. If he wentout into the moonshine he would to a surety be discovered, and in thestable he would to a certainty be caught. But what could he do and thedanger so pressing? He had hardly a choice; however, he went into thestable, shut the door, and running up to the horses that were farthestben, mounted into the hack, and hid himself among the hay.
In that concealment he was scarcely well down when Winterton, with anhostler that was half asleep, came with a lantern to the door, banningthe poor knave as if he had been cursing him with bell, book and candle,the other rubbing his eyes and declaring it was still far from morning,and saying he was sure the other traveller was not gone. To the whichthere was speedy evidence, for on going towards Winterton's horse thehostler saw my grandfather's in its stall and told him so.
At that moment a glimpse of the lantern fell on the horse's legs, andits feet being white, "Oho!" cried Winterton, "let us look here--KennethShelty's Lightfoot--the very beast; and hae I been in the same hole wi'the tod and no kent it. The deil's black collie worry my soul, but thisis a soople trick. I did nae think the sleekit sinner had art enough toplay't. Nae doubt he's gane to hide himsel in the town till I'm awa, forhe has heard what I said yestreen. But I'll be up sides wi' him. Thede'il a foot will I gang this morning till he comes back for his horse."And with these words he turned out of the stable with the hostler andwent back to the house.
No sooner were they well gone than my grandfather came from hishiding-place, and twisting a wisp of straw round his horse's feet, thatthey might not dirl or make a din on the stones, he led it cannily outand down to the river's brink, and, there mounting, took the ford, andwas soon free on the Gorbals side. Riding up the gait at a brisk trot,he passed on for a short time along the road that he had been told ledto Kilmarnock, but fearing he would be followed, he turned off at thefirst wynd he came to on the left, and a blessed thing it was that hedid so, for it led to the Reformation-leavened town of Paisley, where hearrived an hour before daylight. Winterton, little jealousing what hadhappened, went again to bed, as my grandfather afterwards learnt, andhad fallen asleep. In the morning when he awoke and was told that bothman and horse were flown, he flayed the hostler's back and legs in morethan a score of places, believing he had connived at my grandfather'ssecret flight.
My grandfather had never before been in the town of Paisley, but he hadoften heard from Abercorn's serving-men that were wont to sorn about hisfather's smiddy, of a house of jovial entertainment by the water-side,about a stone-cast from the abbey-yett, the hostess whereof was acertain canty dame called Maggy Napier, then in great repute with theshavelings of the abbey. Thither he directed his course, the abbeytowers serving him for her sign, and the moonlight and running riverwere guides to her door, at the which he was not blate in chapping. Shewas, however, long of giving entrance, for it happened that some nightsbefore the magistrates of the town had been at a carousal with the abbotand chapter, the papistical denomination for the seven heads and tenhorns of a monastery, and when they had come away and were going home,one of them, Bailie Pollock, a gaucy widower, was instigated by thedevil and the wine he had drunk to stravaig towards Maggy Napier's--amost unseemly thing for a bailie to do--especially a bailie of Paisley,but it was then the days of popish sinfulness. And when Bailie Pollockwent thither the house was full of riotous swankies, who, being the waurof drink themselves, had but little reverence for a magistrate in thesame state, so they handled him to such a degree that he was obliged tokeep his bed and put collops to his eyes for three days. The consequenceof which was that the house fell under the displeasure of the TownCouncil, and Maggie was admonished to keep it more orderly anddoucely--though the fault came neither from her nor her customers, asshe told my grandfather, for detaining him so long, it being requisitethat she should see he was in a condition of sobriety before letting himin. But, when admitted, he was in no spirit to enjoy her jocosityconcerning Bailie Pollock's spree, so he told her that he had come farand had far to go, and that having heard sore tidings of a friend, hewas fain to go to bed and try if he could compose himself with an houror two of sleep.
Maggie accordingly refrained from her jocularity, and began to sootheand comfort him, for she was naturally of a winsome way, and prepared abed for him with her best sheets, the which, she said, were gi'en her ingratus gift frae the Lord Abbot, so that he undressed himself andenjoyed a pleasant interregnum of anxiety for more than five hours; andwhen he awoke and was up, he found a breakfast worthy of the abbothimself ready, and his hostess was most courtly and kind, praising thedainties, and pressing him to eat. Nor when he proposed to reckon withher for the lawin would she touch the money, but made him promise, whenhe came back, he would bide another night with her, hoping he would thenbe in better spirits, for she was wae to see so braw a gallant saecasten down, doless and dowie.
When they had settled their contest, and my grandfather had come out tomount his beast, which a stripling was holding ready for him at alouping-on-stane near the abbey-yett, as he was going thither, a youngfriar, who was taking a morning stroll along the pleasant banks of theCart, approached towards him, and, after looking hard at him for sometime, called him by name and took him by both the hands, which hepressed with a brotherly affection.
This friar was of Lithgow parentage and called Dominick Callender, andwhen he and my grandfather were playing-bairns, they had spent many amerry day of their suspicion-less young years together. As he grew up,being a lad of shrewd parts, and of a very staid and orderly deportment,the monks set their snares for him, and before he could well think forhimself he was wiled into their traps, and becoming a novice, in dueseason professed himself a monk. But it was some time before mygrandfather knew him again, for the ruddy of youth had fled his cheek,and he was pale and of a studious countenance; and when the firstsparklings of his pleasure at the sight of his old play-marrow had goneoff, his eyes saddened into thoughtfulness, and he appeared like oneweighed down with care and heavy inward dule.
