CHAPTER XXX
THE LETTER FROM THE SHIP
Daylight showed us how solitary the inn stood. It was plainly hard uponthe sea, yet out of all view of it, and beset on every side with scabbithills of sand. There was, indeed, only one thing in the nature of aprospect, where there stood out over a brae the two sails of a windmill,like an ass's ears, but with the ass quite hidden. It was strange (afterthe wind rose, for at first it was dead calm) to see the turning andfollowing of each other of these great sails behind the hillock. Scarceany road came by there; but a number of footways travelled among thebents in all directions up to Mr. Bazin's door. The truth is, he was aman of many trades, not any one of them honest, and the position of hisinn was the best of his livelihood. Smugglers frequented it; politicalagents and forfeited persons bound across the water came there to awaittheir passages; and I daresay there was worse behind, for a whole familymight have been butchered in that house and nobody the wiser.
I slept little and ill. Long ere it was day, I had slipped from besidemy bedfellow, and was warming myself at the fire or walking to and frobefore the door. Dawn broke mighty sullen; but a little after, sprang upa wind out of the west, which burst the clouds, let through the sun, andset the mill to the turning. There was something of spring in thesunshine, or else it was in my heart; and the appearing of the greatsails one after another from behind the hill, diverted me extremely. Attimes I could hear a creak of the machinery; and by half-past eight ofthe day, Catriona began to sing in the house. At this I would have castmy hat in the air; and I thought this dreary, desert place was like aparadise.
For all which, as the day drew on and nobody came near, I began to beaware of an uneasiness that I could scarce explain. It seemed there wastrouble afoot; the sails of the windmill, as they came up and went downover the hill, were like persons spying; and outside of all fancy, itwas surely a strange neighbourhood and house for a young lady to bebrought to dwell in.
At breakfast, which we took late, it was manifest that James More was insome danger or perplexity; manifest that Alan was alive to the same, andwatched him close; and this appearance of duplicity upon the one sideand vigilance upon the other, held me on live coals. The meal was nosooner over than James seemed to come to a resolve, and began to makeapologies. He had an appointment of a private nature in the town (it waswith the French nobleman, he told me) and we would please excuse himtill about noon. Meanwhile, he carried his daughter aside to the far endof the room, where he seemed to speak rather earnestly and she to listenwithout much inclination.
"I am caring less and less about this man James," said Alan. "There'ssomething no right with the man James, and I wouldnae wonder but whatAlan Breck would give an eye to him this day. I would like fine to seeyon French nobleman, Davie; and I daresay you could find an employ toyoursel, and that would be to speer at the lassie for some news of youraffair. Just tell it to her plainly--tell her ye're a muckle ass at theoff-set; and then, if I were you, and ye could do it naitural, I wouldjust mint to her I was in some kind of a danger; a' weemenfolk likesthat."
"I cannae lee, Alan, I cannae do it naitural," says I, mocking him.
"The more fool you!" says he. "Then ye'll can tell her that Irecommended it; that'll set her to the laughing; and I wouldnae wonderbut what that was the next best. But see to the pair of them! If Ididnae feel just sure of the lassie, and that she was awful pleased andchief with Alan, I would think there was some kind of hocus-pocus aboutyon."
"And is she so pleased with ye, then, Alan?" I asked.
"She thinks a heap of me," says he. "And I'm no like you: I'm one thatcan tell. That she does--she thinks a heap of Alan. And troth! I'mthinking a good deal of him mysel; and with your permission, Shaws, I'llbe getting a wee yont amang the bents, so that I can see what way Jamesgoes."
One after another went, till I was left alone beside the breakfasttable; James to Dunkirk, Alan dogging him, Catriona up the stairs to herown chamber. I could very well understand how she should avoid to bealone with me; yet was none the better pleased with it for that, andbent my mind to entrap her to an interview before the men returned. Uponthe whole, the best appeared to me to do like Alan. If I was out of viewamong the sand hills, the fine morning would decoy her out; and once Ihad her in the open, I could please myself.
No sooner said than done; nor was I long under the bield of a hillockbefore she appeared at the inn door, looked here and there, and (seeingnobody) set out by a path that led directly seaward, and by which Ifollowed her. I was in no haste to make my presence known; the furthershe went I made sure of the longer hearing to my suit; and the groundbeing all sandy, it was easy to follow her unheard. The path rose andcame at last to the head of a knowe. Thence I had a picture for thefirst time of what a desolate wilderness that inn stood hidden in; wherewas no man to be seen, nor any house of man, except just Bazin's and thewindmill. Only a little further on, the sea appeared and two or threeships upon it, pretty as a drawing. One of these was extremely close into be so great a vessel; and I was aware of a shock of new suspicion,when I recognized the trim of the _Seahorse_. What should an Englishship be doing so near in France? Why was Alan brought into herneighbourhood, and that in a place so far from any hope of rescue? andwas it by accident, or by design, that the daughter of James More shouldwalk that day to the seaside?
Presently I came forth behind her in the front of the sand hills andabove the beach. It was here long and solitary; with a man-o'-war's boatdrawn up about the middle of the prospect, and an officer in charge andpacing the sands like one who waited. I sat immediately down where therough grass a good deal covered me, and looked for what should follow.Catriona went straight to the boat; the officer met her with civilities;they had ten words together; I saw a letter changing hands; and therewas Catriona returning. At the same time, as if this was all herbusiness on the Continent, the boat shoved off and was headed for the_Seahorse_. But I observed the officer to remain behind and disappearamong the bents.
I liked the business little; and the more I considered of it, liked itless. Was it Alan the officer was seeking? or Catriona? She drew nearwith her head down, looking constantly on the sand, and made so tender apicture that I could not bear to doubt her innocency. The next, sheraised her face and recognised me; seemed to hesitate, and then came onagain, but more slowly, and I thought with a changed colour. And at thatthought, all else that was upon my bosom--fears, suspicions, the care ofmy friend's life--was clean swallowed up; and I rose to my feet andstood waiting her in a drunkenness of hope.
I gave her "good-morning" as she came up, which she returned with a gooddeal of composure.
"Will you forgive my having followed you?" said I.
"I know you are always meaning kindly," she replied; and then, with alittle outburst, "But why will you be sending money to that man? It mustnot be."
"I never sent it for him," said I, "but for you, as you know well."
"And you have no right to be sending it to either one of us," said she."David, it is not right."
"It is not, it is all wrong," said I; "and I pray God he will help thisdull fellow (if it be at all possible), to make it better. Catriona,this is no kind of life for you to lead, and I ask your pardon for theword, but yon man is no fit father to take care of you."
"Do not be speaking of him, even!" was her cry.
"And I need speak of him no more, it is not of him that I am thinking,O, be sure of that!" says I. "I think of the one thing. I have beenalone now this long time in Leyden; and when I was by way of at mystudies, still I was thinking of that. Next Alan came, and I went amongsoldier-men to their big dinners; and still I had the same thought. Andit was the same before, when I had her there beside me. Catriona, do yousee this napkin at my throat? You cut a corner from it once and thencast it from you. They're _your_ colours now; I wear them in my heart.My dear, I cannot want you. O, try to put up with me!"
I stepped before her so as to intercept her walking on.
"Try to put up with me," I was sayin
g, "try and bear me with a little."
Still she had never the word, and a fear began to rise in me like a fearof death.
"Catriona," I cried, gazing on her hard, "is it a mistake again? Am Iquite lost?"
She raised her face to me, breathless.
"Do you want me, Davie, truly?" said she, and I scarce could hear hersay it.
"I do that," said I. "O, sure you know it--I do that."
"I have nothing left to give or to keep back," said she. "I was allyours from the first day, if you would have had a gift of me!" she said.
This was on the summit of a brae; the place was windy and conspicuous,we were to be seen there even from the English ship; but I kneeled downbefore her in the sand, and embraced her knees, and burst into thatstorm of weeping that I thought it must have broken me. All thought waswholly beaten from my mind by the vehemency of my discomposure. I knewnot where I was, I had forgot why I was happy; only I knew she stooped,and I felt her cherish me to her face and bosom, and heard her words outof a whirl.
"Davie," she was saying, "O, Davie, is this what you think of me? Is itso that you were caring for poor me? O, Davie, Davie!"
With that she wept also, and our tears were commingled in a perfectgladness.
It might have been ten in the day before I came to a clear sense of whata mercy had befallen me; and sitting over against her, with her hands inmine, gazed in her face, and laughed out loud for pleasure like a child,and called her foolish and kind names. I have never seen the place lookso pretty as these bents by Dunkirk; and the windmill sails, as theybobbed over the knowe, were like a tune of music.
I know not how much longer we might have continued to forget all elsebesides ourselves, had I not chanced upon a reference to her father,which brought us to reality.
"My little friend," I was calling her again and again, rejoicing tosummon up the past by the sound of it, and to gaze across on her, and tobe a little distant--"My little friend, now you are mine altogether;mine for good, my little friend; and that man's no longer at all."
There came a sudden whiteness in her face, she plucked her hands frommine.
"Davie, take me away from him!" she cried. "There's something wrong;he's not true. There will be something wrong; I have a dreadful terrorhere at my heart. What will he be wanting at all events with that King'sship? What will this word be saying?" And she held the letter forth. "Mymind misgives me, it will be some ill to Alan. Open it, Davie--open itand see."
I took it, and looked at it, and shook my head.
"No," said I, "it goes against me, I cannot open a man's letter."
"Not to save your friend?" she cried.
"I cannae tell," said I. "I think not. If I was only sure!"
"And you have but to break the seal!" said she.
"I know it," said I, "but the thing goes against me."
"Give it here," said she, "and I will open it myself."
"Nor you neither," said I. "You least of all. It concerns your father,and his honour, dear, which we are both misdoubting. No question but theplace is dangerous-like, and the English ship being here, and yourfather having word of it, and yon officer that stayed ashore! He wouldnot be alone either; there must be more along with him; I daresay we arespied upon this minute. Ay, no doubt, the letter should be opened; butsomehow, not by you nor me."
I was about this far with it, and my spirit very much overcome with asense of danger and hidden enemies, when I spied Alan, come back againfrom following James and walking by himself among the sand hills. He wasin his soldier's coat, of course, and mighty fine; but I could not avoidto shudder when I thought how little that jacket would avail him, if hewere once caught and flung in a skiff, and carried on board of the_Seahorse_, a deserter, a rebel, and now a condemned murderer.
"There," said I, "there is the man that has the best right to open it:or not, as he thinks fit."
With which I called upon his name, and we both stood up to be a mark forhim.
"If it is so--if it be more disgrace--will you can bear it?" she asked,looking upon me with a burning eye.
"I was asked something of the same question when I had seen you but theonce," said I. "What do you think I answered? That if I liked you as Ithought I did--and O, but I like you better!--I would marry you at hisgallows' foot."
The blood rose in her face; she came close up and pressed upon me,holding my hand: and it was so that we awaited Alan.
He came with one of his queer smiles. "What was I telling ye, David?"says he.
"There is a time for all things, Alan," said I, "and this time isserious. How have you sped? You can speak out plain before this friendof ours."
"I have been upon a fool's errand," said he.
"I doubt we have done better than you, then," said I; "and, at least,here is a great deal of matter that you must judge of. Do you see that?"I went on, pointing to the ship. "That is the _Seahorse_, CaptainPalliser."
"I should ken her, too," says Alan. "I had fyke enough with her when shewas stationed in the Forth. But what ails the man to come so close?"
"I will tell you why he came there first," said I. "It was to bring thisletter to James More. Why he stops here now that it's delivered, whatit's likely to be about, why there's an officer hiding in the bents, andwhether or not it's probable that he's alone--I would rather youconsidered for yourself."
"A letter to James More?" said he.
"The same," said I.
"Well, and I can tell ye more than that," said Alan. "For last nightwhen you were fast asleep, I heard the man colloquing with some one inthe French, and then the door of that inn to be opened and shut."
"Alan!" cried I, "you slept all night, and I am here to prove it."
"Ay, but I would never trust Alan whether he was asleep or waking!" sayshe. "But the business looks bad. Let's see the letter."
I gave it him.
"Catriona," said he, "ye'll have to excuse me, my dear; but there'snothing less than my fine bones upon the cast of it, and I'll have tobreak this seal."
"It is my wish," said Catriona.
He opened it, glanced it through, and flung his hand in the air.
"The stinking brock!" says he, and crammed the paper in his pocket."Here, let's get our things thegether. This place is fair death to me."And he began to walk towards the inn.
It was Catriona who spoke the first. "He has sold you?" she asked.
"Sold me, my dear," said Alan. "But thanks to you and Davie, I'll canjink him yet. Just let me win upon my horse!" he added.
"Catriona must come with us," said I. "She can have no more traffic withthat man. She and I are to be married." At which she pressed my hand toher side.
"Are ye there with it?" says Alan, looking back. "The best day's workthat ever either of ye did yet I And I'm bound to say, my dawtie, yemake a real, bonny couple."
The way that he was following brought us close in by the windmill, whereI was aware of a man in seaman's trousers, who seemed to be spying frombehind it. Only, of course, we took him in the rear.
"See, Alan!" said I.
"Wheesht!" said he, "this is my affairs."
The man was, no doubt, a little deafened by the clattering of the mill,and we got up close before he noticed. Then he turned, and we saw he wasa big fellow with a mahogany face.
"I think, sir," says Alan, "that you speak the English?"
"_Non, monsieur_," says he, with an incredible bad accent.
"_Non, monsieur_," cries Alan, mocking him. "Is that how they learn youFrench on the _Seahorse?_ Ye muckle, gutsey hash, here's a Scots boot toyour English hurdies!"
And bounding on him before he could escape, he dealt the man a kick thatlaid him on his nose. Then he stood, with a savage smile, and watchedhim scramble to his feet and scamper off into the sand hills.
"But it's high time I was clear of these empty bents!" said Alan; andcontinued his way at top speed and we still following, to the back doorof Bazin's inn.
It chanced that as we entered by the one door we came fac
e to face withJames More entering by the other.
"Here!" said I to Catriona, "quick! upstairs with you and make yourpackets; this is no fit scene for you."
In the meanwhile James and Alan had met in the midst of the long room.She passed them close by to reach the stairs; and after she was some wayup I saw her turn and glance at them again, though without pausing.Indeed, they were worth looking at. Alan wore as they met one of hisbest appearances of courtesy and friendliness, yet with somethingeminently warlike, so that James smelled danger off the man, as folksmell fire in a house, and stood prepared for accidents.
Time pressed. Alan's situation in that solitary place, and his enemiesabout him, might have daunted Caesar. It made no change in him; and itwas in his old spirit of mockery and daffing that he began theinterview.
"A braw good day to ye again, Mr. Drummond," said he. "What'll yonbusiness of yours be just about?"
"Why, the thing being private, and rather of a long story," says James,"I think it will keep very well till we have eaten."
"I'm none so sure of that," said Alan. "It sticks in my mind it's eithernow or never; for the fact is me and Mr. Balfour here have gotten aline, and we're thinking of the road."
I saw a little surprise in James's eye; but he held himself stoutly.
"I have but the one word to say to cure you of that," said he, "and thatis the name of my business."
"Say it then," says Alan. "Hout! wha minds for Davie?"
"It is a matter that would make us both rich men," said James.
"Do ye tell me that?" cries Alan.
"I do, sir," said James. "The plain fact is that it is Cluny'sTreasure."
"No!" cried Alan. "Have ye got word of it?"
"I ken the place, Mr. Stewart, and can take you there," said James.
"This crowns all!" says Alan. "Well, and I'm glad I came to Dunkirk. Andso this was your business, was it? Halvers, I'm thinking?"
"That is the business, sir," says James.
"Well, well," says Alan; and then in the same tone of childlikeinterest, "It has naething to do with the _Seahorse_, then?" he asked.
"With what?" says James.
"Or the lad that I have just kicked the bottom of behind yon windmill?"pursued Alan. "Hut, man! have done with your lees! I have Palliser'sletter here in my pouch. You're by with it, James More. You can nevershow your face again with dacent folk."
James was taken all aback with it. He stood a second, motionless andwhite, then swelled with the living anger.
"Do you talk to me, you bastard?" he roared out.
"Ye glee'd swine!" cried Alan, and hit him a sounding buffet on themouth, and the next wink of time their blades clashed together.
At the first sound of the bare steel I instinctively leaped back fromthe collision. The next I saw, James parried a thrust so nearly that Ithought him killed; and it lowed up in my mind that this was the girl'sfather, and in a manner almost my own, and I drew and ran in to severthem.
"Keep back, Davie! Are ye daft? Damn ye, keep back!" roared Alan. "Yourblood be on your ain heid then!"
I beat their blades down twice. I was knocked reeling against the wall;I was back again betwixt them. They took no heed of me, thrusting ateach other like two furies. I can never think how I avoided beingstabbed myself or stabbing one of these two Rodomonts, and the wholebusiness turned about me like a piece of a dream; in the midst of whichI heard a great cry from the stair, and Catriona sprang before herfather. In the same moment the point of my sword encountered somethingyielding. It came back to me reddened. I saw the blood flow on thegirl's kerchief, and stood sick.
"Will you be killing him before my eyes, and me his daughter after all?"she cried.
"My dear, I have done with him," said Alan, and went and sat on a table,with his arms crossed and the sword naked in his hand.
Awhile she stood before the man, panting, with big eyes, then swungsuddenly about and faced him.
"Begone!" was her word, "take your shame out of my sight; leave me withclean folk. I am a daughter of Alpin! Shame of the sons of Alpin,begone!"
It was said with so much passion as awoke me from the horror of my ownbloodied sword. The two stood facing, she with the red stain on herkerchief, he white as a rag. I knew him well enough--I knew it must havepierced him in the quick place of his soul; but he betook himself to abravado air.
"Why," says he, sheathing his sword, though still with a bright eye onAlan, "if this brawl is over I will but get my portmanteau---"
"There goes no pockmantie out of this place except with me," says Alan.
"Sir!" cries James.
"James More," says Alan, "this lady daughter of yours is to marry myfriend Davie, upon the which account I let you pack with a hale carcase.But take you my advice of it and get that carcase out of harm's way orower late. Little as you suppose it, there are leemits to my temper."
"Be damned, sir, but my money's there!" said James.
"I'm vexed about that, too," says Alan, with his funny face, "but now,ye see, it's mines." And then with more gravity, "Be you advised, JamesMore, you leave this house."
James seemed to cast about for a moment in his mind; but it's to bethought he had enough of Alan's swordsmanship, for he suddenly put offhis hat to us and (with a face like one of the damned) bade us farewellin a series. With which he was gone.
At the same time a spell was lifted from me.
"Catriona," I cried, "it was me--it was my sword. O, are ye much hurt?"
"I know it, Davie, I am loving you for the pain of it; it was donedefending that bad man, my father. See!" she said, and showed me ableeding scratch, "see, you have made a man of me now. I will carry awound like an old soldier."
Joy that she should be so little hurt, and the love of her brave nature,transported me. I embraced her, I kissed the wound.
"And am I to be out of the kissing, me that never lost a chance?" saysAlan; and putting me aside and taking Catriona by either shoulder, "Mydear," he said, "you're a true daughter of Alpin. By all accounts, hewas a very fine man, and he may weel be proud of you. If ever I was toget married, it's the marrow of you I would be seeking for a mother tomy sons. And I bear a king's name and speak the truth."
He said it with a serious heat of admiration that was honey to the girl,and through her, to me. It seemed to wipe us clean of all James More'sdisgraces. And the next moment he was just himself again.
"And now by your leave, my dawties," said he, "this is a' very bonny;but Alan Breck'll be a wee thing nearer to the gallows than he's caringfor; and Dod! I think this is a grand place to be leaving."
The word recalled us to some wisdom. Alan ran upstairs and returned withour saddle-bags and James More's portmanteau; I picked up Catriona'sbundle where she had dropped it on the stair; and we were setting forthout of that dangerous house, when Bazin stopped the way with cries andgesticulations. He had whipped under a table when the swords were drawn,but now he was as bold as a lion. There was his bill to be settled,there was a chair broken, Alan had sat among his dinner things, JamesMore had fled.
"Here," I cried, "pay yourself," and flung him down some Lewie d'ors;for I thought it was no time to be accounting.
He sprang upon that money, and we passed him by, and ran forth into theopen. Upon three sides of the house were seamen hasting and closing in;a little nearer to us James More waved his hat as if to hurry them; andright behind him, like some foolish person holding up its hands, werethe sails of the windmill turning.
Alan gave but the one glance, and laid himself down to run. He carried agreat weight in James More's portmanteau; but I think he would as soonhave lost his life as cast away that booty which was his revenge; and heran so that I was distressed to follow him, and marvelled and exulted tosee the girl bounding at my side.
As soon as we appeared, they cast off all disguise upon the other side;and the seamen pursued us with shouts and view-hullohs. We had a startof some two hundred yards, and they were but bandy-legged tarpaulinsafter all, that could not hope
to better us at such an exercise. Isuppose they were armed, but did not care to use their pistols on Frenchground. And as soon as I perceived that we not only held our advantagebut drew a little away, I began to feel quite easy of the issue. For allwhich, it was a hot, brisk bit of work, so long as it lasted; Dunkirkwas still far off; and when we popped over a knowe, and found a companyof the garrison marching on the other side on some manoeuvre, I couldvery well understand the word that Alan had.
He stopped running at once; and mopping at his brow, "They're a realbonny folk, the French nation," says he.
* * * * *
CONCLUSION
No sooner were we safe within the walls of Dunkirk than we held a verynecessary council-of-war on our position. We had taken a daughter fromher father at the sword's point; any judge would give her back to him atonce, and by all likelihood clap me and Alan into jail; and though wehad an argument upon our side in Captain Palisser's letter, neitherCatriona nor I were very keen to be using it in public. Upon allaccounts it seemed the most prudent to carry the girl to Paris to thehands of her own chieftain, Macgregor of Bohaldie, who would be verywilling to help his kinswoman, on the one hand, and not at all anxiousto dishonour James upon the other.
We made but a slow journey of it up, for Catriona was not so good at theriding as the running, and had scarce sat in a saddle since the'Forty-five. But we made it out at last, reached Paris early of aSabbath morning, and made all speed, under Alan's guidance, to findBohaldie. He was finely lodged, and lived in a good style, having apension in the Scots Fund, as well as private means; greeted Catrionalike one of his own house, and seemed altogether very civil anddiscreet, but not particularly open. We asked of the news of James More."Poor James!" said he, and shook his head and smiled, so that I thoughthe knew further than he meant to tell. Then we showed him Palisser'sletter, and he drew a long face at that.
"Poor James!" said he again. "Well, there are worse folk than JamesMore, too. But this is dreadful bad. Tut, tut, he must have forgothimself entirely! This is a most undesirable letter. But, for all that,gentlemen, I cannot see what we would want to make it public for. It'san ill bird that fouls his own nest, and we are all Scots folk and allHieland."
Upon this we were all agreed, save perhaps Alan; and still more upon thequestion of our marriage, which Bohaldie took in his own hands, asthough there had been no such person as James More, and gave Catrionaaway with very pretty manners and agreeable compliments in French. Itwas not till all was over, and our healths drunk, that he told us Jameswas in that city, whither he had preceded us some days, and where he nowlay sick, and like to die. I thought I saw by my wife's face what wayher inclination pointed.
"And let us go see him, then," said I.
"If it is your pleasure," said Catriona. These were early days.
He was lodged in the same quarter of the city with his chief, in a greathouse upon a corner; and we were guided up to the garret where he lay bythe sound of Highland piping. It seemed he had just borrowed a set ofthem from Bohaldie to amuse his sickness; though he was no such hand aswas his brother Rob, he made good music of the kind; and it was strangeto observe the French folk crowding on the stairs, and some of themlaughing. He lay propped in a pallet. The first look of him I saw he wasupon his last business; and, doubtless, this was a strange place for himto die in. But even now I find I can scarce dwell upon his end withpatience. Doubtless, Bohaldie had prepared him; he seemed to know wewere married, complimented us on the event, and gave us a benedictionlike a patriarch.
"I have been never understood," said he. "I forgive you both without anafter-thought;" after which he spoke for all the world in his oldmanner, was so obliging as to play us a tune or two upon his pipes, andborrowed a small sum before I left. I could not trace even a hint ofshame in any part of his behaviour; but he was great upon forgiveness;it seemed always fresh to him. I think he forgave me every time we met;and when after some four days he passed away in a kind of odour ofaffectionate sanctity, I could have torn my hair out for exasperation. Ihad him buried; but what to put upon his tomb was quite beyond me, tillat last I considered the date would look best alone.
I thought it wiser to resign all thoughts of Leyden, where we hadappeared once as brother and sister, and it would certainly look strangeto return in a new character. Scotland would be doing for us; andthither, after I had recovered that which I had left behind, we sailedin a Low Country ship.
And now, Miss Barbara Balfour (to set the ladies first) and Mr. AlanBalfour, younger of Shaws, here is the story brought fairly to an end. Agreat many of the folk that took a part in it, you will find (if youthink well) that you have seen and spoken with. Alison Hastie inLimekilns was the lass that rocked your cradle when you were too smallto know of it, and walked abroad with you in the policy when you werebigger. That very fine great lady that is Miss Barbara's name-mamma isno other than the same Miss Grant that made so much a fool of DavidBalfour in the house of the Lord Advocate. And I wonder whether youremember a little, lean, lively gentleman in a scratchwig and awraprascal, that came to Shaws very late of a dark night, and whom youwere awakened out of your beds and brought down to the dining-hall to bepresented to, by the name of Mr. Jamieson? Or has Alan forgotten what hedid at Mr. Jamieson's request--a most disloyal act--for which, by theletter of the law, he might be hanged--no less than drinking the king'shealth _across the water_? These were strange doings in a good Whighouse! But Mr. Jamieson is a man privileged, and might set fire to mycorn-barn; and the name they know him by now in France is the ChevalierStewart.
As for Davie and Catriona, I shall watch you pretty close in the nextdays, and see if you are so bold as to be laughing at papa and mamma. Itis true we were not so wise as we might have been, and made a great dealof sorrow out of nothing; but you will find as you grow up that even theartful Miss Barbara, and even the valiant Mr. Alan will be not so verymuch wiser than their parents. For the life of man upon this world ofours is a funny business. They talk of the angels weeping; but I thinkthey must more often be holding their sides, as they look on; and therewas one thing I determined to do when I began this long story, and thatwas to tell out everything as it befell.
Footnote 1: Conspicuous.
Footnote 2: Country.
Footnote 3: The Fairies.
Footnote 4: Flatteries.
Footnote 5: Trust to.
Footnote 6: This must have reference to Dr. Cameron on his firstvisit.--D.B.
Footnote 7: Sweethearts.
Footnote 8: Child.
Footnote 9: Palm.
Footnote 10: Gallows.
Footnote 11: My Catechism.
Footnote 12: Now Prince's Street.
Footnote 13: A learned folklorist of my acquaintance hereby identifiesAlan's air. It has been printed (it seems) in Campbell's _Tales of theWest Highlands_, Vol. II., p. 91. Upon examination it would really seemas if Miss Grant's unrhymed doggrel (see chapter V.) would fit with alittle humouring to the notes in question.
Footnote 14: A ball placed upon a little mound for convenience ofstriking.
Footnote 15: Patched shoes.
Footnote 16: Shoemaker.
Footnote 17: Tamson's mare, to go afoot.
Footnote 18: Beard.
Footnote 19: Ragged.
Footnote 20: Fine things.
Footnote 21: Catch.
Footnote 22: Victuals.
Footnote 23: Trust.
Footnote 24: Sea fog.
Footnote 25: Bashful.
Footnote 26: Rest.
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