it came from."

"I needn't ask your politics," said he.

"Ye need not," said I, smiling, "for I'm as big a Whig as grows."

"Stop a bit, stop a bit," says Mr. Stewart. "What's all this? A

Whig? Then why are you here with Alan's button? and what kind of a

black-foot traffic is this that I find ye out in, Mr. Whig? Here

is a forfeited rebel and an accused murderer, with two hundred

pounds on his life, and ye ask me to meddle in his business, and

then tell me ye're a Whig! I have no mind of any such Whigs

before, though I've kent plenty of them."

"He's a forfeited rebel, the more's the pity," said I, "for the

man's my friend. I can only wish he had been better guided. And

an accused murderer, that he is too, for his misfortune; but

wrongfully accused."

"I hear you say so," said Stewart.

"More than you are to hear me say so, before long," said I. "Alan

Breck is innocent, and so is James."

"Oh!" says he, "the two cases hang together. If Alan is out, James

can never be in."

Hereupon I told him briefly of my acquaintance with Alan, of the

accident that brought me present at the Appin murder, and the

various passages of our escape among the heather, and my recovery

of my estate. "So, sir, you have now the whole train of these

events," I went on, "and can see for yourself how I come to be so

much mingled up with the affairs of your family and friends, which

(for all of our sakes) I wish had been plainer and less bloody.

You can see for yourself, too, that I have certain pieces of

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