and the mope and mows of the old witch, and the thought of the dead

men, hag-rode my spirits. To hang on a gallows, that seemed a hard

case; and whether a man came to hang there for two shillings Scots,

or (as Mr. Stewart had it) from the sense of duty, once he was

tarred and shackled and hung up, the difference seemed small.

There might David Balfour hang, and other lads pass on their

errands and think light of him; and old daft limmers sit at a leg-

foot and spae their fortunes; and the clean genty maids go by, and

look to the other aide, and hold a nose. I saw them plain, and

they had grey eyes, and their screens upon their heads were of the

Drummed colours.

I was thus in the poorest of spirits, though still pretty resolved,

when I came in view of Pilrig, a pleasant gabled house set by the

walkside among some brave young woods. The laird's horse was

standing saddled at the door as I came up, but himself was in the

study, where he received me in the midst of learned works and

musical instruments, for he was not only a deep philosopher but

much of a musician. He greeted me at first pretty well, and when

he had read Rankeillor's letter, placed himself obligingly at my

disposal.

"And what is it, cousin David!" said he--"since it appears that we

are cousins--what is this that I can do for you! A word to

Prestongrange! Doubtless that is easily given. But what should be

the word?"

"Mr. Balfour," said I, "if I were to tell you my whole story the

way it fell out, it's my opinion (and it was Rankeillor's before

<<BackPagesTo menuNext>>