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"What have I to do with this?" says Prestongrange.

"I will tell your lordship in two words," said I. "I have brought

this gentleman, a King's officer, to do me so much justice. Now I

think my character in covered, and until a certain date, which your

lordship can very well supply, it will be quite in vain to despatch

against me any more officers. I will not consent to fight my way

through the garrison of the castle."

The veins swelled on Prestongrange's brow, and he regarded me with

fury.

"I think the devil uncoupled this dog of a lad between my legs!" he

cried; and then, turning fiercely on his neighbour, "This is some

of your work, Simon," he said. "I spy your hand in the business,

and, let me tell you, I resent it. It is disloyal, when we are

agreed upon one expedient, to follow another in the dark. You are

disloyal to me. What! you let me send this lad to the place with

my very daughters! And because I let drop a word to you..... Fy,

sir, keep your dishonours to yourself!"

Simon was deadly pale. "I will be a kick-ball between you and the

Duke no longer," he exclaimed. "Either come to an agreement, or

come to a differ, and have it out among yourselves. But I will no

longer fetch and carry, and get your contrary instructions, and be

blamed by both. For if I were to tell you what I think of all your

Hanover business it would make your head sing."

But Sheriff Erskine had preserved his temper, and now intervened

smoothly. "And in the meantime," says he, "I think we should tell

Mr. Balfour that his character for valour is quite established. He

may sleep in peace. Until the date he was so good as to refer to

it shall be put to the proof no more."

His coolness brought the others to their prudence; and they made

haste, with a somewhat distracted civility, to pack me from the

house.

CHAPTER IX--THE HEATHER ON FIRE

When I left Prestongrange that afternoon I was for the first time

angry. The Advocate had made a mock of me. He had pretended my

testimony was to be received and myself respected; and in that very

hour, not only was Simon practising against my life by the hands of

the Highland soldier, but (as appeared from his own language)

Prestongrange himself had some design in operation. I counted my

enemies; Prestongrange with all the King's authority behind him;

and the Duke with the power of the West Highlands; and the Lovat

interest by their side to help them with so great a force in the

north, and the whole clan of old Jacobite spies and traffickers.

And when I remembered James More, and the red head of Neil the son

of Duncan, I thought there was perhaps a fourth in the confederacy,

and what remained of Rob Roy's old desperate sept of caterans would

be banded against me with the others. One thing was requisite--

some strong friend or wise adviser. The country must be full of

such, both able and eager to support me, or Lovat and the Duke and

Prestongrange had not been nosing for expedients; and it made me

rage to think that I might brush against my champions in the street

and be no wiser.

And just then (like an answer) a gentleman brushed against me going

by, gave me a meaning look, and turned into a close. I knew him

with the tail of my eye--it was Stewart the Writer; and, blessing

my good fortune, turned in to follow him. As soon as I had entered

the close I saw him standing in the mouth of a stair, where he made

me a signal and immediately vanished. Seven storeys up, there he

was again in a house door, the which he looked behind us after we

had entered. The house was quite dismantled, with not a stick of

furniture; indeed, it was one of which Stewart had the letting in

his hands.

"We'll have to sit upon the floor," said he; "but we're safe here

for the time being, and I've been wearying to see ye, Mr. Balfour."

"How's it with Alan?" I asked.

"Brawly," said he.

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Robert Louis Stevenson

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