Why would I think that you would like me?
But ye told me yourself ye had an interest!"
I stopped at this, confounded that I had run so far; he was
observing me with an unfathomable face.
"My lord, I ask your pardon," I resumed. "I have nothing in my
chafts but a rough country tongue. I think it would be only
decent-like if I would go to see my friend in her captivity; but
I'm owing you my life--I'll never forget that; and if it's for your
lordship's good, here I'll stay. That's barely gratitude."
"This might have been reached in fewer words," says Prestongrange
grimly. "It is easy, and it is at times gracious, to say a plain
Scots 'ay'."
"Ah, but, my lord, I think ye take me not yet entirely!" cried I.
"For YOUR sake, for my life-safe, and the kindness that ye say ye
bear to me--for these, I'll consent; but not for any good that
might be coming to myself. If I stand aside when this young maid
is in her trial, it's a thing I will be noways advantaged by; I
will lose by it, I will never gain. I would rather make a
shipwreck wholly than to build on that foundation."
He was a minute serious, then smiled. "You mind me of the man with
the long nose," said he; "was you to see the moon by a telescope
you would see David Balfour there! But you shall have your way of
it. I will ask at you one service, and then set you free: My
clerks are overdriven; be so good as copy me these few pages, and
when that is done, I shall bid you God speed! I would never charge
myself with Mr. David's conscience; and if you could cast some part
of it (as you went by) in a moss hag, you would find yourself to
ride much easier without it."
"Perhaps not just entirely in the same direction though, my lord!"
says I.
"And you shall have the last word, too!" cries he gaily.
Indeed, he had some cause for gaiety, having now found the means to
gain his purpose. To lessen the weight of the memorial, or to have
a readier answer at his hand, he desired I should appear publicly
in the character of his intimate. But if I were to appear with the
same publicity as a visitor to Catriona in her prison the world
would scarce stint to draw conclusions, and the true nature of
James More's escape must become evident to all. This was the
little problem I had to set him of a sudden, and to which he had so
briskly found an answer. I was to be tethered in Glasgow by that
job of copying, which in mere outward decency I could not well
refuse; and during these hours of employment Catriona was privately
got rid of. I think shame to write of this man that loaded me with
so many goodnesses. He was kind to me as any father, yet I ever
thought him as false as a cracked bell.
CHAPTER XIX--I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES
The copying was a weary business, the more so as I perceived very
early there was no sort of urgency in the matters treated, and
began very early to consider my employment a pretext. I had no
sooner finished than I got to horse, used what remained of daylight
to the best purpose, and being at last fairly benighted, slept in a
house by Almond-Water side. I was in the saddle again before the
day, and the Edinburgh booths were just opening when I clattered in
by the West Bow and drew up a smoking horse at my lord Advocate's
door. I had a written word for Doig, my lord's private hand that
was thought to be in all his secrets--a worthy little plain man,
all fat and snuff and self-sufficiency. Him I found already at his
desk and already bedabbled with maccabaw, in the same anteroom
where I rencountered with James More. He read the note
scrupulously through like a chapter in his Bible.
"H'm," says he; "ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. Balfour. The
bird's flaen--we hae letten her out."
"Miss Drummond is set free?" I cried.
"Achy!" said he. "What would we keep her for, ye ken? To hae made
a steer about the bairn would has pleased naebody."
"And where'll she be now?" says I.