air men hanged or heided,
that's always been poor Scotland's story. And if it was just the
hanging! For my part, I think I would be best pleased with James upon
the gallows, which would be at least an end to him. Catrine's a good
lass enough, and a good-hearted, and lets herself be deaved all day with
a runt of an auld wife like me. But, ye see, there's the weak bit.
She's daft about that long, false, fleeching beggar of a father of hers,
and red-mad about the Gregara, and proscribed names, and King James, and
a wheen blethers. And you might think ye could guide her, ye would find
yourself sore mista'en. Ye say ye've seen her but the once...."

"Spoke with her but the once, I should have said," I interrupted. "I saw
her again this morning from a window at Prestongrange's."

This I daresay I put in because it sounded well; but I was properly paid
for my ostentation on the return.

"What's this of it?" cries the old lady, with a sudden pucker of her
face. "I think it was at the Advocate's door-cheek that ye met her
first."

I told her that was so.

"H'm," she said; and then suddenly, upon rather a scolding tone, "I have
your bare word for it," she cries, "as to who and what you are. By your
way of it, you're Balfour of the Shaws; but for what I ken you may be
Balfour of the Deevil's oxter. It's possible ye may come here for what
ye say, and it's equally possible ye may come here for deil care what!
I'm good enough Whig to sit quiet, and to have keepit all my men-folk's
heads upon their shoulders. But I'm not just a good enough Whig to be
made a fool of neither. And I tell you fairly, there's too much
Advocate's door and Advocate's window here for a man that comes taigling
after a Macgregor's daughter. Ye can tell that to the Advocate that sent
ye, with my fond love. And I kiss my loof to ye, Mr. Balfour," says she,
suiting the action to the word; "and a braw journey to ye back to where
ye cam frae."

"If you think me a spy," I broke out, and speech stuck in my throat. I
stood and looked murder at the old lady for a space, then bowed and
turned away.

"Here! Hoots! The callant's in a creel!" she cried. "Think ye a spy?
what else would I think ye--me that kens naething by ye? But I see that
I was wrong; and as I cannot fight, I'll have to apologise. A bonny
figure I would be with a broadsword. Ay! ay!" she went on, "you're none
such a bad lad in your way; I think ye'll have some redeeming vices.
But, O! Davit Balfo