sly writ with the left hand. There was certainly nothing in
these expressions to compromise the writer, even if that person could be
found; the seal, which formidably served instead of signature, was
affixed to a separate sheet on which there was no scratch of writing;
and I had to confess that (so far) my adversaries knew what they were
doing, and to digest as well as I was able the threat that peeped under
the promise.

But the second enclosure was by far the more surprising. It was in a
lady's hand of writ. "_Maister Dauvit Balfour is informed a friend was
speiring for him, and her eyes were of the grey_," it ran--and seemed so
extraordinary a piece to come to my hands at such a moment and under
cover of a Government seal, that I stood stupid. Catriona's grey eyes
shone in my remembrance. I thought, with a bound of pleasure, she must
be the friend. But who should the writer be, to have her billet thus
enclosed with Prestongrange's? And of all wonders, why was it thought
needful to give me this pleasing but most inconsequential intelligence
upon the Bass? For the writer, I could hit upon none possible except
Miss Grant. Her family, I remembered, had remarked on Catriona's eyes,
and even named her for their colour; and she herself had been much in
the habit to address me with a broad pronunciation, by way of a sniff, I
supposed, at my rusticity. No doubt, besides, but she lived in the same
house as this letter came from. So there remained but one step to be
accounted for; and that was how Prestongrange should have permitted her
at all in an affair so secret, or let her daft-like billet go in the
same cover with his own. But even here I had a glimmering. For, first of
all, there was something rather alarming about the young lady, and papa
might be more under her domination than I knew. And second, there was
the man's continual policy to be remembered, how his conduct had been
continually mingled with caresses, and he had scarce ever, in the midst
of so much contention, laid aside a mask of friendship. He must conceive
that my imprisonment had incensed me. Perhaps this little jesting,
friendly message was intended to disarm my rancour?

I will be honest--and I think it did. I felt a sudden warmth towards
that beautiful Miss Grant, that she should stoop to so much interest in
my affairs. The summoning up of Catriona moved me of itself to milder
and more cowardly counsels. If the Advocate knew of her and of our
acquaintan