very doubtful character, her papa."

Here was one of my previsions justified: James More was once again at
liberty. He had lent his men to keep me a prisoner; he had volunteered
his testimony in the Appin case, and the same (no matter by what
subterfuge) had been employed to influence the jury. Now came his
reward, and he was free. It might please the authorities to give to it
the colour of an escape; but I knew better--I knew it must be the
fulfilment of a bargain. The same course of thought relieved me of the
least alarm for Catriona. She might be thought to have broke prison for
her father; she might have believed so herself. But the chief hand in
the whole business was that of Prestongrange; and I was sure, so far
from letting her come to punishment, he would not suffer her to be even
tried. Whereupon thus came out of me the not very politic ejaculation:

"Ah! I was expecting that!"

"You have at times a great deal of discretion too!" says Prestongrange.

"And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?" I asked.

"I was just marvelling," he replied, "that being so clever as to draw
these inferences, you should not be clever enough to keep them to
yourself. But I think you would like to hear the details of the affair.
I have received two versions: and the least official is the more full
and far the more entertaining, being from the lively pen of my eldest
daughter. 'Here is all the town bizzing with a fine piece of work,' she
writes, 'and what would make the thing more noted (if it were only
known) the malefactor is a _protegee_ of his lordship my papa. I am sure
your heart is too much in your duty (if it were nothing else) to have
forgotten Grey Eyes. What does she do, but get a broad hat with the
flaps open, a long hairy-like man's great-coat, and a big gravatt; kilt
her coats up to _Gude kens whaur_, clap two pair of boot-hose upon her
legs, take a pair of _clouted brogues_[15] in her hand, and off to the
Castle! Here she gives herself out to be a soutar[16] in the employ of
James More, and gets admitted to his cell, the lieutenant (who seems to
have been full of pleasantry) making sport among his soldiers of the
soutar's great-coat. Presently they hear disputation and the sound of
blows inside. Out flies the cobbler, his coat flying, the flaps of his
hat beat about his face, and the lieutenant and his soldiers mock at him
as he runs off. They laugh not so hearty the next time they had occasion
to visit the cell