ed him Palliser's
letter, and he drew a long face at that.

"Poor James!" said he again. "Well, there are worse folk than James More
too. But this is dreadful bad. Tut, tut, he must have forgot himself
entirely! This is a most undesirable letter. But, for all that,
gentlemen, I cannot see what we would want to make it public for. It's
an ill bird that fouls his own nest, and we are all Scots folk, and all
Hieland."

Upon this we were all agreed, save perhaps Alan; and still more upon the
question of our marriage, which Bohaldie took in his own hands, as
though there had been no such person as James More, and gave Catriona
away with very pretty manners and agreeable compliments in French. It
was not till all was over, and our healths drunk, that he told us James
was in that city, whither he had preceded us some days, and where he now
lay sick, and like to die. I thought I saw by my wife's face what way
her inclination pointed.

"And let us go see him, then," said I.

"If it is your pleasure," said Catriona. These were early days.

He was lodged in the same quarter of the city with his chief, in a great
house upon a corner; and we were guided up to the garret where he lay by
the sound of Highland piping. It seemed he had just borrowed a set of
them from Bohaldie to amuse his sickness; though he was no such hand as
was his brother Rob, he made good music of the kind; and it was strange
to observe the French folk crowding on the stairs, and some of them
laughing. He lay propped in a pallet. The first look of him I saw he was
upon his last business; and, doubtless, this was a strange place for him
to die in. But even now I find I can scarce dwell upon his end with
patience. Doubtless, Bohaldie had prepared him; he seemed to know we
were married, complimented us on the event, and gave us a benediction
like a patriarch.

"I have been never understood," said he. "I forgive you both without an
afterthought"; after which he spoke for all the world in his old manner,
was so obliging as to play us a tune or two upon his pipes, and borrowed
a small sum before I left. I could not trace even a hint of shame in
any part of his behaviour; but he was great upon forgiveness; it seemed
always fresh to him. I think he forgave me every time we met; and when
after some four days he passed away in a kind of odour of affectionate
sanctity, I could have torn my hair out for exasperation. I had him
buried; but what to put upon his tomb was