he had the lang ten in his hand."

"Is there not a report of his death?" inquired Morton.

"Troth is there," said the landlord; "your honour is right,--there is sic
a fleeing rumour; but, in my puir opinion, it's lang or the deil die. I
wad hae the folks here look to themsells. If he makes an outbreak, he'll
be doun frae the Hielands or I could drink this glass,--and whare are
they then? A' thae hell-rakers o' dragoons wad be at his whistle in a
moment. Nae doubt they're Willie's men e'en now, as they were James's a
while syne; and reason good,--they fight for their pay; what else hae
they to fight for? They hae neither lands nor houses, I trow. There's ae
gude thing o' the change, or the Revolution, as they ca' it,--folks may
speak out afore thae birkies now, and nae fear o' being hauled awa to the
guard-house, or having the thumikins screwed on your finger-ends, just as
I wad drive the screw through a cork."

There was a little pause, when Morton, feeling confident in the progress
he had made in mine host's familiarity, asked, though with the hesitation
proper to one who puts a question on the answer to which rests something
of importance, "Whether Blane knew a woman in that neighbourhood called
Elizabeth Maclure?"

"Whether I ken Bessie Maclure?" answered the landlord, with a landlord's
laugh,--"How can I but ken my ain wife's (haly be her rest!)--my ain
wife's first gudeman's sister, Bessie Maclure? An honest wife she is, but
sair she's been trysted wi' misfortunes,--the loss o' twa decent lads o'
sons, in the time o' the persecution, as they ca' it nowadays; and
doucely and decently she has borne her burden, blaming nane and
condemning nane. If there's an honest woman in the world, it's Bessie
Maclure. And to lose her twa sons, as I was saying, and to hae dragoons
clinked down on her for a month bypast,--for, be Whig or Tory uppermost,
they aye quarter thae loons on victuallers,--to lose, as I was saying--"

"This woman keeps an inn, then?" interrupted Morton.

"A public, in a puir way," replied Blane, looking round at his own
superior accommodations,--"a sour browst o' sma' ale that she sells to
folk that are over drouthy wi' travel to be nice; but naething to ca' a
stirring trade or a thriving changehouse."

"Can you get me a guide there?" said Morton.

"Your honour will rest here a' the night? Ye'll hardly get accommodation
at Bessie's," said Niel, whose regard for his deceased wife's relative by
no mea