will be asking you to do all her commands, and rest
your affectionate friend, Catriona Macgregor-Drummond. P.S.--Will you
not see my cousin, Allardyce?"

I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers say)
that I should have done as I was here bidden and gone forthright to the
house by Dean. But the old lady was now entirely changed and supple as a
glove. By what means Miss Grant had brought this round I could never
guess; I am sure at least, she dared not to appear openly in the affair,
for her papa was compromised in it pretty deep. It was he, indeed, who
had persuaded Catriona to leave, or rather, not to return, to her
cousin's, placing her instead with a family of Gregorys, decent people,
quite at the Advocate's disposition, and in whom she might have the more
confidence because they were of her own clan and family. These kept her
private till all was ripe, heated and helped her to attempt her father's
rescue, and after she was discharged from prison received her again into
the same secrecy. Thus Prestongrange obtained and used his instrument;
nor did there leak out the smallest word of his acquaintance with the
daughter of James More. There was some whispering, of course, upon the
escape of that discredited person; but the Government replied by a show
of rigour, one of the cell porters was flogged, the lieutenant of the
guard (my poor friend, Duncansby) was broken of his rank, and as for
Catriona, all men were well enough pleased that her fault should be
passed by in silence.

I could never induce Miss Grant to carry back an answer. "No," she would
say, when I persisted, "I am going to keep the big feet out of the
platter." This was the more hard to bear, as I was aware she saw my
little friend many times in the week, and carried her my news whenever
(as she said) I "had behaved myself." At last she treated me to what she
called an indulgence, and I thought rather more of a banter. She was
certainly a strong, almost a violent friend, to all she liked; chief
among whom was a certain frail old gentlewoman, very blind, and very
witty, who dwelt in the top of a tall land on a strait close, with a
nest of linnets in a cage, and thronged all day with visitors. Miss
Grant was very fond to carry me there and put me to entertain her friend
with the narrative of my misfortunes; and Miss Tibbie Ramsay (that was
her name) was particular kind, and told me a great deal that was worth
knowledge of old folks and