at, Mr. Alan,' replied the
provost; 'besides, I am, as becomes well my situation, a stanch friend
to kirk and king, meaning this present establishment in church and
state; and so, as I was saying, you may command my best--advice.'

'I hope for your assistance and co-operation also,' said the youth.

'Certainly, certainly,' said the wary magistrate. 'Well, now, you see
one may love the kirk, and yet not ride on the rigging of it; and one
may love the king, and yet not be cramming him eternally down the throat
of the unhappy folk that may chance to like another king better. I have
friends and connexions among them, Mr. Fairford, as your father may have
clients--they are flesh and blood like ourselves, these poor Jacobite
bodies--sons of Adam and Eve, after all; and therefore--I hope you
understand me?--I am a plain-spoken man.'

'I am afraid I do not quite understand you,' said Fairford; 'and if you
have anything to say to me in private, my dear provost, you had better
come quickly out with it, for the Laird of Summertrees must finish his
letter in a minute or two.'

'Not a bit, man--Pate is a lang-headed fellow, but his pen does not
clear the paper as his greyhound does the Tinwald-furs. I gave him
a wipe about that, if you noticed; I can say anything to
Pate-in-Peril--Indeed, he is my wife's near kinsman.'

'But your advice, provost,' said Alan, who perceived that, like a shy
horse, the worthy magistrate always started off from his own purpose
just when he seemed approaching to it.

'Weel, you shall have it in plain terms, for I am a plain man. Ye see,
we will suppose that any friend like yourself were in the deepest hole
of the Nith, sand making a sprattle for your life. Now, you see, such
being the case, I have little chance of helping you, being a fat,
short-armed man, and no swimmer, and what would be the use of my jumping
in after you?'

'I understand you, I think,' said Alan Fairford. 'You think that Darsie
Latimer is in danger of his life?'

'Me!--I think nothing about it, Mr. Alan; but if he were, as I trust he
is not, he is nae drap's blood akin to you, Mr. Alan.'

'But here your friend, Summertrees,' said the young lawyer, 'offers me a
letter to this Redgauntlet of yours--What say you to that?'

'Me!' ejaculated the provost, 'me, Mr. Alan? I say neither buff nor
stye to it--But ye dinna ken what it is to look a Redgauntlet in the
face;--better try my wife, who is but a fourth cousin, before ye ventu