finger between the leaves,
came to demand the meaning of this unseasonable interruption.

Nothing could be more different than his whole appearance seemed to be
from the confidant of a desperate man, and the associate of outlaws in
their unlawful enterprises. He was a tall, thin, bony figure, with white
hair combed straight down on each side of his face, and an iron-grey hue
of complexion; where the lines, or rather, as Quin said of Macklin, the
cordage, of his countenance were so sternly adapted to a devotional and
even ascetic expression, that they left no room for any indication of
reckless daring or sly dissimulation. In short, Trumbull appeared a
perfect specimen of the rigid old Covenanter, who said only what he
thought right, acted on no other principle but that of duty, and, if he
committed errors, did so under the full impression that he was serving
God rather than man.

'Do you want me, sir?' he said to Fairford, whose guide had slunk to
the rear, as if to escape the rebuke of the severe old man,--'We were
engaged, and it is the Saturday night.'

Alan Fairford's preconceptions were so much deranged by this man's
appearance and manner, that he stood for a moment bewildered, and would
as soon have thought of giving a cant password to a clergyman descending
from the pulpit, as to the respectable father of a family just
interrupted in his prayers for and with the objects of his care. Hastily
concluding Mr. Maxwell had passed some idle jest on him, or rather that
he had mistaken the person to whom he was directed, he asked if he spoke
to Mr. Trumbull.

'To Thomas Trumbull,' answered the old man--'What may be your business,
sir?' And he glanced his eye to the book he held in his hand, with a
sigh like that of a saint desirous of dissolution.

'Do you know Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees?' said Fairford.

'I have heard of such a gentleman in the country-side, but have no
acquaintance with him,' answered Mr. Trumbull; 'he is, as I have heard,
a Papist; for the whore that sitteth on the seven hills ceaseth not yet
to pour forth the cup of her abomination on these parts.'

'Yet he directed me hither, my good friend,' said Alan. 'Is there
another of your name in this town of Annan?'

'None,' replied Mr. Trumbull, 'since my worthy father was removed; he
was indeed a shining light.--I wish you good even, sir.'

'Stay one single instant,' said Fairford; 'this is a matter of life and
death.'

'Not more than the castin