so to make my
acknowledgements to the Misses Arthuret, and assure them that their kind
hospitality, to which I probably owe my life, shall be remembered with
gratitude as long as that life lasts. You yourself, Mr. Ambrose, must
accept of my kindest thanks for your skill and attention.'

Mid these acknowledgements they left the house, descended the terrace,
and reached the spot where the gardener, Fairford's old acquaintance,
waited for him, mounted upon one horse and leading another.

Bidding adieu to Ambrose, our young lawyer mounted, and rode down the
avenue, often looking back to the melancholy and neglected dwelling
in which he had witnessed such strange scenes, and musing upon the
character of its mysterious inmates, especially the noble and almost
regal-seeming priest, and the beautiful but capricious dame, who, if
she was really Father Buonaventure's penitent, seemed less docile to the
authority of the church than, as Alan conceived, the Catholic discipline
permitted. He could not indeed help being sensible that the whole
deportment of these persons differed much from his preconceived notions
of a priest and devotee. Father Buonaventure, in particular, had
more natural dignify and less art and affectation in his manner, than
accorded with the idea which Calvinists were taught to entertain of that
wily and formidable person, a Jesuitical missionary.

While reflecting on these things, he looked back so frequently at the
house, that Dick Gardener, a forward, talkative fellow, who began
to tire of silence, at length said to him, 'I think you will know
Fairladies when you see it again, sir?'

'I dare say I shall, Richard,' answered Fairford good-humouredly.
'I wish I knew as well where I am to go next. But you can tell me,
perhaps?'

'Your worship should know better than I,' said Dick Gardener;
'nevertheless, I have a notion you are going where all you Scotsmen
should be sent, whether you will or no.'

'Not to the devil, I hope, good Dick?' said Fairford.

'Why, no. That is a road which you may travel as heretics; but as
Scotsmen, I would only send you three-fourths of the way--and that is
back to Scotland again--always craving your honour's pardon.'

'Does our journey lie that way?' said Fairford.

'As far as the waterside,' said Richard. 'I am to carry you to old
Father Crackenthorp's, and then you are within a spit and a stride of
Scotland, as the saying is. But mayhap you may think twice of going
thithe