er window. No one was with the old woman save
a large cat, to whom she was in the habit of addressing occasional
remarks of a miscellaneous nature, as if to relieve the tedium of
solitude with the fiction of intercourse.

"Ay, pussie," she said, "ye may weel wash yer face an' purr, for there's
nae fear o' _you_ bein' dragged before Airchbishop Sherp to hae yer
thoombs screwed, or yer legs squeezed in the--"

She stopped abruptly, for heavy footsteps were heard on the spiral
stair, and next moment Will Wallace entered.

"Well, Mrs. Black," he said, sitting down in front of her, "it's all
settled with Bruce. I'm engaged to work at his forge, and have already
begun business."

"So I see, an' ye look business-like," answered the old woman, with a
very slight smile, and a significant glance at our hero's costume.

A considerable change had indeed taken place in the personal appearance
of Will Wallace since his arrival in Edinburgh, for in place of the
shepherd's garb, with which he had started from the "bonnie hills of
Galloway," he wore the leathern apron and other habiliments of a
blacksmith. Moreover his hair had been allowed to grow in luxuriant
natural curls about his head, and as the sun had bronzed him during his
residence with Black, and a young beard and moustache had begun to
assert themselves in premature vigour, his whole aspect was that of a
grand heroic edition of his former self.

"Yes, the moment I told your friend," said Wallace, "that you had sent
me to him, and that I was one of those who had good reason to conceal
myself from observation, he gave me a hearty shake of the hand and
accepted my offer of service; all the more that, having already some
knowledge of his craft, I did not require teaching. So he gave me an
apron and set me to work at once. I came straight from the forge just
as I left off work to see what you would think of my disguise."

"Ye'll do, ye'll do," returned Mrs. Black, with a nod of approval. "Yer
face an' hands need mair washin' than my pussie gies her nose! But
wheesht! I hear a fit on the stair. It'll be Quentin Dick. I sent him
oot for a red herrin' or twa for supper."

As she spoke, Quentin entered with a brown paper parcel, the contents of
which were made patent by means of scent without the aid of sight.

The shepherd seemed a little disconcerted at sight of a stranger, for,
as Wallace stood up, the light did not fall on his face; but a second
glance suffice