y courtesy, but only known thus by
all her circle--to be a little vivid spark of a white-haired woman,
sitting on a sofa dressed in the French fashion of forty years ago, and
with a small plume of feathers in a jewelled turban that glittered as
she moved. At first she was kind enough to me.

"Hey, Master-of-Arts Duncan MacAlpine, this is a bonny downcome for your
grandfather's son, and you come of decent blood up in Glen Strae--to be
great with the Advocate, and scribbling his blethers! A sword by your
side would have suited ye better, I'm thinking!"

"Doubtless, my lady," I answered, "if such had been my state and
fortune. Nevertheless, I can take a turn at that too, if need be."

"Aha, ye have not lost the Highland conceit, in drawing water from the
wells of Whiggery!"

"If I mistake not," I replied, "your ladyship did not care to bide
always about a king's court when she had the chance."

For I knew her history, as did everybody in Edinburgh--a little
gossiping town at that time--now, they say, purged of scandal--which is
a Heaven's miracle if ever there was one.

"Och, hear him!" she cried, throwing up her fan with a jerk to the end
of its tether with a curious flouting disdain, "politics are very well
when it is 'Have at them, my merry men a'!' But after, when all is done
and laid on the shelf like broken bairns'-plaiks, better be a Whig in
the West Bow than a Jesuit in a king's palace abroad!"

And, like enough (so at least it was whispered), the choice had been
offered her.

Then all in a moment she turned to me with a twinkle in her eye that was
hardly less than impish. Indeed, I may say that she flew at me much like
an angry wasp when a chance of your walking-stick stirs its nest.

"It's prophesied," she said, "that some day a Kirkpatrick of Closeburn
will be greater than a queen. For me it was, 'Thank you kindly! I would
rather dwell in the Nun's House of the Dean than possess the treasures
of Egypt!' But this lass is a Kirkpatrick too, though only through her
grandmother, and I troth it may be her that's to wear the crown. At any
rate, mind you, no dominie's son with his fingers deep in printer's ink,
and in the confidence of our little Advocate that rideth on the white
horse--only it's a powny--must venture any pretensions----"

"You mistake me," said I, suddenly very dignified, "my family----"

"Fiddlesticks," cried the old lady; "there's Bellman Jock wha's faither
was a prince o' the bluid. But