e been long there, and not
known some of our friends or family?"

"I lived with a very honest, kind man called Duncan Dhu Maclaren," I
replied.

"Well I know Duncan, and you give him the true name!" she said; "and if
he is an honest man, his wife is honest indeed."

"Ay," said I, "they are fine people, and the place is a bonny place."

"Where in the great world is such another?" she cries; "I am loving the
smell of that place and the roots that grew there."

I was infinitely taken with the spirit of the maid. "I could be wishing
I had brought you a spray of that heather," says I. "And though I did
ill to speak with you at the first, now it seems we have common
acquaintance, I make it my petition you will not forget me. David
Balfour is the name I am known by. This is my lucky day when I have just
come into a landed estate and am not very long out of a deadly peril. I
wish you would keep my name in mind for the sake of Balquidder," said I,
"and I will yours for the sake of my lucky day."

"My name is not spoken," she replied, with a great deal of haughtiness.
"More than a hundred years it has not gone upon men's tongues, save for
a blink. I am nameless like the Folk of Peace.[3] Catriona Drummond is
the one I use."

Now indeed I knew where I was standing. In all broad Scotland there was
but the one name proscribed, and that was the name of the Macgregors.
Yet so far from fleeing this undesirable acquaintancy, I plunged the
deeper in.

"I have been sitting with one who was in the same case with yourself,"
said I, "and I think he will be one of your friends. They called him
Robin Oig."

"Did ye so?" cries she. "Ye met Rob?"

"I passed the night with him," said I.

"He is a fowl of the night," said she.

"There was a set of pipes there," I went on, "so you may judge if the
time passed."

"You should be no enemy, at all events," said she. "That was his brother
there a moment since, with the red soldiers round him. It is him that I
call father."

"Is it so?" cried I. "Are you a daughter of James More's?"

"All the daughter that he has," says she: "the daughter of a prisoner;
that I should forget it so, even for one hour, to talk with strangers!"

Here one of the gillies addressed her in what he had of English, to know
what "she" (meaning by that himself) was to do about "ta sneeshin." I
took some note of him for a short, bandy-legged, red-haired, big-headed
man, that I was to know more of to my cost.

"