let
Andie read his chapter."

I remember I was at bottom a good deal gratified with this result; and
the next humour I fell into was one (I had near said) of gratitude to
Prestongrange, who had saved me, in this violent, illegal manner, out of
the midst of my dangers, temptations, and perplexities. But this was
both too flimsy and too cowardly to last me long, and the remembrance of
James began to succeed to the possession of my spirits. The 21st, the
day set for the trial, I passed in such misery of mind as I can scarce
recall to have endured, save perhaps upon Isle Earraid only. Much of the
time I lay on a braeside betwixt sleep and waking, my body motionless,
my mind full of violent thoughts. Sometimes I slept indeed; but the
court-house of Inverary and the prisoner glancing on all sides to find
his missing witness, followed me in slumber; and I would wake again with
a start to darkness of spirit and distress of body. I thought Andie
seemed to observe me, but I paid him little heed. Verily, my bread was
bitter to me, and my days a burthen.

Early the next morning (Friday, 22nd) a boat came with provisions, and
Andie placed a packet in my hand. The cover was without address but
sealed with a Government seal. It enclosed two notes. "Mr. Balfour can
now see for himself it is too late to meddle. His conduct will be
observed and his discretion rewarded." So ran the first, which seemed to
be laboriously writ with the left hand. There was certainly nothing in
these expressions to compromise the writer, even if that person could be
found; the seal, which formidably served instead of signature, was
affixed to a separate sheet on which there was no scratch of writing;
and I had to confess that (so far) my adversaries knew what they were
doing, and to digest as well as I was able the threat that peeped under
the promise.

But the second enclosure was by far the more surprising. It was in a
lady's hand of writ. "_Maister Dauvit Balfour is informed a friend was
speiring for him, and her eyes were of the grey_," it ran--and seemed so
extraordinary a piece to come to my hands at such a moment and under
cover of a Government seal, that I stood stupid. Catriona's grey eyes
shone in my remembrance. I thought, with a bound of pleasure, she must
be the friend. But who should the writer be, to have her billet thus
enclosed with Prestongrange's? And of all wonders, why was it thought
needful to give me this pleasing but most inconsequ