nd had fifty men at his back, he
were as well not visit the laird for anything but good. As for Nanty, he
is word and blow, a d--d deal fiercer than Cristie Nixon that they keep
such a din about. I have seen them both tried, by'--

Fairford now found himself called upon to say something; yet his
feelings, upon finding himself thus completely in the power of a canting
hypocrite, and of his retainer, who had so much the air of a determined
ruffian, joined to the strong and abominable fume which they snuffed up
with indifference, while it almost deprived him of respiration, combined
to render utterance difficult. He stated, however, that he had no evil
intentions towards the laird, as they called him, but was only the
bearer of a letter to him on particular business, from Mr. Maxwell of
Summertrees.

'Aye, aye,' said Job, 'that may be well enough; and if Mr. Trumbull is
satisfied that the service is right, why, we will give you a cast in
the JUMPING JENNY this tide, and Nanty Ewart will put you on a way of
finding the laird, I warrant you.'

'I may for the present return, I presume, to the inn where I left my
horse?' said Fairford.

'With pardon,' replied Mr. Trumbull, 'you have been ower far ben with
us for that; but Job will take you to a place where you may sleep
rough till he calls you. I will bring you what little baggage you can
need--for those who go on such errands must not be dainty. I will myself
see after your horse, for a merciful man is merciful to his beast--a
matter too often forgotten in our way of business.'

'Why, Master Trumbull,' replied Job, 'you know that when we are chased,
it's no time to shorten sail, and so the boys do ride whip and spur.'
He stopped in his speech, observing the old man had vanished through
the door by which he had entered--'That's always the way with old
Turnpenny,' he said to Fairford; 'he cares for nothing of the trade but
the profit--now, d--me, if I don't think the fun of it is better worth
while. But come along, my fine chap; I must stow you away in safety
until it is time to go aboard.'

CHAPTER XIII

NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED

Fairford followed his gruff guide among a labyrinth of barrels and
puncheons, on which he had more than once like to have broken his nose,
and from thence into what, by the glimpse of the passing lantern upon a
desk and writing materials, seemed to be a small office for the
dispatch of business. Here there appeared no exit;