ry; and when they
had pushed him further, "I tell you the plain truth," he said: "I dare
not show my face."

"You are the first of the house that ever said so," cries Miss Alison.

"We will go all three," said my lord; and sure enough he got into his
boots (the first time in four years--a sore business John Paul had to
get them on), and Miss Alison into her riding-coat, and all three rode
together to St. Bride's.

The streets were full of the riff-raff of all the countryside, who had
no sooner clapped eyes on Mr. Henry than the hissing began, and the
hooting, and the cries of "Judas!" and "Where was the Master?" and
"Where were the poor lads that rode with him?" Even a stone was cast;
but the more part cried shame at that, for my old lord's sake, and Miss
Alison's. It took not ten minutes to persuade my lord that Mr. Henry had
been right. He said never a word, but turned his horse about, and home
again, with his chin upon his bosom. Never a word said Miss Alison; no
doubt she thought the more; no doubt her pride was stung, for she was a
bone-bred Durie; and no doubt her heart was touched to see her cousin so
unjustly used. That night she was never in bed; I have often blamed my
lady--when I call to mind that night I readily forgive her all; and the
first thing in the morning she came to the old lord in his usual seat.

"If Henry still wants me," said she, "he can have me now." To himself
she had a different speech: "I bring you no love, Henry; but God knows,
all the pity in the world."

June the 1st, 1748, was the day of their marriage. It was December of
the same year that first saw me alighting at the doors of the great
house; and from there I take up the history of events as they befell
under my own observation, like a witness in a court.

CHAPTER II

SUMMARY OF EVENTS (_continued_)

I made the last of my journey in the cold end of December, in a mighty
dry day of frost, and who should be my guide but Patey Macmorland,
brother of Tam! For a tow-headed, bare-legged brat of ten, he had more
ill tales upon his tongue than ever I heard the match of; having drunken
betimes in his brother's cup. I was still not so old myself; pride had
not yet the upper hand of curiosity; and indeed it would have taken any
man, that cold morning, to hear all the old clashes of the country, and
be shown all the places by the way where strange things had fallen out.
I had tales of Claverhouse as we came through the bogs, and