t without trembling.

"What's the fule thing shaking for?" said he; "I mean nothing but
civility to you. D--n me, I respect you, and I can't help it. You have so
much spunk, that d--n me, but I think there's some chance of your
carrying the day. But you must not go to the king till you have made some
friend; try the duke--try MacCallummore; he's Scotland's friend--I ken
that the great folks dinna muckle like him--but they fear him, and that
will serve your purpose as weel. D'ye ken naebody wad gie ye a letter to
him?"

"Duke of Argyle!" said Jeanie, recollecting herself suddenly, "what was
he to that Argyle that suffered in my father's time--in the persecution?"

"His son or grandson, I'm thinking," said Ratcliffe, "but what o' that?"

"Thank God!" said Jeanie, devoutly clasping her hands.

"You whigs are aye thanking God for something," said the ruffian. "But
hark ye, hinny, I'll tell ye a secret. Ye may meet wi' rough customers on
the Border, or in the Midland, afore ye get to Lunnon. Now, deil ane o'
them will touch an acquaintance o' Daddie Ratton's; for though I am
retired frae public practice, yet they ken I can do a gude or an ill turn
yet--and deil a gude fellow that has been but a twelvemonth on the lay,
be he ruffler or padder, but he knows my gybe* as well as the jark** of
e'er a queer cuffin*** in England--and there's rogue's Latin for you."

* Pass.
** Seal.
*** Justice of Peace.

It was indeed totally unintelligible to Jeanie Deans, who was only
impatient to escape from him. He hastily scrawled a line or two on a
dirty piece of paper, and said to her, as she drew back when he offered
it, "Hey!--what the deil--it wunna bite you, my lass--if it does nae
gude, it can do nae ill. But I wish you to show it, if you have ony
fasherie wi' ony o' St. Nicholas's clerks."

"Alas!" said she, "I do not understand what you mean."

"I mean, if ye fall among thieves, my precious,--that is a Scripture
phrase, if ye will hae ane--the bauldest of them will ken a scart o' my
guse feather. And now awa wi' ye--and stick to Argyle; if onybody can do
the job, it maun be him."

After casting an anxious look at the grated windows and blackened walls
of the old Tolbooth, and another scarce less anxious at the hospitable
lodging of Mrs. Saddletree, Jeanie turned her back on that quarter, and
soon after on the city itself. She reached St. Leonard's Crags without
meeting any one whom she knew, which, in the state of her min