frame was rather beneath than
above the middle size, but apparently strong, thick-set, and muscular;
his dress a horseman's wrapping coat. I slackened my pace, and almost
paused as I advanced in expectation that he would address me. But to my
inexpressible disappointment he passed without speaking, and I had no
pretence for being the first to address one who, notwithstanding his
appearance at the very hour of appointment, might nevertheless be an
absolute stranger. I stopped when he had passed me, and looked after
him, uncertain whether I ought not to follow him. The stranger walked on
till near the northern end of the bridge, then paused, looked back, and
turning round, again advanced towards me. I resolved that this time he
should not have the apology for silence proper to apparitions, who, it
is vulgarly supposed, cannot speak until they are spoken to. "You walk
late, sir," said I, as we met a second time.

"I bide tryste," was the reply; "and so I think do you, Mr.
Osbaldistone."

"You are then the person who requested to meet me here at this unusual
hour?"

"I am," he replied. "Follow me, and you shall know my reasons."

"Before following you, I must know your name and purpose," I answered.

"I am a man," was the reply; "and my purpose is friendly to you."

"A man!" I repeated;--"that is a very brief description."

"It will serve for one who has no other to give," said the stranger. "He
that is without name, without friends, without coin, without country, is
still at least a man; and he that has all these is no more."

"Yet this is still too general an account of yourself, to say the least
of it, to establish your credit with a stranger."

"It is all I mean to give, howsoe'er; you may choose to follow me, or to
remain without the information I desire to afford you."

"Can you not give me that information here?" I demanded.

"You must receive it from your eyes, not from my tongue--you must follow
me, or remain in ignorance of the information which I have to give you."

There was something short, determined, and even stern, in the man's
manner, not certainly well calculated to conciliate undoubting
confidence.

"What is it you fear?" he said impatiently. "To whom, think ye, is your
life of such consequence, that they should seek to bereave ye of it?"

"I fear nothing," I replied firmly, though somewhat hastily. "Walk on--I
attend you."

We proceeded, contrary to my expectation, to re-enter the town,