concerned.

But Campbell, with a whistle of his broadsword about his head, reminded
him that so far as "daring" went, he was ready to make mincemeat of the
pair of them. But though this cooled Rashleigh's temper at once, it was
far from appeasing Frank, who swore that he would keep hold of his
cousin till he had given up all he had stolen from his father.

[Illustration: "THE death-grapple was put an end to in the nick of time
by the intervention of Campbell, who suddenly appeared out of the bushes
and threw himself between them. Rashleigh demanded fiercely of the
Highlander how he dared to interfere where his honour was concerned."]

"You hear!" said Rashleigh to Campbell; "he rushes upon his fate. On his
own head be it!"

But the Highlander would not permit the young man to be ill treated,
only for standing up for his own father. He took hold of Frank, however,
and by a gigantic effort he caused him to release Rashleigh's coat which
he had seized in his anger.

"Let go his collar, Mr. Francis," he commanded. "What he says is true.
Ye are more in danger of the magistrate in this place than what he is.
Take the bent, Mr. Rashleigh. Make one pair of legs worth two pair of
hands. You have done that before now."

Rashleigh, with a last threat of future revenge, took up his sword,
wiped it, put it back in its sheath, and disappeared in the bushes.

In spite of his struggles the Highlander held Frank till it was vain for
him to pursue Rashleigh, and then Campbell had some advice to give him.

"Let him alone," he said. "I tell you, man, he has the old trap set for
you. And here I cannot give you the same help that I did in the house of
Justice Inglewood. Now go your ways home, like a good bairn. Keep out of
the sight of Rashleigh, and Morris, and that MacVittie animal. Mind the
Clachan of Aberfoil, and by the word of a gentleman I will not see you
wronged."

On his way back Frank had his slight wound dressed by a surgeon and
apothecary in the neighbourhood, who refused to believe his explanation
about the button of his adversary's foil slipping.

"There never was button on the foil that made this!" he said. "Ah, young
blood--young blood! But fear not--we surgeons are a secret generation!"

And so dismissed, Frank soon found his way back to Mr. Jarvie's family
leg of mutton and tup's head, only a few minutes after the appointed
stroke of one.

* * * * *

III. THE BAILIE FI