I had determined to seek a complete explanation, but found she refused it with indignant defiance, and avowed to my face the preference for a rival.  And yet, when I was about to leave her for ever, it cost her but a change of look and tone to lead me back, her willing subject on her own hard terms, agreeing that we could be nothing to each other but friends now or henceforward.  She then gave me a letter which she said might never have reached my hands if it had not fallen into hers.  It was from my father’s partner, Mr. Tresham, to tell me that Rashleigh had gone to Scotland some time since to take up bills granted by my father, and had not since been heard of, that Owen had been dispatched in search of him, and I was entreated to go after him, and assist to save my father’s mercantile honour.  Having read this, Diana left me for a moment, and returned with a sheet of paper folded like a letter, but without any address.  “If I understand you rightly,” she said, “the funds in Rashleigh’s possession must be recovered by a certain day.  Take this packet; do not open it till other means have failed; within ten days of the fated day you may break the seal, and you will find directions that may be useful to you.  Adieu, Frank, we never meet more; but sometimes think of your friend Die Vernon.”

She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom.  She sighed and escaped to her own apartment, and I saw her no more.

III.—­In the Highlands

I had not been a day in Glasgow before, in obedience to a mysterious summons, I met Mr. Campbell, and was by him guided to the prison where my poor old friend Owen was confined.  On his arrival two days before, he had gone to one of my father’s correspondents, trusting that they who heretofore could not do too much to deserve the patronage of their good friends in Crane Alley, would now give their counsel and assistance.  They met this with a counter-demand of instant security against ultimate loss, and when this was refused as unjust to the other creditors of Osbaldistone & Tresham, they had thrown him into prison, as he had a small share in the firm.  In the midst of our sorrowful explanation we were disturbed by a loud knocking at the outer door of the prison.  The Highland turnkey, with as much delay as possible, undid the fastenings, my guide sprang up the stair, and into Owen’s apartment.  He cast his eyes around, and then said to me, “Lend me your pistols.  Yet, no, I can do without them.  Whatever you see, take no heed, and do not mix your hand in another man’s feud.  This gear’s mine, and I must manage it as best I can.  I have been as hard bested and worse than I am even now.”  As he spoke, he confronted the iron door, like a fine horse brought up to the leaping-bar.

But instead of a guard with bayonets fixed, there entered a good-looking young woman, ushering in a short, stout, important person—­a magistrate.  “A bonny thing it is, and a beseeming, that I should be kept at the door half-an-hour, Captain Stanchells,” said he, addressing the principal jailer, who now showed himself.  “How’s this? how’s this?  Strangers in the jail after lock-up hours!  I must see into this.  But, first, I must hae a crack with an auld acquaintance here.  Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen, how’s a’ wi’ you man?”