The causelessness of all this fuff stirred my own bile.  “I have said nothing you can properly object to,” said I, “and as for my knees, that is an attitude I keep for God.”

“And as a goddess I am to be served!” she cried, shaking her brown locks at me and with a bright colour.  “Every man that comes within waft of my petticoats shall use me so!”

“I will go so far as ask your pardon for the fashion’s sake, although I vow I know not why,” I replied.  “But for these play-acting postures, you can go to others.”

“O Davie!” she said.  “Not if I was to beg you?”

I bethought me I was fighting with a woman, which is the same as to say a child, and that upon a point entirely formal.

“I think it a bairnly thing,” I said, “not worthy in you to ask, or me to render.  Yet I will not refuse you, neither,” said I; “and the stain, if there be any, rests with yourself.”  And at that I kneeled fairly down.

“There!” she cried.  “There is the proper station, there is where I have been manoeuvring to bring you.”  And then, suddenly, “Kep,"[21] said she, flung me a folded billet, and ran from the apartment laughing.

The billet had neither place nor date.  “Dear Mr. David,” it began, “I get your news continually by my cousin, Miss Grant, and it is a pleisand hearing.  I am very well, in a good place, among good folk, but necessitated to be quite private, though I am hoping that at long last we may meet again.  All your friendships have been told me by my loving cousin, who loves us both.  She bids me to send you this writing, and oversees the same.  I will be asking you to do all her commands, and rest your affectionate friend, Catriona Macgregor-Drummond.  P.S.—­Will you not see my cousin, Allardyce?”

I think it not the least brave of my campaigns (as the soldiers say) that I should have done as I was here bidden and gone forthright to the house by Dean.  But the old lady was now entirely changed and supple as a glove.  By what means Miss Grant had brought this round I could never guess; I am sure at least, she dared not to appear openly in the affair, for her papa was compromised in it pretty deep.  It was he, indeed, who had persuaded Catriona to leave, or rather, not to return, to her cousin’s, placing her instead with a family of Gregorys, decent people, quite at the Advocate’s disposition, and in whom she might have the more confidence because they were of her own clan and family.  These kept her private till all was ripe, heated and helped her to attempt her father’s rescue, and after she was discharged from prison received her again into the same secrecy.  Thus Prestongrange obtained and used his instrument; nor did there leak out the smallest word of his acquaintance with the daughter of James More.  There was some whispering, of course, upon the escape of that discredited person; but the Government replied by a show of rigour, one of the cell porters was flogged, the lieutenant of the guard (my poor friend, Duncansby) was broken of his rank, and as for Catriona, all men were well enough pleased that her fault should be passed by in silence.