“Mr. Balfour,” said I, “if I were to tell you my whole story the way it fell out, it’s my opinion (and it was Rankeillor’s before me) that you would be very little made up with it.”

“I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman,” says he.

“I must not take that at your hands, Mr. Balfour,” said I; “I have nothing to my charge to make me sorry, or you for me, but just the common infirmities of mankind.  ’The guilt of Adam’s first sin, the want of original righteousness, and the corruption of my whole nature,’ so much I must answer for, and I hope I have been taught where to look for help,” I said; for I judged from the look of the man he would think the better of me if I knew my questions.[11] “But in the way of worldly honour I have no great stumble to reproach myself with; and my difficulties have befallen me very much against my will and (by all that I can see) without my fault.  My trouble is to have become dipped in a political complication, which it is judged you would be blythe to avoid a knowledge of.”

“Why, very well, Mr. David,” he replied, “I am pleased to see you are all that Rankeillor represented.  And for what you say of political complications, you do me no more than justice.  It is my study to be beyond suspicion, and indeed outside the field of it.  The question is,” says he, “how, if I am to know nothing of the matter, I can very well assist you?”

“Why, sir,” said I, “I propose you should write to his lordship, that I am a young man of reasonable good family and of good means:  both of which I believe to be the case.”

“I have Rankeillor’s word for it,” said Mr. Balfour, “and I count that a warrandice against all deadly.”

“To which you might add (if you will take my word for so much) that I am a good churchman, loyal to King George, and so brought up,” I went on.

“None of which will do you any harm,” said Mr. Balfour.

“Then you might go on to say that I sought his lordship on a matter of great moment, connected with His Majesty’s service and the administration of justice,” I suggested.

“As I am not to hear the matter,” says the laird, “I will not take upon myself to qualify its weight.  ‘Great moment’ therefore falls, and ‘moment’ along with it.  For the rest, I might express myself much as you propose.”

“And then, sir,” said I, and rubbed my neck a little with my thumb, “then I would be very desirous if you could slip in a word that might perhaps tell for my protection.”

“Protection?” says he.  “For your protection?  Here is a phrase that somewhat dampens me.  If the matter be so dangerous, I own I would be a little loath to move in it blindfold.”

“I believe I could indicate in two words where the thing sticks,” said I.

“Perhaps that would be the best,” said he.

“Well, it’s the Appin murder,” said I.

He held up both the hands.  “Sirs! sirs!” cried he.