“Ye see, Alan,” said I, “it goes against the grain with me to leave the maid in such poor hands.”

“Ye couldnae weel find poorer,” he admitted.  “But what are ye to do with it?  It’s this way about a man and a woman, ye see, Davie:  The weemenfolk have got no kind of reason to them.  Either they like the man, and then a’ goes fine; or else they just detest him, and ye may spare your breath—­ye can do naething.  There’s just the two sets of them—­them that would sell their coats for ye, and them that never look the road ye’re on.  That’s a’ that there is to women; and you seem to be such a gomeral that ye cannae tell the tane frae the tither.”

“Well, and I’m afraid that’s true for me,” said I.

“And yet there’s naething easier!” cried Alan.  “I could easy learn ye the science of the thing; but ye seem to me to be born blind, and there’s where the diffeeculty comes in!”

“And can you no help me?” I asked, “you that’s so clever at the trade?”

“Ye see, David, I wasnae here,” said he.  “I’m like a field officer that has naebody but blind men for scouts and eclaireurs; and what would he ken?  But it sticks in my mind that ye’ll have made some kind of bauchle; and if I was you, I would have a try at her again.”

“Would ye so, man Alan?” said I.

“I would e’en’t,” says he.

The third letter came to my hand while we were deep in some such talk; and it will be seen how pat it fell to the occasion.  James professed to be in some concern upon his daughter’s health, which I believe was never better; abounded in kind expressions to myself; and finally proposed that I should visit them at Dunkirk.

“You will now be enjoying the society of my old comrade, Mr. Stewart,” he wrote.  “Why not accompany him so far in his return to France?  I have something very particular for Mr. Stewart’s ear; and, at any rate, I would be pleased to meet in with an old fellow-soldier and one so mettle as himself.  As for you, my dear sir, my daughter and I would be proud to receive our benefactor, whom we regard as a brother and a son.  The French nobleman has proved a person of the most filthy avarice of character, and I have been necessitate to leave the haras.  You will find us, in consequence, a little poorly lodged in the auberge of a man Bazin on the dunes; but the situation is caller, and I make no doubt but we might spend some very pleasant days, when Mr. Stewart and I could recall our services, and you and my daughter divert yourselves in a manner more befitting your age.  I beg at least that Mr. Stewart would come here; my business with him opens a very wide door.”

“What does the man want with me?” cried Alan, when he had read.  “What he wants with you is clear enough—­it’s siller.  But what can he want with Alan Breck?”

“O, it’ll be just an excuse,” said I.  “He is still after this marriage, which I wish from my heart that we could bring about.  And he asks you because he thinks I would be less likely to come wanting you.”