“Well, I wish that I kent,” says Alan.  “Him and me were never onyways pack; we used to girn at ither like a pair of pipers.  ’Something for my ear,’ quo’ he!  I’ll maybe have something for his hinder end, before we’re through with it.  Dod, I’m thinking it would be a kind of a divertisement to gang and see what he’ll be after!  Forby that I could see your lassie then.  What say ye, Davie?  Will ye ride with Alan?”

You may be sure I was not backward, and Alan’s furlough running towards an end, we set forth presently upon this joint adventure.

It was near dark of a January day when we rode at last into the town of Dunkirk.  We left our horses at the post, and found a guide to Bazin’s Inn, which lay beyond the walls.  Night was quite fallen, so that we were the last to leave that fortress, and heard the doors of it close behind us as we passed the bridge.  On the other side there lay a lighted suburb, which we thridded for a while, then turned into a dark lane, and presently found ourselves wading in the night among deep sand where we could hear a bullering of the sea.  We travelled in this fashion for some while, following our conductor mostly by the sound of his voice; and I had begun to think he was perhaps misleading us, when we came to the top of a small brae, and there appeared out of the darkness a dim light in a window.

“Voila l’auberge a, Bazin,” says the guide.

Alan smacked his lips.  “An unco lonely bit,” said he, and I thought by his tone he was not wholly pleased.

A little after, and we stood in the lower storey of the house, which was all in the one apartment, with a stair leading to the chambers at the side, benches and tables by the wall, the cooking fire at the one end of it, and shelves of bottles and the cellar-trap at the other.  Here Bazin, who was an ill-looking, big man, told us the Scottish gentleman was gone abroad he knew not where, but the young lady was above, and he would call her down to us.

I took from my breast the kerchief wanting the corner, and knotted it about my throat.  I could hear my heart go; and Alan patting me on the shoulder with some of his laughable expressions, I could scarce refrain from a sharp word.  But the time was not long to wait.  I heard her step pass overhead, and saw her on the stair.  This she descended very quietly, and greeted me with a pale face and certain seeming of earnestness, or uneasiness, in her manner that extremely dashed me.

“My father, James More, will be here soon.  He will be very pleased to see you,” she said.  And then of a sudden her face flamed, her eyes lightened, the speech stopped upon her lips; and I made sure she had observed the kerchief.  It was only for a breath that she was discomposed; but methought it was with a new animation that she turned to welcome Alan.  “And you will be his friend Alan Breck?” she cried.  “Many is the dozen times I will have heard him tell of you; and I love you already for all your bravery and goodness.”