The exercise of walking and the thought of my destination braced me yet more, so that I began to pluck up a kind of spirit.  In the village of Dean, where it sits in the bottom of a glen beside the river, I inquired my way of a miller’s man, who sent me up the hill upon the farther side by a plain path, and so to a decent-like small house in a garden of lawns and apple-trees.  My heart beat high as I stepped inside the garden hedge, but it fell low indeed when I came face to face with a grim and fierce old lady, walking there in a white mutch with a man’s hat strapped upon the top of it.

“What do ye come seeking here?” she asked.

I told her I was after Miss Drummond.

“And what may be your business with Miss Drummond?” says she.

I told her I had met her on Saturday last, had been so fortunate as to render her a trifling service, and was come now on the young lady’s invitation.

“Oh, so you’re Saxpence!” she cried, with a very sneering manner.  “A braw gift, a bonny gentleman.  And hae ye ony ither name and designation, or were ye bapteesed Saxpence?” she asked.

I told my name.

“Preserve me!” she cried.  “Has Ebenezer gotten a son?”

“No, ma’am,” said I.  “I am a son of Alexander’s.  It’s I that am the Laird of Shaws.”

“Ye’ll find your work cut out for ye to establish that,” quoth she.

“I perceive you know my uncle,” said I; “and I daresay you may be the better pleased to hear that business is arranged.”

“And what brings ye here after Miss Drummond?” she pursued.

“I’m come after my saxpence, mem,” said I.  “It’s to be thought, being my uncle’s nephew, I would be found a careful lad.”

“So ye have a spark of sleeness in ye,” observed the old lady, with some approval.  “I thought ye had just been a cuif—­you and your saxpence, and your lucky day and your sake of Balwhidder”—­from which I was gratified to learn that Catriona had not forgotten some of our talk.  “But all this is by the purpose,” she resumed.  “Am I to understand that ye come here keeping company?”

“This is surely rather an early question,” said I.  “The maid is young, so am I, worse fortune.  I have but seen her the once.  I’ll not deny,” I added, making up my mind to try her with some frankness, “I’ll not deny but she has run in my head a good deal since I met in with her.  That is one thing; but it would be quite another, and I think I would look very like a fool, to commit myself.”

“You can speak out of your mouth, I see,” said the old lady.  “Praise God, and so can I!  I was fool enough to take charge of this rogue’s daughter:  a fine charge I have gotten; but it’s mine, and I’ll carry it the way I want to.  Do ye mean to tell me, Mr. Balfour of Shaws, that you would marry James More’s daughter, and him hanged?  Well, then, where there’s no possible marriage there shall be no manner of carryings on, and take that for said.  Lasses are bruckle things,” she added, with a nod; “and though ye would never think it by my wrunkled chafts, I was a lassie mysel’, and a bonny one.”