Montrose in vain endeavoured to place the subject in a different view; this was the point in which Angus was determined to regard it, and he was a man of that calibre of understanding, who is incapable of being convinced when he has once adopted a prejudice.  Montrose now assumed a higher tone, and called upon Angus to take care how he nourished any sentiments which might be prejudicial to his Majesty’s service.  He pointed out to him, that he was peculiarly desirous that Allan’s efforts should not be interrupted in the course of his present mission; “a mission,” he said, “highly honourable for himself, and likely to prove most advantageous to the King’s cause.  He expected his brother would hold no communication with him upon other subjects, nor stir up any cause of dissension, which might divert his mind from a matter of such importance.”

Angus answered somewhat sulkily, that “he was no makebate, or stirrer-up of quarrels; he would rather be a peacemaker.  His brother knew as well as most men how to resent his own quarrels—­as for Allan’s mode of receiving information, it was generally believed he had other sources than those of ordinary couriers.  He should not be surprised if they saw him sooner than they expected.”

A promise that he would not interfere, was the farthest to which Montrose could bring this man, thoroughly good-tempered as he was on all occasions, save when his pride, interest, or prejudices, were interfered with.  And at this point the Marquis was fain to leave the matter for the present.

A more willing guest at the bridal ceremony, certainly a more willing attendant at the marriage feast, was to be expected in Sir Dugald Dalgetty, whom Montrose resolved to invite, as having been a confidant to the circumstances which preceded it.  But even Sir Dugald hesitated, looked on the elbows of his doublet, and the knees of his leather breeches, and mumbled out a sort of reluctant acquiescence in the invitation, providing he should find it possible, after consulting with the noble bridegroom.  Montrose was somewhat surprised, but scorning to testify displeasure, he left Sir Dugald to pursue his own course.

This carried him instantly to the chamber of the bride-groom, who, amidst the scanty wardrobe which his camp-equipage afforded, was seeking for such articles as might appear to the best advantage upon the approaching occasion.  Sir Dugald entered, and paid his compliments, with a very grave face, upon his approaching happiness, which, he said, “he was very sorry he was prevented from witnessing.”

“In plain truth,” said he, “I should but disgrace the ceremony, seeing that I lack a bridal garment.  Rents, and open seams, and tatters at elbows in the apparel of the assistants, might presage a similar solution of continuity in your matrimonial happiness—­and to say truth, my lord, you yourself must partly have the blame of this disappointment, in respect you sent me upon a fool’s errand to