In truth, the history which you are about to read is not my own.  It is the story of a beautiful, wilful girl, who was madly in love with the one man in all the world whom she should have avoided—­as girls are wont to be.  This perverse tendency, philosophers tell us, is owing to the fact that the unattainable is strangely alluring to womankind.  I, being a man, shall not, of course, dwell upon the foibles of my own sex.  It were a foolish candor.

As I said, there will be some good fighting ahead of us, for love and battle usually go together.  One must have warm, rich blood to do either well; and, save religion, there is no source more fruitful of quarrels and death than that passion which is the source of life.

You, of course, know without the telling, that I reached land safely after I scuttled the boat, else I should not be writing this forty years afterwards.

The sun had risen when I waded ashore.  I was swordless, coatless, hatless, and bootless; but I carried a well-filled purse in my belt.  Up to that time I had given no thought to my ultimate destination; but being for the moment safe, I pondered the question and determined to make my way to Haddon Hall in Derbyshire, where I was sure a warm welcome would await me from my cousin, Sir George Vernon.  How I found a peasant’s cottage, purchased a poor horse and a few coarse garments, and how in the disguise of a peasant I rode southward to the English border, avoiding the cities and the main highways, might interest you; but I am eager to come to my story, and I will not tell you of my perilous journey.

One frosty morning, after many hairbreadth escapes, I found myself well within the English border, and turned my horse’s head toward the city of Carlisle.  There I purchased a fine charger.  I bought clothing fit for a gentleman, a new sword, a hand-fusil, a breastplate, and a steel-lined cap, and feeling once again like a man rather than like a half-drowned rat, I turned southward for Derbyshire and Haddon Hall.

When I left Scotland I had no fear of meeting danger in England; but at Carlisle I learned that Elizabeth held no favor toward Scottish refugees.  I also learned that the direct road from Carlisle to Haddon, by way of Buxton, was infested with English spies who were on the watch for friends of the deposed Scottish queen.  Several Scotchmen had been arrested, and it was the general opinion that upon one pretext or another they would be hanged.  I therefore chose a circuitous road leading to the town of Derby, which lay south of Haddon at a distance of six or seven leagues.  It would be safer for me to arrive at Haddon travelling from the south than from the north.  Thus, after many days, I rode into Derby-town and stabled my horse at the Royal Arms.

I called for supper, and while I was waiting for my joint of beef a stranger entered the room and gave his orders in a free, offhand manner that stamped him a person of quality.