‘Jock Crozer!’ continued the lady.  ’That’ll be Clement’s son, the biggest thief and reiver in the country-side.  To trust a note to him!  But I’ll give the benefit of my opinions to Lady Whitecross when we two forgather.  Let her look to herself!  I have no patience with half-hearted carlines, that complies on the Lord’s day morning with the kirk, and comes taigling the same night to the conventicle.  The one or the other! is what I say:  hell or heaven--Haddie’s abominations or the pure word of God dreeping from the lips of Mr. Arnot,

’"Like honey from the honeycomb
That dreepeth, sweeter far."’

My lady was now fairly launched, and that upon two congenial subjects:  the deficiencies of the Lady Whitecross and the turpitudes of the whole Crozer race—­which, indeed, had never been conspicuous for respectability.  She pursued the pair of them for twenty minutes on the clock with wonderful animation and detail, something of the pulpit manner, and the spirit of one possessed.  ‘O hellish compliance!’ she exclaimed.  ’I would not suffer a complier to break bread with Christian folk.  Of all the sins of this day there is not one so God-defying, so Christ-humiliating, as damnable compliance’:  the boy standing before her meanwhile, and brokenly pursuing other thoughts, mainly of Haddo and Janet, and Jock Crozer stripping off his jacket.  And yet, with all his distraction, it might be argued that he heard too much:  his father and himself being ’compliers’—­that is to say, attending the church of the parish as the law required.

Presently, the lady’s passion beginning to decline, or her flux of ill words to be exhausted, she dismissed her audience.  Francie bowed low, left the room, closed the door behind him:  and then turned him about in the passage-way, and with a low voice, but a prodigious deal of sentiment, repeated the name of the evil one twenty times over, to the end of which, for the greater efficacy, he tacked on ‘damnable’ and ‘hellish.’  Fas est ab hoste doceri—­ disrespect is made more pungent by quotation; and there is no doubt but he felt relieved, and went upstairs into his tutor’s chamber with a quiet mind.  M’Brair sat by the cheek of the peat-fire and shivered, for he had a quartan ague and this was his day.  The great night-cap and plaid, the dark unshaven cheeks of the man, and the white, thin hands that held the plaid about his chittering body, made a sorrowful picture.  But Francie knew and loved him; came straight in, nestled close to the refugee, and told his story.  M’Brair had been at the College with Haddo; the Presbytery had licensed both on the same day; and at this tale, told with so much innocency by the boy, the heart of the tutor was commoved.

‘Woe upon him!  Woe upon that man!’ he cried.  ’O the unfaithful shepherd!  O the hireling and apostate minister!  Make my matters hot for me? quo’ she! the shameless limmer!  And true it is, that he could repose me in that nasty, stinking hole, the Canongate Tolbooth, from which your mother drew me out—­the Lord reward her for it!—­or to that cold, unbieldy, marine place of the Bass Rock, which, with my delicate kist, would be fair ruin to me.  But I will be valiant in my Master’s service.  I have a duty here:  a duty to my God, to myself, and to Haddo:  in His strength, I will perform it.’