Ralph did not press the point.  But he had some unexpected feeling in saying good-bye to Jock.  It was not so easy.  He tried to put three of Winsome’s guineas into his hand, but Jock would have none of them.

“Me wi’ gowden guineas!” he said.  “Surely ye maun hae an ill-wull at puir Jock, that wusses ye weel; what wad ony body say gin I poo’ed out sic a lump of gowd?  ’There’s that loon Jock been breakin’ somebody’s bank,’ an’ then ‘Fare-ye-weel, Kilaivie,’ to Jock’s guid name.  It’s gane, like his last gless o’ whusky, never to return.”

“But you are a long way from home, Jock; how will you get back?”

“Hoots, haivers, Maister Ralph, gin Jock has providit for you that needs a’ things as gin ye war in a graund hoose, dinna be feared for Jock, that can eat a wamefu’ o’ green heather-taps wi’ the dew on them like a bit flafferin’ grouse bird.  Or Jock can catch the muir-fowl itsel’ an’ eat it ablow a heather buss as gin he war a tod [fox].  Hoot awa’ wi’ ye!  Jock can fend for himsel’ brawly.  Sillar wad only tak’ the edge aff his genius.”

“Then is there nothing that I can bring you from Edinburgh when I come again?” said Ralph, with whom the coming again was ever present.

“‘Deed, aye, gin ye are so ceevil—­it’s richt prood I wad be o’ a boxfu’ o’ Maister Cotton’s Dutch sneeshin’—­him that’s i’ the High Street—­they say it’s terrible graund stuff.  Wullie Hulliby gat some when he was up wi’ his lambs, an’ he said that, after the first snifter, he grat for days.  It maun be graund!”

Ralph promised, with gladness to find some way of easing his load of debt to Jock.

“Noo, Maister Ralph, it’s a wanchancy [uncertain] place, this Enbra’, an’ I’ll stap aff an’ on till the morrow’s e’en here or hereaboots, for sae it micht be that ye took a notion to gang back amang kent fowk, whaur ye wad be safe an’ soun’.”

“But, Jock,” urged Ralph, “ye need not do that.  I was born and brought up in Edinburgh!”

“That’s as may be; gin I bena mista’en, there’s a byous [extraordinary] heap o’ things has happened since then.  Gang yer ways, but gin ye hae message or word for Jock, juist come cannily oot, an’ he’ll be here till dark the morn.”

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Before the Reformer’s chair.

“The Lord save us, Maister Ralph, what’s this?” said John Bairdieson, opening the door of the stair in James’s Court.  It was a narrow hall that it gave access to, more like a passage than a hall.  “Hoo hae ye come?  An’ what for didna Maister Welsh or you write to say ye war comin’?  An’ whaur’s a’ the buiks an’ the gear?” continued John Bairdieson.

“I have walked all the way, John,” said Ralph.  “I quarrelled with the minister, and he turned me to the door.”

“Dear sirce!” said John anxiously, “was’t ill-doing or unsound doctrine?”

“Mr. Welsh said that he could not company with unbelievers.”