DAVID BALFOUR.

Press, Volume L, Issue 8482, 13 May 1893, Page 2

DAVID BALFOUR.

A SEQUEL TO "KIDNAPPED." By Robsbt Louis Stevenson. Paat I.—Tmb Loan Advocate. (Continued from last Saturday.) CHAPTER XII.—On Thb March Again With Axan. It was likely between one and two, the moon (as I have said) was down; a strongtsh wind, carrying a heavy wrack of cloud, had set in suddenly from the west, and we began our movement In as black a night as ever a fugitive or a murderer wanted. The whiteness of the path guided us into the sleeping tow_ of B rough con, thence through Picardy, and beside my old acquaintance the gibbet of the two thieves. A little beyond we made a useful beacon, which was a light ia an upper window at Lochend. Steeling by this, but a good deal at random, and with some tramnTi-g of the harvest, and stumbling and falling down upon the banks, we made our way across country and won forth at last upon the lia_y, boggy mainland that they call the Figgate Whins. Here, under a bush of whin, we lay down the remainder of that night and slumbered.

The day called ns about five. A beautiful morning it was, the high westerly wind still blowing strong, but the clouds all blown away to Europe. Alan was already sitting up and smiling to himself. It was my first sight of my friend since we were parted, and I looked upon him with enjoyment. He bad atill the same big greatcoat ou hit back; bat (what waa new), he had now a pair of knitted boothose down above the knee. Doubtless these were intended for disguise ; but, as the day promised to be warm he made a moat unseasonable figure. "Well, Davie." said he, "Is this no a bouny morning I Here is a day that looks

the way that a day ought to. This is a great change of it from the belly of my haystack ; and while you were there sottering and sleeping I have done a thing that maybe I do over seldom."' "And what was that?" .said I. " Oh, jusc 9aid my prayers," said he. " And where are my gentry, aa ye call them ? " I asked.

"Gude kens," says he, "and the short and long of it is that we must take our chance of them. Uo with your foot soles, Davie! Forth, Fortune, once again of it J And a bonny walk we are like to have." " So we went east by the beach of the sea. toward where the salt pan* were smoking in by the Esk mouth. No doubt there was a by-ordinary bonny blink of morning sun on Arthur's Seat and the green Peaklands, and the pleasantness of the day appeared to set Alan among nettles. " I feel like a gomeral," says he, " to be leaving Scotland on a. day like this. It sticks in my head. I wouldjnaybe like it better to stay here and hinc." " Ay, but ya would nae, Alan," said I. •« No, but what France is a good place, too," he explained ; ,f bat it's some way no the tame. It's "Drawer, I believe, but it's no Scotland. I like It fine when I'm there man; yet I kind of weary for Scots and the Scots peatreek." " It that's all you have to complain of, Alan, it's no such great affair," said I. "Aud it set mc ill to be complaining, whatever," said he, " and mc but new out of yon de'il's haystack." "A nd so you were unco* weary of your haystack r'l asked. " Weary'g nae word for it," said he, " I'm not just precisely a man that's easily cast down; but Ido better with caller air and the lift above my head. I'm like tbe auld Black Douglas (was nae't?) that likit better to hear the laverock sing than the mouse cheep. And yon place, ye see, Davie—whilk was a very suitable place to hide in, as I'm free to own —was pit mirk from dawn to gloaming. There were days tor nights, for how would I tell one from other?) that seemed to mc as long as along winter."

'• How did you know the hour to bide your tryst ?" I asked. "Toe good man brought rae my meat) and a drop bravely, aud a caudledowp to eat it by, about eleven," said he. "So when I had swallowed a bib it would be time to be getting to the wood. There I lay and wearied for ye sore, Davie," says he, laying his hand on my shoulder, " and guessed when the two hours would be about by—unless Charlie Stewart would come and tell mc on his watch—and then back to the dooms haystack. Na, it was a driech employ and praise the Lord that I have warstled through with it." "What did you do with yourself?" I asked.

"Faith," said he, "the best I could. Whiles I played at the knucklebones. I'm an extraordiuar' good hand at the knucklebones, but it's a poor piece of business playing with naebody to admire ye. And whiles I would make songs." " What were they about ?" says I. "Oh,about the deer aud the heather," says he, " and about tbe ancient old chiefs that are all by with it long syne, and just about what' songs are about in general. And then whiles I would make believe I had a set of pipes and I was playing. I played some grand springs and I thought I played them awful bonny ; I vow whiles that I could hear the squeal of them 1 But the great affair is that io's done with."

With that he canied mc again to my adventures, which he heard all over again with more particularity aud extraordinary approval, swearing at intervals that I was "a queer character of a callant."

"So ye were frich'ened of Syin Frazer?" he asked once.

"In troth was I!" cried I. " bo would I have been, Davie," said he, •' and that is indeed a dreedf ul man. But it is only proper to give the de'il his due; and I can tell you he is a most respectable person on the field of war."

" Is he so brave ?" I asked. " Brave !" said he. " He is as brave as my steel sword." Tbe story of my duel set him beside himself. ■

"To think of that!" he cried. "I showed ye the trick in Corrynakiegh, too. And three time—three times disarmed! It's a disgrace upon my character that learned ye! Here, stand up, out with your aim : ye shall walk no step beyond this place upon the road till ye can do yoursel' and mc mair credit." " Alan," said I, "this is midsummer madness. Here is no time for fencing lessons." "I cannae well say no to that," he admitted. " But three times, man 1 And you standing there like a straw bogle and rinning to fetch your am sword like a doggie with a pocket napkiu. David, this man Duncansby must be something altogether by ordinar'! He mun be extraordinar' skilly. If I had the time I would gang straight back and try a turn at him mysel'. The man must be a provost." " You silly fellow," said I, " you forget it was just mc." " Na," said he, "but three times." "When ye ken yourself that lam fair incompetent," I cried. " Well, I never heard tell the equal of it," said he. "I promise you the one thing, Alan," said I. " The next time that we forgather, I'll be better learned. You shall not continue to bear tbe disgrace of a friend that cannot strike." " Ay*s the next time !" says he. " And when will that be, I would like to ken?" " Well, Alan, I have had some thoughts of that, too," said I, " and my plan is this. It's my opinion to be called an advocate." " That's but a weary trade, Davie," says Alan, " and rather a blagyard one foreby. Ye would be better in a king's coat than that." "And no doubt that would ba-the way to have us meet,"cried I. "But as you'll be in King Lewie's coat and I'll be in King Geordie's we'll have a dainty meeting of it." •

" There's some sense in that," he admitted.

"An advocate, then, it'll have to be," I continued, " and I think it a more suitable trade for a gentleman that" was three times disarmed. But the beauty of the thing is this, that one of the best colleges for that kind of learning—and the one where my kinsman Pilrig made his studies'—is the College of Leyden in Holland. Now, what say you. Alan? Could not a cadet of Royal Ecossais get a furlough, slip over the marches, and call in upon a Leyden student?" " Well, and I would think he could !'• cried he. "Ye see, I stand well iv with my Colonel, Count Druinmohd-Melfort; and what's mair to the purpose, 1 have a cousin of mine, Lieutenant Colonel, in a regiment of the Scots-Dutch. Naeihing could he mair proper than what I would get a leave to see Lieutenant Colonel Stewart of Halkett's. And Lord Melfort, who is a very scientific kind of a man, and writes books like Caesar, would be doubtless very pleased to have the advautage of my observes." " Is Lord Melfort an author, then ?*' I asked, for much as Alan thought of soldiers, I thought more of the gentry that write books." " Tho very same, Davie," said he. " One would think a Colonel would have something better to attend to. But what can I say that makes songs V "Well, then," said I, "it only remains you should give mc an address to write you at in France, aud as soon as I am got to Leyden I will send you mice." "The best will be to write mc in the care of my chieftain," said he. " Charles Stewart, of Ardshell, Esquire, at the town of Melons, in the Isle of France. It might take long or it might take short, but it would ay get to my hands at the last of it." We had a haddock to our breakfast in Musselburgh, where it amused mc vastly to hear Alan. His greatcoat and bootwere extremely remarkable this warm morning, and perhaps t>ome hint of an explanation had been wise ; but Alan went into that matter like a business, or, 1 should rather .say, like a diversion. He engaged the good wife of the house with some compliments upon the rizzoring of our haddock; and the whole of the rest of our stay held her in talk about a cold he had taken on his stomach, gravely relating all manner of symptoms and sufferings, and hearing with a vast show of interest all the old wives' remedies she could supply him with in return. We left Musselburgh before the first ninepenny coach was due from Edinburgh, for (as Alan said) that was a rc-enconucer we might veiw well avoid. Tbe wind although still high was very mild; tbe sun shone Alan began to suffer ia proportion. From Prestonpans he had roe aside to the field of Giadsmuir, where he exerted himself a great deal more than needful to describe the stages of tbe battle. Thence at his old round pace we travelled to Cocken-ie. Though they were building herring-busses there at Mrs Cadell's it seemed a desert-like, back-going town about half full of ruined houses; but the alehouse was clean, and Alan, who vraa now in a glowing heat, must indulge himself with a bottle of ale, and carrying on to the new lucky with the old story of tne cold upon his stomach, only sow the symptoms were all different. I sat listening, and it came in my mind that I had scarce ever heard him address three serious words to any woman, but he j was always drolling and fleering and making a private mock of them, and yet i brought to that business a remarkable degree of energy and interest. Something to '

this effect 1 remarked to him when the good wife (as chanced) was called away. " What do ye want !** says he- " A man should aye put his beat foot forrtt with the womenkind; he should aye giro them a bit of a story to divert them, the poolambs ! It's what ye should learn to attend to, David; ye should get the principle*; it's like a trade. Now, if thishad been a young lassie, or ony ways bonnie, she would never have heard tell of my stomach, Davij*. But aince they're too old to be seeking joes they a set up to be apotecaries. What do I ken ? They'll be just the way God made them, I suppose. But I think a man would be a gomeral that did nae give his attention to the same." And here, tbe lucky coming back, he turned from mc as if with impatience to renew their former conversation. The lady had branched some while before from Alan's stomach to the case of a good brother of her own in Aberlady, whose last sickness and demise she was describing at extraordinary length. Sometimes ie was merely dull, sometimes both dull and awful, for she talked with unction. The upshot was that I fell in a deep muse, looking forth of the window on the road, and scarce marking what I saw. Presently, had any been looking, they might hare seen mc to start. " We pit a fomentation to hi 9 feet," the good wife was saying, " and a het stone to his watne, and we gied him hyssop and water of pennyroyal, aud fine, clean balsam of sulphur for the hoast——" "Sir," said I, cutting very quietly in, "there's a friend of mine gone by tbe house."

"Is that c'en sac V replies Alan, as though it were a thing of small account. And then, "Ye were saying, mem?" aays he; and the wearyfui wife went on. Presently, however, he paid her with a half-crown piece, and she must go forth after the change. , " Was it him with the red head ?" asked Alan.

" Ye have it," said I. " What did I tell you in the wood * he cried. " And yet it's strange he should be here, too ! Was he his lane ?" n " His lee-lane for what I could see, said I.

" Did he gang by ?" he asked. "StraighD by," said I, "andloooked neither to the right nor left." " Aud that's queerer yet," said Alan. "It sticks in my miud, Davie, that we should be stirring. But where to?-deil hae't! This is like old days fairly," cries •*■ There is one big differ, though,' said I, " that now we have money in our pockets. n " And another big differ, Mr Balfour, says he, " that now we have dogs at our tail. They're on the scent; they're in full cry, David. It's a bad business and be damned to it." And he sat thinking hard with a look of his that I knew well. " I'm saying, Luckie," says lie, when the goodwife returned, "have ye a back road out of this change house?" She told him there waa and where it led to

' There, sir," says he to mc, " I think that will be tho shortest road for us. And here's good-by to ye. my braw woman ; and I'll no forget thon of the cinnamon water." , We went out by way of the woman s kale yard, and up a lane among the fields. Alan looked sharply to all sides, and seeing we were in a little hollow place of the country, out of view of men, sat down. " Now for a council of war, Davie," said he. "But, first of all, a bib lesson to ye. Suppose that I had been like you, what would yon old wife have minded of the pair of us? Just that we had gone out by the back gate. And what does she mind now ? A tine, canty, friendly, cracky man, that suffered with the stomach, poor body ! and was real ta'en up about the good brother. O man, David, try and learn to have some kind of intelligence!" "I'll try, Alan," said I. " And now for him of the red head," says he ; " was he gaun fast or slow ?" " Betwixt aud between," said I. " No kind of a hurry about tho man ?" he asked.

■ "Never a sign of it," said I. " Uhm 1" said Alan; "it looks queer. We .saw nothing of them this morning on the Whins; he's passed us by; he does nae seem to be looking, and yet here he is on our road 1 Dod, Davie, I begin to take a notion. I think it's no you they're seeking. I think it's mc ; and I think they ken fine where they gaun." "They ken?" l asked. " I think Andie Scougal's sold me—him or his mate wha kent part of thn affair— or else Charlie's clerk callant, which would be a pity, top," says Alan ; " and if you aakib mefur just my inward private conviction, I ihink there'll beheads cracked on Gillune Sands."

"Altiu," I cried, "ifyou're at all right there'll be folk there and to snare. It'll be small service to crack heads," , "It would ay be a satisfaction, though," says Alan. " But bide a. bit, bide a bit; I'm thinking—and thanks to this bonny west and wind — I believe I'm still a chance of it. It's this way, Davie. I'm no trysted with this man Scougai till the gloaming comes. But," says he, "if I can get a bib of wind oar, of the west I'll be there as long as that," he snys, " and lie-to fur ye behind the Isle of Fidra. Now, if your gentry kens the place, they ken the time forbye. Do yon see mo earning, Davie ? Thanks to Johnny Cope and other red-coat generals, I should ken tuii country like the back of my hand ; and if ye're ready for another bit run with Alan Breck, we'll enn'cast back iv shore, and come down to the seaside atraiu by Dirleton. It the ship's there we'll try and get on board of her. * If she's no there I'll just have to get b<*ck to my weary haystack. But either way of ib 1 think we will leave your gentry whistling on their, thumbs." " I believe there's Home chance iv it." said I. "Hunc on with ye, Alau 1"

{To be continued.)