The paper was very well expressed; beginning with a recitation of the facts about myself, the reward offered for my apprehension, my surrender, the pressure brought to bear upon me; my sequestration; and my arrival at Inverary in time to be too late; going on to explain the reasons of loyalty and public interest for which it was agreed to waive any right of action; and winding up with a forcible appeal to the King’s mercy on behalf of James.
Methought I was a good deal sacrificed, and rather represented in the light of a firebrand of a fellow whom my cloud of lawyers had restrained with difficulty from extremes.
But I let it pass, and made but the one suggestion, that I should be described as ready to deliver my own evidence and adduce that of others before any commission of inquiry—and the one demand, that I should be immediately furnished with a copy.
Colstoun hummed and hawed.
“This is a very confidential document,” said he.
“And my position towards Prestongrange is highly peculiar,” I replied. “No question but I must have touched his heart at our first interview, so that he has since stood my friend consistently.
But for him, gentlemen, I must now be lying dead or awaiting my sentence alongside poor James.
For which reason I choose to communicate to him the fact of this memorial as soon as it is copied.
You are to consider also that this step will make for my protection.
I have enemies here accustomed to drive hard; his Grace is in his own country, Lovat by his side; and if there should hang any ambiguity over our proceedings I think I might very well awake in gaol.”
Not finding any very ready answer to these considerations, my company of advisers were at the last persuaded to consent, and made only this condition that I was to lay the paper before Prestongrange with the express compliments of all concerned.
The Advocate was at the castle dining with his Grace.
By the hand of one of Colstoun’s servants I sent him a billet asking for an interview, and received a summons to meet him at once in a private house of the town.
Here I found him alone in a chamber; from his face there was nothing to be gleaned; yet I was not so unobservant but what I spied some halberts in the hall, and not so stupid but what I could gather he was prepared to arrest me there and then, should it appear advisable.
“So, Mr. David, this is you?” said he.
“Where I fear I am not overly welcome, my lord,” said I. “And I would like before I go further to express my sense of your lordship’s good offices, even should they now cease.”
“I have heard of your gratitude before,” he replied drily, “and I think this can scarce be the matter you called me from my wine to listen to.
I would remember also, if I were you, that you still stand on a very boggy foundation.”
“Not now, my lord, I think,” said I; “and if your lordship will but glance an eye along this, you will perhaps think as I do.”
He read it sedulously through, frowning heavily; then turned back to one part and another which he seemed to weigh and compare the effect of.
His face a little lightened.
“This is not so bad but what it might be worse,” said he; “though I am still likely to pay dear for my acquaintance with Mr. David Balfour.”
“Rather for your indulgence to that unlucky young man, my lord,” said I.
He still skimmed the paper, and all the while his spirits seemed to mend.
“And to whom am I indebted for this?” he asked presently. “Other counsels must have been discussed, I think.
Who was it proposed this private method?
Was it Miller?”
“My lord, it was myself,” said I.
“These gentlemen have shown me no such consideration, as that I should deny myself any credit I can fairly claim, or spare them any responsibility they should properly bear.
And the mere truth is, that they were all in favour of a process which should have remarkable consequences in the Parliament House, and prove for them (in one of their own expressions) a dripping roast.
Before I intervened, I think they were on the point of sharing out the different law appointments.
Our friend Mr. Simon was to be taken in upon some composition.”
Prestongrange smiled.
“These are our friends,” said he. “And what were your reasons for dissenting, Mr. David?”
I told them without concealment, expressing, however, with more force and volume those which regarded Prestongrange himself.
“You do me no more than justice,” said he. “I have fought as hard in your interest as you have fought against mine.
And how came you here to-day?” he asked. “As the case drew out, I began to grow uneasy that I had clipped the period so fine, and I was even expecting you to-morrow.
But to-day—I never dreamed of it.”
I was not of course, going to betray Andie.
“I suspect there is some very weary cattle by the road,” said I.
“If I had known you were such a mosstrooper you should have tasted longer of the Bass,” says he.
“Speaking of which, my lord, I return your letter.” And I gave him the enclosure in the counterfeit hand.
“There was the cover also with the seal,” said he.
“I have it not,” said I. “It bore not even an address, and could not compromise a cat.
The second enclosure I have, and with your permission, I desire to keep it.”
I thought he winced a little, but he said nothing to the point.
“To-morrow,” he resumed, “our business here is to be finished, and I proceed by Glasgow.
I would be very glad to have you of my party, Mr David.”
“My lord . . .” I began.
“I do not deny it will be of service to me,” he interrupted. “I desire even that, when we shall come to Edinburgh, you should alight at my house.