Robert Lewis Stevenson Fullscreen Catriona (1893)

But do you know, Mr. David? this seems to me a very enterprising lass.

She crops up from every side.

The Government of Scotland appears unable to proceed for Mistress Katrine Drummond, which was somewhat the case (no great while back) with a certain Mr. David Balfour.

Should not these make a good match?

Her first intromission in politics—but I must not tell you that story, the authorities have decided you are to hear it otherwise and from a livelier narrator.

This new example is more serious, however; and I am afraid I must alarm you with the intelligence that she is now in prison.”

I cried out.

“Yes,” said he, “the little lady is in prison.

But I would not have you to despair.

Unless you (with your friends and memorials) shall procure my downfall, she is to suffer nothing.”

“But what has she done?

What is her offence?” I cried.

“It might be almost construed a high treason,” he returned, “for she has broke the king’s Castle of Edinburgh.”

“The lady is much my friend,” I said. “I know you would not mock me if the thing were serious.”

“And yet it is serious in a sense,” said he; “for this rogue of a Katrine—or Cateran, as we may call her—has set adrift again upon the world that very doubtful character, her papa.”

Here was one of my previsions justified: James More was once again at liberty.

He had lent his men to keep me a prisoner; he had volunteered his testimony in the Appin case, and the same (no matter by what subterfuge) had been employed to influence the jury.

Now came his reward, and he was free.

It might please the authorities to give to it the colour of an escape; but I knew better—I knew it must be the fulfilment of a bargain.

The same course of thought relieved me of the least alarm for Catriona.

She might be thought to have broke prison for her father; she might have believed so herself.

But the chief hand in the whole business was that of Prestongrange; and I was sure, so far from letting her come to punishment, he would not suffer her to be even tried.

Whereupon thus came out of me the not very politic ejaculation:

“Ah!

I was expecting that!”

“You have at times a great deal of discretion, too!” says Prestongrange.

“And what is my lord pleased to mean by that?” I asked.

“I was just marvelling”, he replied, “that being so clever as to draw these inferences, you should not be clever enough to keep them to yourself.

But I think you would like to hear the details of the affair.

I have received two versions: and the least official is the more full and far the more entertaining, being from the lively pen of my eldest daughter.

‘Here is all the town bizzing with a fine piece of work,’ she writes, ‘and what would make the thing more noted (if it were only known) the malefactor is a _protegee_ of his lordship my papa.

I am sure your heart is too much in your duty (if it were nothing else) to have forgotten Grey Eyes.

What does she do, but get a broad hat with the flaps open, a long hairy-like man’s greatcoat, and a big gravatt; kilt her coats up to _Gude kens whaur_, clap two pair of boot-hose upon her legs, take a pair of _clouted brogues_ {15} in her hand, and off to the Castle!

Here she gives herself out to be a soutar {16} in the employ of James More, and gets admitted to his cell, the lieutenant (who seems to have been full of pleasantry) making sport among his soldiers of the soutar’s greatcoat.

Presently they hear disputation and the sound of blows inside.

Out flies the cobbler, his coat flying, the flaps of his hat beat about his face, and the lieutenant and his soldiers mock at him as he runs off.

They laughed no so hearty the next time they had occasion to visit the cell and found nobody but a tall, pretty, grey-eyed lass in the female habit!

As for the cobbler, he was ‘over the hills ayout Dumblane,’ and it’s thought that poor Scotland will have to console herself without him.

I drank Catriona’s health this night in public.

Indeed, the whole town admires her; and I think the beaux would wear bits of her garters in their button-holes if they could only get them.

I would have gone to visit her in prison too, only I remembered in time I was papa’s daughter; so I wrote her a billet instead, which I entrusted to the faithful Doig, and I hope you will admit I can be political when I please.

The same faithful gomeral is to despatch this letter by the express along with those of the wiseacres, so that you may hear Tom Fool in company with Solomon.

Talking of _gomerals_, do tell _Dauvit Balfour_.

I would I could see the face of him at the thought of a long-legged lass in such a predicament; to say nothing of the levities of your affectionate daughter, and his respectful friend.’

So my rascal signs herself!” continued Prestongrange. “And you see, Mr. David, it is quite true what I tell you, that my daughters regard you with the most affectionate playfulness.”

“The gomeral is much obliged,” said I.

“And was not this prettily done!” he went on.

“Is not this Highland maid a piece of a heroine?”

“I was always sure she had a great heart,” said I. “And I wager she guessed nothing . . .

But I beg your pardon, this is to tread upon forbidden subjects.”