'And in whose friendship is the Master?' he asked.
'In our country of Carrick he has an auld friendship with Auchendrayne,
and a good-going feud with the Earl, his brother; but recently he has
taken up with the Lord of Garthland in Galloway and married his sister.'
'Tell him from me,' said the minister of Edinburgh, 'to bide close in
Galloway and get him bairns in peace. For gin he comes back to Carrick,
of a surety his head shall be the next to fall.'
'And why so?' said I.
'Because,' said Maister Robert Bruce, 'John Mure designs that there
shall be no power in Carrick nor in the Shire of Ayr besides his own and
that of the Earl--till he get time to have him also killed. I tell you
Auchendrayne hath the brains of any three of you.'
'And of the treasure of Kelwood, what?' said I.
'That,' said the minister, meditating, 'is a little forth of my
province. But, if ye will know, I think it is in the keeping of some of
Auchendrayne's tools. And I advise you, ere ye look for revenge, to go
seek for it.' I was silent, for I hoped that he would tell me yet more.
'The treasure of Kelwood will lead you to your aim. I think ye will find
that the same hands which reft it away are red with the blood of your
master. And one thing I am sure of--that within that treasure chest lie
your love, your land, and your lordship!'
I asked him what he meant, but he would not tell me more clearly. Only
this he said, speaking like them that have the second sight,--
'James Stuart being what he is--a treasure-seeker--and John, Earl of
Cassillis, being what he is--a treasure-gripper--if ye find the kist, ye
have them both in your hand. And therein (or I am a false prophet) lie,
as I say, your love, your land, and your lordship.'
Then I asked him if he had any counsel to give me ere I went.
'Be brave,' he said, 'read your Testament. Tell no lies. Carry no
tales. Seek carefully for the man that wears the grey cloak, and then
for the man that runs like a beast and carries the knife in his teeth.'
He went to the window as one that has spoken his last word.
'Hear ye that?' he said. 'That is the warrant for my heading.'
There circulated a great crowd of people without, apprentices and
suchlike mostly, with here and there among them a decent, responsible
man of the trades. They were singing at the utmost pitch of their
voices:--
'We'll hae nae mair Jeems Davie-son,
Davie's son--Davie's son!
We'll gie his loons the spavie sune,
Spavie sune, spavie sune,
An' the deil may tak Jeems Davie-son.'
'They might as well shear my head at once as sing that song,' said
Maister Robert Bruce. 'There is nothing that James Stuart likes so ill
as to be called the son of Davie, unless it be the man who upholds the
right of private judgment!'
'Ah,' he cried again, 'the Blue Blanket--this waxes serious. I must put
on my gown and sally forth.'
Then up the Canon gate there came a great crowd of citizens all marching
together and crying, 'God and the Kirk! God and the Kirk!' And in the
midst there was borne the famous flag that has ever staggered in the
front of a bicker, foretelling storms and the shaking of thrones--the
Blue Blanket of the trades of Edinburgh.
Robert Bruce drew his black Geneva gown about him, and taking his little
Bible and his oak staff in his hand he went out. As he stood forth upon
his step, he was hailed with shouts of joy and rejoicing.
'Hearken Maister Bruce! Hear the minister! God and the Kirk! Doon wi'
Jeemie Fat-Breeks!'
And the Blue Blanket wavered and waggled, being borne this way and that
by the press. All about the skirts of the crowd, and down the closes
angry drums were beating, and a hundred idle 'prentices thundered on
great folk's doors and garred the window panes rattle on the
causeway--which was a sin when glass was so dear, and to be seen in so
few places besides the citizen houses of the great.
'Men of Edinburgh,' cried Bruce, 'hear your minister. Wherefore this
tumult? I bid you to depart quietly to your homes. We have a
difference with the King, it is true; but let us who are the servants of
God and of the Kirk of Scotland settle our own affairs with the King.
What is your concern in the matter?'
But the more he spoke of the King the more loud grew the tumult.
'God and the Kirk! God and the Kirk!' they cried, and the Blue Blanket
waved higher than ever, being held up by one man standing upon the
shoulders of other two.
'Ay, ay, even so; it is a good cry,' said the minister; 'but it would
set you better to be a little more ready to obey both God and the Kirk
at other times. The most part of you know not for what cause ye are
come together. Ye want to roll your minister's head in the dust--'
'No, no!' cried the throng; 'we will keep you safe, or know the reason
why.'
'Depart--scatter instantly to your firesides!' cried Bruce. 'And so ye
will the better serve the Kirk of Scotland and me, her unworthy
servant.'
And with this he motioned to them with his hands, dismissing them. So
great was his power that they went, scattering like peet reek on a windy
day. In a minute or two there was not one of them to be seen on the
street. The minister and I were left alone.
'What think ye, Launcelot? Why stand ye so moody?' my companion said to
me.
I told him that I liked not much to tell him; that it was no fitting
thought to tell a minister.
'Say on,' he said. 'I have listed to strange speeches in my time.'
'Well then, sir,' I made answer, 'I was thinking what a pity to see so
many limber lads with stark pikes in their hands, and nobody a penny the
worse! I would to God I had them in Carrick. John Mure of Auchendrayne
would hear news of it right briskly.'
The minister clapped me on the back.
'Ah, Launce, it will be a strange Heaven that you win to, unless you
mend your ways. Ye are nocht but a wild Carrick savage. But ye maun
e'en dree your weird, young Launcelot, and auld Robert Bruce maun dree
his. Fare ye weel.'
So we parted there on the steps of his own house. And with that I
betook me to horse, and forth through the turbulent city that could yet
make so little of its tulzies; and as I went I thought, 'Lord, Lord, for
one hour of Gilbert Kennedy and me to show them a better way of it; or
even Robert Harburgh. And it would be like capturing Heaven by
violence, to enter Holyrood House in the way of stouthrief and spulzie!'
But I only thought these things without intent to do them, for I am a
King's man and peaceable--besides which, I had but lately spoken good
words to a minister of religion. Nevertheless, what a booty would there
not have been in that palace at the Canongate foot! Not that I would
lay hand upon a stiver of it, even if I got the chance, but the thought
of it was marvellously refreshing, I own.
*CHAPTER XXXII*
*GREEK MEETS GREEK.*
Then as I journeyed south I saw my work set out like a perspective
before me. As the minister had said, the treasure of Kelwood and the
death of my master hung by one string. The House of the Red Moss was
very near to the sandhills of Ayr, and there could be little doubt that
the hand which had sped the bloody dagger was the hand that had brought
my master to his death.
As the drawbridge clanged down for me to ride once more within the house
of Culzean, and lazy Gib stretched himself to cry that all was well, I
took a resolve. It was to tell Helen Kennedy all that I knew, and ask
her judgment upon it--though I have small notion (for ordinary) of
women's discretion. So, when the greetings were said, I took my
opportunity and came to her when she was walking in the garden apart,
where the apple trees grow. When she had heard all, she said, 'Launce,
you and I must ride to Auchendrayne.'
'Well,' said I, 'and what then? Shall we bid Grieve Allison have our
coffins in readiness against our return feet first?'
'We shall see my sister Marjorie,' she said, without heeding my words,
'and take counsel with her. They will not kill us within the house of
Auchendrayne while she is alive.'
'I believe not that we shall even have the chance of speech with her,' I
replied, 'but we may at least go and see. Whether we ever win back to
Culzean is another matter.'
But Nell was mainly set on it, and I did not counter her, it being so
that I was to ride in her company--for, indeed, I myself desired greatly
to see the famous tower where dwelled a man so potent and so evil. The
next day it happened that I went to Maybole and found mine ancient
friend, Robert Mure, Dominie and Session Clerk of the town. He sat
gloomily in his school and bowed his head on his hands, for he had never
looked up nor taken pleasure in life since they laid my master in the
burying-place of his folk within the kirkyaird of Maybole. The school
hummed about him, but he took little heed. His old alertness seemed
quite gone from him. And when I came in he only lifted his head a
moment and nodded, falling back again at once into his new melancholy.
His pipes lay beside him indeed, but so long as I was there I did not
see him recreate himself upon them--as had been his ordinary wont,
playing pibrochs for his scholars' delectation at every pause in the
day's occupations.
'Dominie,' said I, 'there is one thing I want--'
'Say on,' said he, briefly, not looking at me.
'I want speech with William Dalrymple, the lad that carried the letter
to Auchendrayne the day before my lord's death.'
'Of what good is the like of that?' said he. 'Will all the speech in
the world bring back him that's gane?'
'No,' said I, going nearer to him and speaking under my breath, 'but it
may help us to his murderer.'
'Eh, what?' said the master, sitting up as gleg as a cat at a mousehole,
'"His murderer," said ye? Are not Thomas of Drummurchie and Mure of
Cloncaird his declared murderers?'
'Ay,' said I, 'exactly--his "declared" murderers.'
'Speak either less or mair--let us hae done wi' parables!' quoth the
Dominie.
'What think ye,' said I, 'of the Grey Man that stood behind and waved
them on, like a pilot guiding a ship into a port? I mean the man that
threw the dagger into the Red House. I mean the man that let loose the
scum of the Tolbooth on us of Cassillis the day of "Clear the
Causeway."'
'And who might he be?' said the Dominie, breaking in upon me, for some
of these things he was not acquainted with.
'First bring in the laddie,' said I.
So Dominie Mure brought Dalrymple in to a private place, and having
dismissed the school, we proceeded faithfully to examine him. I asked
him to tell me all that had befallen that fateful day, from the time I
had seen him run up the Kirk Vennel, to the time when he came to me
again upon the green at my play, and making a poor hand of it with
another man's clubs.
The boy began his tale well enough, like one that says a well-learned
lesson; but in the very midst, when, somewhat severely, I bade him say
over again what he had already said, he broke out into a passion of
weeping and begging us to have mercy upon him--for that he was but a
laddie and had been commanded upon pain of his death to tell the tale
which he had told us at the first.
So we bade him to speak freely, to tell no lie anymore and all would yet
be well. So he told us how he had gone fleet-foot to Auchendrayne and
had there found John Mure, the master thereof, sitting in the great
chamber with Walter of Cloncaird. He described how that he had given
the letter into the Laird's hands, even as he had been bidden. When Mure
had read it, he handed it over to Cloncaird. But he, swearing that he
was not gleg at the parson-work, bade Auchendrayne to read it aloud for
him. Which, when he did, they looked long and strangely at one another.
And at last John Mure said, 'I should not wonder, Cloncaird, but
something might come out of this.'
Then the boy told how they had gripped him, set a naked dagger to his
throat, and afterwards made him swear to take the letter back to them
that sent him, saying that he had gone to Auchendrayne, but had returned
without seeing the Laird.
'Say,' said Mure, 'that the servant bade you take back the letter
unopened, because that his master was afield and he knew not when he
would be home. So,' concluded the boy, 'even thus I did! And this is
all the truth, or may God strike me dead!'
The Dominie and I looked each at the other in our turns.
'The Grey Man himself,' said I.
'The Black Deil himsel'!' said he.
'We will exorcise him, black or grey!' cried the Dominie. 'I am going
direct to the bailies and elders to tell them that this school has
vacation till it pleases me to take it up again.'
So he went out and I waited alone with the boy William Dalrymple, whose
rosy and innocent face was all beblubbered with weeping.
I slapped him on the shoulder and bade him take heart because he had
found friends. Then I also told him that on the morrow he must come
with me to the Earl of Cassillis, and by-and-by it might be to the King
himself.
'Will the Dominie come too?' the boy asked very anxiously.
So when I told him that he would, he seemed more satisfied, and asked
leave to go home to his mother.
I had, indeed, something to tell Nell Kennedy that night when I rode
home from Maybole. And upon the head of it we two sat long in talk, and
were more than ever set on riding to Auchendrayne. But first we decided
that the Dominie and I should carry William Dalrymple to the Earl, that
he might certify to him what he had already testified to us at the
schoolhouse in the Kirk Vennel.
But on the morrow we, that is the Dominie and I, had it set to ride to
Cassillis by way of Maybole. On the way we came to the little hut of
the widow Dalrymple, for William was a town's bursar, and so got his
learning from the Session as a poor scholar. The door was shut, and a
neighbour's wife cried to us that both the boy and his mother had gone
on to Cassillis before us. So we rode forward. Yet we must have missed
them on the way, for when we came to the castle yett there was nobody
there before us, and the Earl himself had ridden forth to the hawking by
the waterside.
Then came out to us foolish Sir Thomas Tode with his long story, which
began as usual with the Black Vault of Dunure, and was proceeding by
devious ways when his wife came round the corner--whereat right briskly
he changed his tune.
'And as I was saying,' he said, 'on Tuesday seven nights we had a shrewd
frost that nipped the buds.'
'It is as well for you, old dotard,' cried his wife, listening a moment,
'I had thought ye were at your auld tricks again.'
So we went in, and were busily partaking of the cheer of Mistress Tode
when we became aware of the noise of altercation without.
'Save us,' said the cook, 'it is a mercy that neither my lord nor my
lady are within gate, wi' a' that narration of noise outbye! What can
it be at a'?'
And she went out to inquire.
But if the disturbance was loud before, it certainly became ten times
worse when Mistress Tode disappeared. I got up to look, and the Dominie
followed me. We saw a tall, grey-haired woman stand upon the causeway
of the courtyard, with one hand on her hip, and with the other tossing
back the straying witch locks from her brow.
'Where's my boy, Mistress Tode?' cried the newcomer fiercely, to our
friend the cook, who stood upon the steps. 'What hae ye dune wi' my
laddie at the black house of Cassillis? He left his hame to come here,
by command o' my lord and young Launce of Culzean, at five this morning.
An' Jock Edgar met him set on a pony between twa men on horseback, and
he declares that the puir lad was greeting sair. What hae ye dune wi'
him, ye misleared, ill-favoured Tode woman that ye are?'
'Weel ken ye, Meg Dalrymple,' cried Mistress Thomas Tode, 'that I wadna
steal ony chance-gotten loon of yours. Faith na, I wadna fyle my
parritch-spurtle on his back. We shelter nae lazy gaberlunzie speldrons
in the house of Cassillis. There is enough rack and ruin about the
countryside as it is, withoot gatherin' in every gipsy brat and prowling
night-hawk to its walls. Gin ye come here to insult my master, a belted
Earl, I'll e'en set the dowgs on ye, ye gruesome ill-tongued limmer
woman!'
I saw that this was to be altogether another kind of tulzie from those
clattering bickers of the sword-blades, that I knew something about. So
I signed to the Dominie to be silent, for here of a surety were two
foemen worthy of each other's points.
'Ye shall cast no stour in my e'en, certes,' cried Meg Dalrymple. 'I
ken ye, ye auld yeld crummie Tode. Ye hae nae bairns o' your ain, and
ye wad kidnap the bonny bairn o' a decent woman.'
'I daresay no, "nae bairns o' my ain," quo' she,' cried Mistress Tode,
roused to high anger. 'I micht hae had as mony as a clockin' hen, gin I
had gane the gate ye gaed, Meg Dalrymple. I'll hae the law on ye, ye
randy, casting up my man's infirmity to me.'
'Your "man," quo' she,' retorted Meg Dalrymple, 'ca' ye that auld bundle
o' dish-clouts tied aboot wi' hippens--a man! Save us, one micht as
soon bed ayont a pair of auld duddy breeks!'
'Ay, my man,' cried Mistress Tode, 'what hae ye to say, ye shameless
woman, again Sir Thomas Tode, that has been Earl's chaplain for forty
year and my lawfu' wedded man for ten?'
Mistress Tode rang out the titles like a herald now, when her husband
was gainsayed and made light of. But we know that on occasions she could
treat him cavalierly enough.
'I wad as sune mairry a heather cow for soopin' the rink at the channel
stanes,' cried Meg Dalrymple. And this implication bit deeper into the
feelings of the lady of Sir Thomas Tode than all the other reproaches,
for the brush of tonsure hair was a sore subject of jesting with her, as
I well knew.
'I hae telled ye,' Mistress Tode cried, pausing a moment with her hand
on her side, as if to keep command of herself, 'I hae telled ye, woman,
that we only deal with kenned and authenticate folk in this hoose--no
wi' orra loons, that nane kens wha belangs them! And I wad hae ye ken
also that I am no to be named a liar by the likes o you, Meg
Dalrymple--me that has been keeper o' the larder keys o' this Earl's
castle for fifteen year, me that has had the outgiving o' all
plenishing, the power o' down-sitting and on-putting, and never has been
checked in a bodle's worth. Gang hame, ye Canaanitish woman, and I doot
na ye'll find your brat safe in the town's bridewell. It will learn ye
to bide from decent folk's houses, making such a cry about your wastrel
runnagates.'
'Keep your ill tongue for that disjaskit, ill-put-thegither rachle o'
banes that ye hae for guidman,' cried the widow Dalrymple. 'Weel do I
ken that ye hae my bairn hidden awa' somegate amang ye. Sic a trade as
has been hauden wi' the puir bit laddie for carryin' a letter to the
Laird o' Auchendrayne. An' the like o' you to stand in my road, Tode
woman, you that is weel kenned in sax pairishes for an ill-tongued
gipsy. I'll hae ye proclaimed at the market cross, a lord's cook though
ye be, gin ye dinna gie me hame my bairn wi' me!'
'Na,' said Mistress Tode, more quietly, 'an' you'll no. Ye'll e'en ask
my pardon and gang quietly away to your hame by yoursel.
'And wha is gaun to gar me to that?' said Meg Dalrymple.
'Just me and this bonny wee bit mannikie here,' said Mistress Thomas
Tode, turning round unexpectedly and catching the Dominie Mure by the
arm. She pushed him forward and clapped him in a knowing way on the
shoulder. 'Just this decent snod bit mannikie!' she said again.
'Woman,' said the Dominie, very indignantly, 'what have I to do with
your quarrels and tongue-thrashings?'
'Just this, honest man,' said Mistress Tode; 'ye keep the Session
records o' the parish o' Maybole. And if this ill-tongued woman disna
gang hame doucely and quaitly, ye are the man that is going to gie me a
sicht and extract o' them, under date fourteenth o' Januar, fifteen
hundred and aughty years.'
The stroke told. Meg Dalrymple grew silent. The anger faded out of her
face suddenly as the shining on wet sea sand when you lift your foot.
The warlike crook of her elbow flattened to a droop. For the Session
records of the Kirk of Scotland are the nearest thing to the Books of
the Recording Angel, and the opening of them is a little Day of Judgment
to half the parish.
But we could not let the poor woman depart in this fashion. I stepped
to the door from behind the pillar where I had been listening for the
ending of the fray.
'Mistress Dalrymple,' I said, very quietly, 'your lad has never come to
Cassillis at all. We came here to meet him. He must have lost his way.'
'Maister Launcelot,' said Meg Dalrymple, in a changed voice, 'ye come o'
a guid, kind hoose, and ye tell no lies. I am free to believe you. But
my bairn is tint a' the same. What will I do! Oh, what will I do?'
'Go home and bide quiet,' I bade her, gently. 'I shall myself speak to
the Earl. And fear not but we will find your lad if he be in the land.'
*CHAPTER XXXIII*
*THE DEVIL IS A GENTLEMAN*
But William Dalrymple was not to be so easily gotten. High and low he
was sought for, but no trace of him was found. A girl had seen him
taking the road to Cassillis with the dust rising behind him, as was his
wont. For, as I have said, he was the best runner in the school of
Maybole, and in the winter forenights he kept himself in fine practice
with outrunning Rob Nickerson, the town's watchman.
So on a day, since no better might be, Nell Kennedy and I rode out to
Auchendrayne. At first we had it trysted to go by ourselves, but
Dominie Mare declared that he would come with us--'and wait in the hall,
if ye were asked to gang ben',' as he said, meaningly.
'For they might put you and the lassie awa', and never hear mair of it.
But even John Mure and his son would think twice before they either
sequestered or murdered the Dominie o' Maybole, and the Clerk of the
Kirk Session thereof.'
So, though his coming with us wearied Nell and myself somewhat and
hindered our discourse on the journey, it all turned out for the best in
the end, as things that are bitter in the taking often do.
I was, I will own, monstrously curious to see the tower of Auchendrayne
and the surroundings of it; for there were strange rumours in the
countryside concerning gangs of wild, savage folk that sometimes camped
under the trees, and tales of horrid faces which might at any moment
glower at you from the dark bole of a gnarled oak.
But this fair sunshiny day we that rode saw nothing but the leaves
rustling and clashing above us, and heard nothing but the sough and
murmur of the Doon water beneath us. Auchendrayne is a place hidden
among woods--set on a knoll, indeed, but with trees all about it, not
conspicuous and far-regarding like the Newark or Culzean.
When first we saw it the grey battlements looked pleasantly enough out
of the greenery, basking as peacefully in the sun as though they had
risen over the abode of some hermit or saint. We saw nought of the
customary stir and bustle of an habited house about the mansion of
Auchendrayne. None ran to the office houses. None carried bundle nor
drove cattle about the home parks. It was a peace like that of a
Sabbath day. 'A black devil's Sabbath!' said the Dominie, grimly. And
in truth there was something not altogether canny about thus coming to a
dead and silent house, with the sun shining hot and the broad common day
all about and above.
Nor even when we dismounted did any servant or retainer come forth to
meet or challenge us. We did not see so much as the flutter of a banner
or the gleam of a steel cap. Only there about us was the silent
courtyard, with the heat of noon trembling athwart it, and the very
paving stones clean swept like a table before the feast is set.
I tied our horses to the iron ring of a louping-on stone which stood at
the angle of the wall by the gate, thinking as I did so that if only
these foot-worn steps could speak, they could tell a tale worth
hearkening to of strange venturings and bloody quests.
Also I loosened my sword, and I think I saw the Dominie lay his hand to
his hip, ere Nell and I set forward together. We went up the steps of
the outside stair, and as we did so we came within hearing of a little
continuous murmur of hoarse sound. The doors were all open, and I wot
well that we walked softly and with our hearts in our mouths, for the
silence and the strangeness of the deadly house of Auchendrayne daunted
me more than the clash of swords or the crack of pistols. But I had
Nell Kennedy by me, and I would have gone to destruction's pit-mouth for
her sake--because, saving my father and mother, she was the only friend
I had.
Suddenly, in our advance, we came to the door of a great hall, where, at
the upper end, was a table in the midst. The windows were narrow and
high, throwing down but a dim light upon the rush-strewn floor. There
were many servants and others sitting in the hall, and at the further
end stood one who read from a book. As soon as our eyes became
accustomed to the cool duskiness after the white equal glare without, I
perceived that the reader was none other than John Mure himself. About
him there sat all his servants and retainers, both men and women.
It was the crown of my astonishment to hear that the book from which he
read was the Bible, and also that as he went on he made comments like a
minister expounding his morning chapter, speaking very seasonably and
fitly, and eke with excellent judgment and sense. Or so at least it
seemed to me, for I am not enough of a clerk to be a judge of
expositions, though my father has the two great leather-bound volumes of
Clerk _Erasmus his Paraphrases_, on the shelf over the mantel. But
though he is fond of these himself, he never rubbed any of his liking
into me.
But we were hearkening to the reading of John Mure in his own hall of
Auchendrayne.
'"Fill ye up, then, the measures of your fathers,"' somewhat in this
fashion he read from his place. '"Ye serpents, ye generation of vipers,
how shall ye escape the damnation of hell? Wherefore behold I send unto
you prophets and wise men and scribes; and some of them ye shall kill
and crucify, and some of them shall ye scourge in your synagogues, and
persecute them from city to city--that upon you may come all the
righteous blood shed upon the earth, from the blood of righteous Abel
unto the blood of Zacharias, son of Barachias, whom ye slew between the
temple and the altar. Verily I say unto you, all these things shall
come upon this generation."'
Having read this word, which, knowing what I knew, I had thought would
have made him sink through the earth with the fear of condemnation, John
Mure commented upon it, showing how it applied to such as refused the
right gospel way and walked in devious courses, careless of God and man.
Then he went on with his reading in the same clear and solemn voice,
though he must perforce have seen us stand in the hall door.
So soon as the reading was over, the great company of the retainers
decently took their departure, walking out soberly and without hurry.
Then came John Mure down from the dais with the Bible yet in his hand,
and welcomed us with a condescension that was quaint and uncanny.
'Ye have gotten us at our devotions, Mistress Helen, and you Master
Launcelot, and Dominie Mure--my good cousin. You could not have found
us better employed.'
'Do ye believe what ye read?' asked the Dominie, quickly.
'Whatever is a means to an end, that I believe in--even as you believe
in your taws and birch twigs. The reading of Scripture threatenings
makes quiet bairns, and so does the birch.'
'What think ye of the blood of righteous Abel?' said the Dominie--with,
methought, more boldness than discretion. 'Will it cry from the ground,
think ye?'
The Laird of Auchendrayne looked at the little Dominie, as one might
upon a fractious but entertaining bairn.
'It is a point much disputed. Ye had better ask our Launcelot's friend,
Maister Robert Bruce, Minister of Edinburgh, if perchance his head be
yet upon his shoulders.'
Which saying showed me that John Mure knew more than I had given him the
credit for.
Then he turned to Nell.
'You would wish to see the young Lady Auchendrayne?' he said
courteously.