It was likely between one and two; the moon (as I have said) was down; a strongish wind, carrying a heavy wrack¹ of cloud, had set in suddenly from the west; and we began our movement in as black a night as ever a fugitive² or a murderer wanted. The whiteness of the path guided us into the sleeping town of Broughton, thence through Picardy, and beside my old acquaintance the gibbet of the two thieves. A little beyond we made a useful beacon³, which was a light in an upper window of Lochend. Steering⁴ by this, but a good deal at random⁵, and with some trampling⁶ of the harvest, and stumbling and falling down upon the banks, we made our way across country, and won forth⁷ at last upon the linky, boggy⁸ muirland that they call the Figgate Whins. Here, under a bush of whin, we lay down the remainder of that night and slumbered⁹.  
The day called us 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 [pg 139]sight of my friend since we were parted, and I looked upon him with enjoyment¹⁰. He had still the same big great-coat on his back; but (what was new) he had now a pair of knitted boot-hose drawn¹¹ above the knee. Doubtless these were intended for disguise; but, as the day promised to be warm, he made a most unseasonable figure.
 
"Well, Davie," said he, "is this no a bonny morning? Here is a day that looks the way that a day ought to. This is a great change of it from the belly¹² 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.
 
"O, just said my prayers," said he.
 
"And where are my gentry¹³, as ye call them?" I asked.
 
"Gude kens¹⁴," says he; "and the short and the long of it is that we must take our chance of them. Up with your foot-soles, Davie! Forth, Fortune, once again of it! And a bonny walk we are like to have."
 
So we went east by the beach of the sea, towards where the salt-pans 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 Pentlands; and the pleasantness of the day appeared to set Alan among nettles¹⁶.
 
"I feel like a gomeral," says he, "to be leaving Scotland [pg 140]on a day like this. It sticks in my head; I would maybe like it better to stay here and hing."
 
"Ay, but ye wouldnae, Alan," said I.
 
"No but what France is a good place too," he explained; "but it's some way no the same. It's brawer, I believe, but it's no Scotland. I like it fine when I'm there, man; yet I kind of weary for Scots divots and the Scots peat-reek."
 
"If that's all you have to complain of, Alan, it's no such great affair," said I.
 
"And it sets me ill to be complaining, whatever," said he, "and me but new out of yon de'il's haystack."
 
"And so you were unco' weary of your haystack?" I asked.
 
"Weary's nae word for it," said he. "I'm not just precisely¹⁷ a man that's easily cast down; but I do better with caller air and the lift above my head. I'm like the auld¹⁸ Black Douglas (wasnae'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 (or nights, for how would I tell one from other?) that seemed to me as long as a long winter."
 
"How did you know the hour to bide¹⁹ your tryst²⁰?" I asked.
 
"The goodman brought me my meat and a drop [pg 141]brandy, and a candle-dowp to eat it by, about eleeven," said he. "So, when I had swallowed a bit, 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 me on his watch--and then back to the dooms²¹ 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 extraordinar 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.
 
"O, about the deer and the heather," says he, "and about the ancient old chiefs that are all by with it long syne²², 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 vow²³ whiles that I could hear the squeal²⁴ of them! But the great affair is that it's done with."
 
With that he carried me again to my adventures, which he heard all over again with more particularity, and extraordinary approval, swearing at intervals²⁵ that I was "a queer character of a callant."
 
[pg 142]"So ye were frich'ened of Sym Fraser?" he asked once.
 
"In troth was I!" cried I.
 
"So would I have been, Davie," said he. "And that is indeed a dreidful 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."
 
The story of my duel²⁶ set him beside himself.
 
"To think of that!" he cried. "I showed ye the trick in Corrynakiegh too. And three times--three times disarmed²⁷! It's a disgrace upon my character that learned ye! Here, stand up, out with your airn; ye shall walk no step beyond this place upon the road till ye can do yoursel' and me 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! And you standing²⁸ there like a straw bogle and rinning to fetch your ain sword like a doggie with a pocket-napkin! David, this man Duncansby must be something altogether by-ordinar! He maun 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 me."
 
[pg 143]"Na," said he, "but three times!"
 
"When ye ken¹⁵ yourself that I am 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 the disgrace of a friend that cannot strike."
 
"Ay, 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 forb............