Catriona | Page 6

bring you a token from
a friend that you know well. That you know well," I repeated, lowering my voice, "but
maybe are not just so keen to hear from at this present being. And the bits of business that
I have to propone to you are rather in the nature of being confidential. In short, I would
like to think we were quite private."
He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man ill- pleased, sent forth his
clerk of an errand, and shut to the house- door behind him.
"Now, sir," said he, returning, "speak out your mind and fear nothing; though before you
begin," he cries out, "I tell you mine misgives me! I tell you beforehand, ye're either a
Stewart or a Stewart sent ye. A good name it is, and one it would ill-become my father's
son to lightly. But I begin to grue at the sound of it."

"My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for him that sent me, I
will let his token speak." And I showed the silver button.
"Put it in your pocket, sir!" cries he. "Ye need name no names. The deevil's buckie, I ken
the button of him! And de'il hae't! Where is he now!"
I told him I knew not where Alan was, but he had some sure place (or thought he had)
about the north side, where he was to lie until a ship was found for him; and how and
where he had appointed to be spoken with.
"It's been always my opinion that I would hang in a tow for this family of mine," he cried,
"and, dod! I believe the day's come now! Get a ship for him, quot' he! And who's to pay
for it? The man's daft!"
"That is my part of the affair, Mr. Stewart," said I. "Here is a bag of good money, and if
more be wanted, more is to be had where it came from."
"I needn't ask your politics," said he.
"Ye need not," said I, smiling, "for I'm as big a Whig as grows."
"Stop a bit, stop a bit," says Mr. Stewart. "What's all this? A Whig? Then why are you
here with Alan's button? and what kind of a black-foot traffic is this that I find ye out in,
Mr. Whig? Here is a forfeited rebel and an accused murderer, with two hundred pounds
on his life, and ye ask me to meddle in his business, and then tell me ye're a Whig! I have
no mind of any such Whigs before, though I've kent plenty of them."
"He's a forfeited rebel, the more's the pity," said I, "for the man's my friend. I can only
wish he had been better guided. And an accused murderer, that he is too, for his
misfortune; but wrongfully accused."
"I hear you say so," said Stewart.
"More than you are to hear me say so, before long," said I. "Alan Breck is innocent, and
so is James."
"Oh!" says he, "the two cases hang together. If Alan is out, James can never be in."
Hereupon I told him briefly of my acquaintance with Alan, of the accident that brought
me present at the Appin murder, and the various passages of our escape among the
heather, and my recovery of my estate. "So, sir, you have now the whole train of these
events," I went on, "and can see for yourself how I come to be so much mingled up with
the affairs of your family and friends, which (for all of our sakes) I wish had been plainer
and less bloody. You can see for yourself, too, that I have certain pieces of business
depending, which were scarcely fit to lay before a lawyer chosen at random. No more
remains, but to ask if you will undertake my service?"
"I have no great mind to it; but coming as you do with Alan's button, the choice is
scarcely left me," said he. "What are your instructions?" he added, and took up his pen.
"The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this country," said I, "but I need not be
repeating that."
"I am little likely to forget it," said Stewart.
"The next thing is the bit money I am owing to Cluny," I went on. "It would be ill for me
to find a conveyance, but that should be no stick to you. It was two pounds five shillings
and three-halfpence farthing sterling."
He noted it.
"Then," said I, "there's a Mr. Henderland, a licensed preacher and missionary in Ardgour,
that I would like well to get some snuff into the hands of; and, as I daresay you keep
touch with your friends in Appin (so near