At the sight of the other my
face crimsoned, for it was the girl who had sung Montrose's song in the
rain.
The little gentleman looked at me severely, and then turned to his
companion. "Is this the fellow, Elspeth?" he inquired. "He looks a
sorry rascal."
The minx pretended to examine me carefully. Her colour was high with
the fresh morning, and she kept tapping her boot with her whip handle.
"Why, yes, Uncle Gregory," she said, "It is the very man, though none
the better for your night's attentions."
"And you say he had no part in Gib's company, but interfered on your
behalf when the madman threatened you?"
"Such was his impertinence," she said, "as if I were not a match for a
dozen crazy hill-folk. But doubtless the lad meant well."
"It is also recorded against him that he assaulted one of His Majesty's
servants, to wit, the trooper John Donald, and offered to hinder him in
the prosecution of his duty."
"La, uncle!" cried the girl, "who is to distinguish friend from foe in
a mellay? Have you never seen a dog in a fight bite the hand of one who
would succour him?"
"Maybe, maybe," said the gentleman. "Your illustrations, Elspeth, would
do credit to His Majesty's advocate. Your plea is that this young man,
whose name I do not know and do not seek to hear, should be freed or
justice will miscarry? God knows the law has enough to do without
clogging its wheels with innocence.
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