“Where I fear I am not overly welcome, my lord,” said I. “And I would like before I go further to express my sense of your lordship’s good offices, even should they now cease.” “I have heard of your gratitude before,” he replied drily, “and I think this can scarce be the matter you called me from my wine to listen to. I would remember also, if I were you, that you still stand on a very boggy foundation.” “Not now, my lord, I think,” said I; “and if your lordship will but glance an eye along this, you will perhaps think as I do.” He read it sedulously through, frowning heavily; then turned back to one part and another which he seemed to weigh and compare the effect of. His face a little lightened. “This is not so bad but what it might be worse,” said he; “though I am still likely to pay dear for my acquaintance with Mr. David Balfour.” “Rather for your indulgence to that unlucky young man, my lord,” said I. He still skimmed the paper, and all the while his spirits seemed to mend. “And to whom am I indebted for this?” he asked presently. “Other counsels must have been discussed, I think. Who was it proposed this private method? Was it Miller?” “My lord, it was myself,” said I. “These gentlemen have shown me no such consideration, as that I should deny myself any credit I can fairly claim, or spare them any responsibility they should properly bear. And the mere truth is, that they were all in favour of a process which should have remarkable consequences in the Parliament House, and prove for them (in one of their own expressions) a dripping roast. Before I intervened, I think they were on the point of sharing out the different law appointments. Our friend Mr. Simon was to be taken in upon some composition.” Prestongrange smiled. “These are our friends,” said he. “And what were your reasons for dissenting, Mr. David?” I told them without concealment, expressing, however, with more force and volume those which regarded Prestongrange himself. “You do me no more than justice,” said he. “I have fought as hard in your interest as you have fought against mine. And how came you here to-day?” he asked. “As the case drew out, I began to grow uneasy that I had clipped the period so fine, and I was even expecting you to-morrow. But to-day—I never dreamed of it.” I was not of course, going to betray Andie. “I suspect there is some very weary cattle by the road,” said I. “If I had known you were such a mosstrooper you should have tasted longer of the Bass,” says he. “Speaking of which, my lord, I return your letter.” And I gave him the enclosure in the counterfeit hand. “There was the cover also with the seal,” said he. “I have it not,” said I. “It bore not even an address, and could not compromise a cat. The second enclosure I have, and with your permission, I desire to keep it.”