“Will you not believe the tears upon my face?” she cried. “It is the world I am thinking of you, Mr. David Balfour. Let them hang you; I will never forget, I will grow old and still remember you. I think it is great to die so: I will envy you that gallows.” “And maybe all this while I am but a child frighted with bogles,” said I. “Maybe they but make a mock of me.” “It is what I must know,” she said. “I must hear the whole. The harm is done at all events, and I must hear the whole.” I had sat down on the wayside, where she took a place beside me, and I told her all that matter much as I have written it, my thoughts about her father’s dealings being alone omitted. “Well,” she said, when I had finished, “you are a hero, surely, and I never would have thought that same! And I think you are in peril, too. O, Simon Fraser! to think upon that man! For his life and the dirty money, to be dealing in such traffic!” And just then she called out aloud with a queer word that was common with her, and belongs, I believe, to her own language. “My torture!” says she, “look at the sun!” Indeed, it was already dipping towards the mountains. She bid me come again soon, gave me her hand, and left me in a turmoil of glad spirits. I delayed to go home to my lodging, for I had a terror of immediate arrest; but got some supper at a change house, and the better part of that night walked by myself in the barley-fields, and had such a sense of Catriona’s presence that I seemed to bear her in my arms. CHAPTER VIII. THE BRAVO The next day, August 29th, I kept my appointment at the Advocate’s in a coat that I had made to my own measure, and was but newly ready. “Aha,” says Prestongrange, “you are very fine to-day; my misses are to have a fine cavalier. Come, I take that kind of you. I take that kind of you, Mr. David. O, we shall do very well yet, and I believe your troubles are nearly at an end.” “You have news for me?” cried I. “Beyond anticipation,” he replied. “Your testimony is after all to be received; and you may go, if you will, in my company to the trial, which in to be held at Inverary, Thursday, 21st _proximo_.” I was too much amazed to find words. “In the meanwhile,” he continued, “though I will not ask you to renew your pledge, I must caution you strictly to be reticent. To-morrow your precognition must be taken; and outside of that, do you know, I think least said will be soonest mended.” “I shall try to go discreetly,” said I. “I believe it is yourself that I must thank for this crowning mercy, and I do thank you gratefully. After yesterday, my lord, this is like the doors of Heaven. I cannot find it in my heart to get the thing believed.”