It was actually so—it was actually on the wayside near Tynedrum, and by the connivance of a soldier officer, that Mr. Stewart first saw the witnesses upon the case. “There is nothing that would surprise me in this business,” I remarked. “I’ll surprise you ere I’m done!” cries he. “Do ye see this?”—producing a print still wet from the press. “This is the libel: see, there’s Prestongrange’s name to the list of witnesses, and I find no word of any Balfour. But here is not the question. Who do ye think paid for the printing of this paper?” “I suppose it would likely be King George,” said I. “But it happens it was me!” he cried. “Not but it was printed by and for themselves, for the Grants and the Erskines, and yon thief of the black midnight, Simon Fraser. But could _I_ win to get a copy! No! I was to go blindfold to my defence; I was to hear the charges for the first time in court alongst the jury.” “Is not this against the law?” I asked. “I cannot say so much,” he replied. “It was a favour so natural and so constantly rendered (till this nonesuch business) that the law has never looked to it. And now admire the hand of Providence! A stranger is in Fleming’s printing house, spies a proof on the floor, picks it up, and carries it to me. Of all things, it was just this libel. Whereupon I had it set again—printed at the expense of the defence: _sumptibus moesti rei_; heard ever man the like of it?—and here it is for anybody, the muckle secret out—all may see it now. But how do you think I would enjoy this, that has the life of my kinsman on my conscience?” “Troth, I think you would enjoy it ill,” said I. “And now you see how it is,” he concluded, “and why, when you tell me your evidence is to be let in, I laugh aloud in your face.” It was now my turn. I laid before him in brief Mr. Simon’s threats and offers, and the whole incident of the bravo, with the subsequent scene at Prestongrange’s. Of my first talk, according to promise, I said nothing, nor indeed was it necessary. All the time I was talking Stewart nodded his head like a mechanical figure; and no sooner had my voice ceased, than he opened his mouth and gave me his opinion in two words, dwelling strong on both of them. “Disappear yourself,” said he. “I do not take you,” said I. “Then I’ll carry you there,” said he. “By my view of it you’re to disappear whatever. O, that’s outside debate. The Advocate, who is not without some spunks of a remainder decency, has wrung your life-safe out of Simon and the Duke. He has refused to put you on your trial, and refused to have you killed; and there is the clue to their ill words together, for Simon and the Duke can keep faith with neither friend nor enemy. Ye’re not to be tried then, and ye’re not to be murdered; but I’m in bitter error if ye’re not to be kidnapped and carried away like the Lady Grange. Bet me what ye please—there was their _expedient_!”