“And you would be the more mistaken,” said he. “What makes the differ with me is just my great penetration and knowledge of affairs. But for auld, cauld, dour, deadly courage, I am not fit to hold a candle to yourself. Look at us two here upon the sands. Here am I, fair hotching to be off; here’s you (for all that I ken) in two minds of it whether you’ll no stop. Do you think that I could do that, or would? No me! Firstly, because I havenae got the courage and wouldnae daur; and secondly, because I am a man of so much penetration and would see ye damned first.” “It’s there ye’re coming, is it?” I cried. “Ah, man Alan, you can wile your old wives, but you never can wile me.” Remembrance of my temptation in the wood made me strong as iron. “I have a tryst to keep,” I continued. “I am trysted with your cousin Charlie; I have passed my word.” “Braw trysts that you’ll can keep,” said Alan. “Ye’ll just mistryst aince and for a’ with the gentry in the bents. And what for?” he went on with an extreme threatening gravity. “Just tell me that, my mannie! Are ye to be speerited away like Lady Grange? Are they to drive a dirk in your inside and bury ye in the bents? Or is it to be the other way, and are they to bring ye in with James? Are they folk to be trustit? Would ye stick your head in the mouth of Sim Fraser and the ither Whigs?” he added with extraordinary bitterness. “Alan,” cried I, “they’re all rogues and liars, and I’m with ye there. The more reason there should be one decent man in such a land of thieves! My word is passed, and I’ll stick to it. I said long syne to your kinswoman that I would stumble at no risk. Do ye mind of that?—the night Red Colin fell, it was. No more I will, then. Here I stop. Prestongrange promised me my life: if he’s to be mansworn, here I’ll have to die.” “Aweel aweel,” said Alan. All this time we had seen or heard no more of our pursuers. In truth we had caught them unawares; their whole party (as I was to learn afterwards) had not yet reached the scene; what there was of them was spread among the bents towards Gillane. It was quite an affair to call them in and bring them over, and the boat was making speed. They were besides but cowardly fellows: a mere leash of Highland cattle-thieves, of several clans, no gentleman there to be the captain and the more they looked at Alan and me upon the beach, the less (I must suppose) they liked the look of us. Whoever had betrayed Alan it was not the captain: he was in the skiff himself, steering and stirring up his oarsmen, like a man with his heart in his employ. Already he was near in, and the boat securing—already Alan’s face had flamed crimson with the excitement of his deliverance, when our friends in the bents, either in their despair to see their prey escape them or with some hope of scaring Andie, raised suddenly a shrill cry of several voices.