"Tut, Master Burnet," said he, "I will not be taking your money. But I’m wae to see you in trouble. I’ll take you over the nicht for the twenty pieces, and if I lose on the venture, you can make it up to me. It’s safer carrying you and running straight for the pier, than carrying schiedam and dodging about the Bass. And I’m not a man that need count his pennies. Forbye, I see there’s a lady in the case, and I deem it my duty to assist you." I was at first astonished by the man’s ready compliance, but when I saw that he was sincere, I thanked him to the best of my power. "Be sure I shall not forget this service, Captain Steen," said I; "and if it is ever in my power to serve you in return, you may count on me. You will take some refreshment before you go;" and, calling Nicol, I bade him see to the stranger’s wants. Meantime it behooved me to be up and doing if I was to sail that night. I knew not what to think of the news I had heard, for, as I thought upon the matter, it seemed so incredible that aught could have gone wrong that I began to set it all down to mere loneliness and a girl’s humours. The strangeness of the letter I explained with all the sophistry of care. She did not wish to disturb me and bring me home before my time. This was what she meant when she said she was not free to write her will. But at the end her desolateness had overmastered her, and she had finished with a piteous appeal. Even so I began to reason, and this casuistry put me in a more hopeful frame of mind. It was right that I should go home, but when I got there I should find no cause for fear. But there was much to be done in the town and the college ere I could take my departure. So when I had paid all the monies that I owed, and bidden farewell to all my friends (among whom Sir William Crichtoun and Master Quellinus were greatly affected), I returned to my lodgings. There I found Nicol in great glee, preparing my baggage. He was whistling the "Lawlands of Holland," and every now and then he would stop to address himself. "Ye’re gaun hame," I heard him saying, "ye’re gaun hame to the hills and the bonny water o’ Tweed, and guid kindly Scots folk, after thae frostit Hollanders, and fine tasty parritsh and honest yill after the abominable meats and drinks o’ this stawsome hole. And ye’d better watch your steps, Nicol Plenderleith, my man, I’m tellin’ ye, and keep a calm sough, for there’s a heap o’ wark to be dune, and some o’ it geyan wanchancy." "Good advice, Nicol," said I, breaking in upon him; "see that you keep to it." "Is that you, Maister John? Ye’ll be clean high aboot gaun back. Ye’ll hae seen a’ that’s to be seen here, for after a’ it’s no a great place. And ye maun mind and put a bottle o’ French brandy in your valise, or you’ll be awfu’ oot on the sea. I think it’s likely to be coorse on the water."