It was just before the dawn of the next day that Rob came to a decision, which appeared to him the only wise and honest thing to do. He wrote a brief note to Gloom thanking him for his great kindness, and stating that he would be far towards the south by the morning. Then stepping between the gipsies' sleeping forms he came down upon the loch and set off at a trot for Kilmahog. Many days afterwards--days full to the brim of danger and heavy travelling, Rob reached Edinburgh and wandered about the High Street. He had managed to purchase another set of clothes, and for the present he deemed himself safe, and on the morrow he would keep his tryst with Muckle John at Leith. It was about midday that he saw a great coach lumbering over the rude cobbles jolting and groaning, and about it a party of dragoons. A sudden fear gripped him that perchance this was a prisoner, who knew--perhaps Muckle John himself. He pushed his way to the front of the crowd. Nearer clattered the dragoons, a braver sight than when they had entered that same street in the year '45. The horses straining at the coach were level with him now, and he bent forward, his eyes glued to the window. It was but a flash, but he never forgot it. For lolling forward, leering grotesquely either in derision or some kindred emotion, sat Simon, Lord Lovat, bound for London and Tower Hill. His small shrewd eyes travelling over the crowd settled for an instant upon Rob, and contracted suddenly as though he half recollected him, but was not sure. Then he was gone, and that was the last of the Fraser. The scene sobered what little foolhardiness there was left in Rob. It made him walk less abroad. The arm of the law was long, but the arm of the Government was longer. More than once he had a curious intuition on that afternoon that he was being followed. It might be only an accident, but he had run into two slouching frowsy rascals on two separate occasions, and each time they had stared very hard and looked back at him over their shoulders. At last overcome by fear of capture he had taken to his heels and run up one close and down another, being quite unfamiliar with the City, but only anxious to shake off any shadowing. After he had doubled and dodged for a full half-hour he took cover upon an ancient stairway beside the White Horse Inn, and there he waited to see what would happen and whether there were really any upon his trail. It was about five minutes later that the noise of a man panting up the lane set him keeking down to see who came so hastily. To his dismay it was one of the loafers of the afternoon, and hard on his heels the other. They passed at a run and their footsteps died away.