“Faith, there was nothing better for it!” said he coolly. “Breuer gave him so much of the juniper for old acquaintance that when I left he was so full of it that he had lost the power of his legs and you might as well try to keep a string of fish standing.” “And it was you took Clancarty ashore?” “Who else? And I don't think it's a great conceit of myself to believe I play-acted the Dutch tarry-breeks so very well, though I was in something of a tremble in case the skipper here would make me out below my guizard's clothes. You may thank your stars the moon was as late of rising this night as a man would be that was at a funeral yesterday.” “And where's the other man who was on this vessel?” I asked, preparing to go. “Come on deck and I'll show you,” said Kilbride, checking a chuckle of amusement at something. We crept softly on deck into the night now slightly lit by a moon veiled by watery clouds. The ship seemed all our own and we were free to leave her when we chose for the small boat hung at her stern. “You were asking for the other one,” said Kilbride. “There he is,” and he pointed to a huddled figure bound upon the waist. “When I came on board after landing Clancarty this stupid fellow discovered I was a stranger and nearly made an outcry; but I hit him on the lug with the loom of an oar. He'll not be observing very much for a while yet, but I was bound all the same to put a rope on him to prevent him disturbing Captain Thurot's sleep too soon.” We spoke in whispers for the night seemed all ear and I was for ever haunted by the reflection that Thurot was divided from us by little more than an inch or two of teak-wood. Now and then the moon peeped through a rift of cloud and lit a golden roadway over the sea, enticing me irresistibly home. “O God, I wish I was in Scotland!” I said passionately. “Less luck than that will have to be doing us,” said Kilbride, fumbling at the painter of the boat. “The hoy sets sail for Calais in an hour or two, and it's plain from your letter we'll be best to be taking her round that length.” “No, not Calais,” said I. “It's too serious a business with me for that. I'm wanting England, and wanting it unco fast.” “_Oh, Dhe!_” said my countryman, “here's a fellow with the appetite of Prince Charlie and as likely to gratify it. What for must it be England, _loachain?_” “I can only hint at that,” I answered hastily, “and that in a minute. Are ye loyal?” “To a fine fellow called MacKellar first and to my king and country after?” “The Stuarts?” said I. He cracked his thumb. “It's all by with that,” said he quickly and not without a tone of bitterness. “The breed of them has never been loyal to me, and if I could wipe out of my life six months of the cursedest folly in Forty-five I would go back to Scotland with the first chance and throw my bonnet for Geordie ever after like the greasiest burgess ever sold a wab of cloth or a cargo of Virginia in Glasgow.”