“To come to the bit,” said the at last, looking hard into the bottom of his tankard in a way that was a plain invitation to buy more for him. “To come to the bit, you're wanting out of the country?” “It's true,” said I; “but how do you know? And how do you know my name, for I never saw you to my knowledge in all my life before?” “So much the worse for you; I'm rale weel liked by them that kens me. What would ye give for a passage to Nova Scotia?” “It's a long way,” said I, beginning to see a little clearer. “Ay,” said he, “but I've seen a gey lang rope too, and a man danglin' at the end of it.” Again my face betrayed me. I made no answer. “I ken all aboot it,” he went on. “Your name's Greig; ye're from a place called the Hazel Den at the other side o' the country; ye've been sailing wi' a stiff breeze on the quarter all night, and the clime o' auld Scotland's one that doesna suit your health, eh? What's the amount?” said he, and he looked towards my pocket “Could we no' mak' it halfers?” “Five pounds,” said I, and at that he looked strangely dashed. “Five pounds,” he repeated incredulously. “It seems to have been hardly worth the while.” And then his face changed, as if a new thought had struck him. He leaned over the table and whispered with the infernal tone of a confederate, “Doused his glim, eh?” winking with his hale eye, so that I could not but shiver at him, as at the touch of slime. “I don't understand,” said I. “Do ye no'?” said he, with a sneer; “for a Greig ye're mighty slow in the uptak'. The plain English o' that, then, is that ye've killed a man. A trifle like that ance happened to a Greig afore.” “What's your name?” I demanded. “Am I no tellin' ye?” said he shortly. “It's just Daniel Risk; and where could you get a better? Perhaps ye were thinkin' aboot swappin' names wi' me; and by the Bass, it's Dan's family name would suit very weel your present position,” and the scoundrel laughed at his own humour. “I asked because I was frightened it might be Mahoun,” said I. “It seems gey hard to have ridden through mire for a night and a day, and land where ye started from at the beginning. And how do ye ken all that?” “Oh!” he said, “kennin's my trade, if ye want to know. And whatever way I ken, ye needna think I'm the fellow to make much of a sang aboot it. Still and on, the thing's frowned doon on in this country, though in places I've been it would be coonted to your credit. I'll take anither gill; and if ye ask me, I would drench the butter-milk wi' something o' the same, for the look o' ye sittin' there's enough to gie me the waterbrash. Mrs. Clerihew--here!” He rapped loudly on the table, and the drink coming in I was compelled again to see him soak himself at my expense. He reverted to my passage from the country, and “Five pounds is little enough for it,” said he; “but ye might be eking it oot by partly working your passage.”