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"Ah, well," said I, "but I am owing your uncle at least for some
springs upon the pipes. Besides which, I have offered myself to be
your friend, and you have been so forgetful that you did not refuse
me in the proper time."
"If it had been a great sum, it might have done you honour," said
she; "but I will tell you what this is. James More lies shackled
in prison; but this time past they will be bringing him down here
daily to the Advocate's. . . ."
"The Advocate's!" I cried. "Is that . . . ?"
"It is the house of the Lord Advocate Grant of Prestongrange," said
she. "There they bring my father one time and another, for what
purpose I have no thought in my mind; but it seems there is some
hope dawned for him. All this same time they will not let me be
seeing him, nor yet him write; and we wait upon the King's street
to catch him; and now we give him his snuff as he goes by, and now
something else. And here is this son of trouble, Neil, son of
Duncan, has lost my four-penny piece that was to buy that snuff,
and James More must go wanting, and will think his daughter has
forgotten him.


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