Balfour, like the skirting of
the highland pipes! Sir, this is a sad look back that many of us
have to make: some with falling tears. I have lived in my own
country like a king; my sword, my mountains, and the faith of my
friends and kinsmen sufficed for me. Now I lie in a stinking
dungeon; and do you know, Mr. Balfour," he went on, taking my arm
and beginning to lead me about, "do you know, sir, that I lack mere
neCESSaries? The malice of my foes has quite sequestered my
resources. I lie, as you know, sir, on a trumped-up charge, of
which I am as innocent as yourself. They dare not bring me to my
trial, and in the meanwhile I am held naked in my prison. I could
have wished it was your cousin I had met, or his brother Baith
himself. Either would, I know, have been rejoiced to help me;
while a comparative stranger like yourself--"
I would be ashamed to set down all he poured out to me in this
beggarly vein, or the very short and grudging answers that I made
to him. There were times when I was tempted to stop his mouth with
some small change; but whether it was from shame or pride--whether
it was for my own sake or Catriona's--whether it was because I
thought him no fit father for his daughter, or because I resented
that grossness of immediate falsity that clung about the man
himself--the thing was clean beyond me.
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