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"Is it so the wind sits?" says he. "I protest you are fallen in
the worst sort of error. Prestongrange has been hitherto so civil
(he tells me) as not to combat your allegations; but you must not
think they are not looked upon with strong suspicion. You say you
are innocent. My dear sir, the facts declare you guilty."
"I was waiting for you there," said I.
"The evidence of Mungo Campbell; your flight after the completion
of the murder; your long course of secresy--my good young man!"
said Mr. Simon, "here is enough evidence to hang a bullock, let be
a David Balfour! I shall be upon that trial; my voice shall be
raised; I shall then speak much otherwise from what I do to-day,
and far less to your gratification, little as you like it now! Ah,
you look white!" cries he. "I have found the key of your impudent
heart. You look pale, your eyes waver, Mr. David! You see the
grave and the gallows nearer by than you had fancied."
"I own to a natural weakness," said I. "I think no shame for that.
Shame. . ." I was going on.
"Shame waits for you on the gibbet," he broke in.


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