Two things became plain to me first: that I had no right to go
that day to Dean, and (having gone there) had now no right to be
lying where I was. This (where Alan was to come) was just the one
wood in all broad Scotland that was, by every proper feeling,
closed against me; I admitted that, and yet stayed on, wondering at
myself. I thought of the measure with which I had meted to
Catriona that same night; how I had prated of the two lives I
carried, and had thus forced her to enjeopardy her father's; and
how I was here exposing them again, it seemed in wantonness. A
good conscience is eight parts of courage. No sooner had I lost
conceit of my behaviour, than I seemed to stand disarmed amidst a
throng of terrors. Of a sudden I sat up. How if I went now to
Prestongrange, caught him (as I still easily might) before he
slept, and made a full submission? Who could blame me? Not
Stewart the Writer; I had but to say that I was followed, despaired
of getting clear, and so gave in. Not Catriona: here, too, I had
my answer ready; that I could not bear she should expose her
father.
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