I had no
sooner finished than I got to horse, used what remained of daylight
to the best purpose, and being at last fairly benighted, slept in a
house by Almond-Water side. I was in the saddle again before the
day, and the Edinburgh booths were just opening when I clattered in
by the West Bow and drew up a smoking horse at my lord Advocate's
door. I had a written word for Doig, my lord's private hand that
was thought to be in all his secrets--a worthy little plain man,
all fat and snuff and self-sufficiency. Him I found already at his
desk and already bedabbled with maccabaw, in the same anteroom
where I rencountered with James More. He read the note
scrupulously through like a chapter in his Bible.
"H'm," says he; "ye come a wee thing ahint-hand, Mr. Balfour. The
bird's flaen--we hae letten her out."
"Miss Drummond is set free?" I cried.
"Achy!" said he. "What would we keep her for, ye ken? To hae made
a steer about the bairn would has pleased naebody."
"And where'll she be now?" says I.
"Gude kens!" says Doig, with a shrug.
"She'll have gone home to Lady Allardyce, I'm thinking," said I.
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