The flight of the heron

by D. K. Broster

But Keith Windham was much too proud a man not to have a strict regard for his pledged word. He could hardly prevent the entrance of a plan of escape into a brain which was, as yet, on parole, but he would not take the smallest step to put it into execution before the appointed hour should strike. To pass the time he would scribble a note to explain his conduct; and, wondering the while whether he should not have to destroy it even before he had finished it, he tore out a leaf from his pocket-book and began:

“Dear Mr. Cameron,—

“To justify my unadvertis’d Departure I am fain to put you in Mind that I gave my Parole of Honour for the Space of a Se’nnight from the Day and Hour of my Capture by you in the Evening of last Friday. In ten Minutes more that Period will have expir’d, and I trust you will not think it any Infraction of Military Honour that, without having previously recall’d that Fact to your Memory, I intend at half after six to attempt my Freedom.

“I shall always retain the most cordial Remembrance of your Hospitality, and though the Pilgrimage of the last few Days has been somewhat prolong’d, it has enabled me to be present upon a most interesting Occasion.

“Adieu, and forgive me for supposing that when you are more accustom’d to a military Life, you will not repeat the Oversight by which I am hoping to profit,

“Your most obedient, humble Servant,

“Keith Windham, Captain.”

When he had finished this effusion, of which the last paragraph, it cannot be denied, afforded him a special pleasure, he still waited, watch in hand. At half-past six exactly he rose from the pallet and, feeling remarkably like a footpad, opened Ardroy’s modest baggage with hasty fingers. It proved to contain a clean shirt, a pair of stockings, a few odds and ends and—a kilt. The plunderer held this up in some dismay, for he would very greatly have preferred trews, such as Ardroy was wearing at present, but it was this nether garment or his own, and in a remarkably short space of time he was surveying his bare knees with equal disgust and misgiving. No knees that he had seen this week under tartan were as white as that! Happily the garret was dusty, and therefore his legs, if not respectably tanned, could at least look dirty. He thought at first of retaining his uniform coat, which he fancied could be fairly well hidden by Ardroy’s plaid—how he blessed him for leaving it behind—but the skirts were a little too long, and the blue cuffs with their galons too conspicuous, and so he decided to go coatless. Thereupon he began experiments with the plaid—what a devil of a lot of it there was! He wished he had a bonnet to pull forward on his brows . . . but one could not expect everything to be provided. The want, however, reminded him of his incongruous wig, and he took this off and placed it, with his discarded uniform, under the mattress. And so there he was, clad in a costume he would as soon have assumed as the trappings of a Red Indian—and clad very insecurely too, he feared, for Ardroy’s kilt was too big for him, and he could not fasten it any tighter.

Still no sign of any person coming. Keith looked doubtfully at his host’s rifled baggage. It was his duty to regain his liberty by any lawful means, but he had certainly acted the part of a pickpocket. The only compensation in his power was to pay for the clothes he had taken, since those he had left behind were no adequate exchange. He pulled out his purse, having small idea of the worth of the purloined garments, and still less of how Ardroy would view the payment; he suspected that the Highlander might not relish it, but for his own peace of mind he felt constrained to make it. And so he wrapped three guineas in his farewell letter and laid the letter on the chair. Then he softly opened the garret door, went to the head of the stairs, and listened.

The immediate neighbourhood of the little room was deserted, and the sounds from below suggested that the bustle which existed in Fassefern House that evening was more likely to help than to hinder a pretended Cameron who desired to slip out unnoticed. Captain Windham settled the plaid more to his satisfaction and began with an unconcerned air to descend the stairs. But he was clutching nervously at the top of the philabeg, and his legs felt abominably cold.