"In the town of Leyden," said I, "for my aim was no more than to acquire learning at the college there. But I foregathered with many excellent Scots gentlemen from whom I heard the talk of the camp and the state."
"Say you so? Then what do you here? Did you return on the single errand of protecting my fair niece? But stay! I am an old man who cares not much for the chatter of the country, but I have heard—or am I wrong?—that you were not of the true party, but leaned to the Whigs?"
"Nay," I cried, "I beseech you not to believe it. God knows I am a king's man out and out, and would see all whigamores in perdition before I would join with them. But fate has brought me into a strange mixture of misfortunes. I land at Leith, expecting nothing save a peaceful homecoming, and lo! I find my cousin waiting with a warrant for my arrest. I am accused of something I am wholly innocent of, but I cannot prove it; nay, there is evidence against me, and my enemies in the Council are all-powerful. Moreover, if I suffer myself to be taken, Marjory is at the mercy of my foes. I take the only course; give the dragoons the slip, and ride straight to Tweeddale, escort her to a house where she will be safe and unknown; and when this is done take to the hills myself with a light heart. They are too ill-set against me for my setting any hope in going to Edinburgh and pleading my case. Was there any other way?"
"None," said Master Veitch, "but it is a hard case for yourself. Not the hiding among the moors; this is a noble trade for any young man of spirit. But the consorting with the vile fanatics of these deserts must go sore against your heart."
Now I, who had just come from the folk of the Cor Water, had no such dread of the hillmen, but I forebore to say it. For Master Veitch had been brought up in one school, those men in another. Both were blind to the other's excellencies; both were leal-hearted men in their own ways. It is a strange providence that has so ordered it that the best men in the world must ever remain apart through misunderstanding.
"But to come to my errand," said I. "I have brought you your niece for protection. You are a king's man, a soldier, and well known in the countryside. It is more than unlikely that any troops will come nigh you. Nor is it possible that the maid can be traced hither. I ask that you suffer her to abide in the house, while I take myself off that there be the less danger. And O, I beseech you, do not refuse me. She is your own flesh and blood. You cannot deny her shelter."
The old man's face darkened. "You take me for a strange kinsman, Master Burnet," he said, "if you think I would refuse my best aid to a kinswoman in distress. Do you think that you are the sole protector of my house?"
I bowed before his deserved rebuke.
"But for certain. Marjory may abide here as long as she will," he added cheerfully. "We will do our best to entertain her, though I am too old to remember well the likings of girls. And if anyone comes seeking her on errand of no good, by God, he will learn that William Veitch has not lost the use of his arm.
"May I ask," said I, "that my servant be allowed to stay? He knows the hills as scarce any other living man, he is faithful, and clever as you would hardly believe were I to tell you. With him in the house I should have no fear for its safety."