CHAPTER XIX
I AM MUCH IN THE HANDS OF THE LADIES
The copying was a weary business, the more so as I perceived very early there was no sort of urgency in the matters treated, and began very early to consider my employment a pretext. 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 Waterside. 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 flown—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 hae pleased naebody.”
“And where’ll she be now?” says I.
“Gude kens!” says Doig, with a shrug.