From the direction we took I judged that our path lay parallel to the course of the river on the side opposite the town of Dumfries. We had walked perhaps a mile before Hector again broke the silence. Still whispering, he said:
"Man, I've had an awfu' day. Horace has the richt word every time: 'Recenti mens trepidat metu'--'My hert's a' o' a dither wi' fricht.' What's yer name? ye've never tellt me."
For the first time it dawned on me that he did not know my name. He had called me Joseph at the road-end when Dalzell had taken us unawares, but since then the matter had never been mentioned between us. "My name is Walter de Brydde," I said.
"Ay," he said, "but what name was ye kent by when ye were a trooper?"
"I called myself Bryden," I replied.
"That's it. It was you richt enough. Oh, I've had a terrible day. But I had better begin at the beginning, and tell ye the hale story.
"This mornin' I left my lodgings wi' full purpose and intention o' gaun to see the widda. Weel, it's a lang road and a drouthy, so before leavin' the toon I drapped into the Hole i' the Wa', to ha'e a pint o' tippenny. It's a hoose I aye frequent when I'm in Dumfries. Weel, as I was tellin' ye, I was sittin' in the corner, and I'd juist passed the time o' day wi' the landlord, when in daundered twa sodgers. As soon as I saw the sicht o' their coats, my ears were cocked to catch their words. They were talkin' as they cam' in. The ane was sayin' to the ither; 'I could stake my life it was him.' They sat doon and ordered their yill, and went on talkin'. I didna catch a' that they said, but they hadna been talkin' long ere I guessed it was aboot you. I juist got a word noo and again, but I've pit them thegither. They went something like this:
"'Aye, at Wigtown, the nicht efter the women were drooned.'
"'Then what think ye he's daein' here?'
"'Oh, I canna tell that.'