Of Sommerville, we have not much to say in the way of description. He was in the same service with M'Intyre—that is, the excise; and was about the same age—thirty-two or thirty-three. They were intimate friends, and as frequently together as the nature of their duties would permit; and were both unmarried. On the same day on which the conversation with which we opened our story took place, it happened that Angus and Sommerville were invited together to a tavern-dinner in the Saltmarket, with some mutual friends. About an hour previous to that appointed for the festive meeting, Sommerville called on M'Intyre at his lodgings, with the view of waiting for him, that they might go together to the house where they were to dine. A few minutes before they left M'Intyre's lodgings for this purpose, Sommerville said, playfully,
"By the by, Mac, I hope you do not intend taking that infernal weapon with you to-night?"
"Tuts, man," replied M'Intyre, somewhat testily, "never mind it. What need ye always harp on that string? Did you never know of a gentleman wearing a dirk before? It's no such extraordinary or terrible thing, surely."
"Terrible enough in reckless hands," said Sommerville.
M'Intyre looked more and more displeased, as his friend continued to cling to the subject; but his only reply was,
"Nonsense, John! Come, let us be going—it's near the hour."
"Well, I tell you what it is, Angus," remarked his friend, banteringly, and still pertinaciously dwelling on the skean dhu, "I won't sit beside you to-night—I'll take care of that; no, nor within arm's-length of you either."
"Sit where you please," replied M'Intyre, angrily, and he flung out of the apartment, followed by Sommerville.
On their reaching the tavern, the company were already assembled, and were waiting their presence before sitting down to table. As soon as they entered, however, places were taken; and it happened by chance that the only vacant chair left for Sommerville was one next his friend M'Intyre. On observing this, the former jokingly declined it, saying,
"No, no, Mac—I won't sit near you, as I said before. Ye're no canny—I have discovered that." And he winked significantly; and, following up the jesting resolution which he had just expressed, he eventually took his place at a different part of the table. M'Intyre said nothing in reply to his friend's remarks; but there was a frown upon his brow that showed pretty plainly, though none present observed it, that he was very far from being pleased with them. In truth, he was highly irritated at what appeared to him the it; and that this, instead of being considered by him as a reason for refraining, was deemed directly the reverse—an excellent source of small annoyance. What followed on this fatal night will, we think, be most graphically related in the words of a person, another intimate friend of M'Intyre's, who was present:—