I of course coincided in the praise of Miss Binkie, but showed so little curiosity as to the contents of the indicated egg, that the Provost thought proper to enlighten me, and hinted at eight thousand pounds. It is my positive belief that the worthy man expected an immediate proposal: if so, he was pretty egregiously mistaken. I could not, however, afford, at this particular crisis, to offend him, and accordingly stuck to generals. As the hour of meeting was approaching, I thought it necessary to acquaint him with the message I had received, in order to account for my exit at so unseasonable a time.
“It’s verra odd,” said the Provost,—“verra odd! A’ Dreepdaily should be in their beds by this time, and I canna think there could be a meeting without me hearing of it. It’s just the reverse o’ constitutional to keep folk trailing aboot the toun at this time o’ nicht, and the brig is a queer place for a tryst.”
“You do not surely apprehend, Mr Binkie, that there is any danger?”
“No just that, but you’ll no be the waur o’ a stick. Ony gait, I’ll send to Saunders Caup, the toun-officer, to be on the look-out. If ony body offers to harm ye, be sure ye cry out, and Saunders will be up in a crack. He’s as stieve as steel, and an auld Waterloo man.”
As a considerable number of years has elapsed since the last great European conflict, I confess that my confidence in the capabilities of Mr Caup, as an ally, was inferior to my belief in his prowess. I therefore declined the proposal, but accepted the weapon; and, after a valedictory tumbler with my host, emerged into the darkened street.
CHAPTER IV.
Francis Osbaldistone, when he encountered the famous Rob Roy by night, was in all probability, notwithstanding Sir Walter’s assertion to the contrary, in a very tolerable state of trepidation. At least I know that I was, as I neared the bridge of Dreepdaily. It was a nasty night of wind and rain, and not a soul was stirring in the street—the surface of which did little credit to the industry of the paving department, judging from the number of dubs in which I found involuntary accommodation. As I floundered along through the mire, I breathed anything but benedictions on the mysterious Shell Out, who was the cause of my midnight wandering.
Just as I reached the bridge, beneath which the river was roaring rather uncomfortably, a ragged-looking figure started out from an entry. A solitary lamp, suspended from above, gave me a full view of this personage, who resembled an animated scarecrow.
He stared me full in the face, and then muttered, with a wink and a leer,—