She tore herself from her sister’s arms, and left the cell. Ratcliffe followed her, and beckoned her into a small room. She obeyed his signal, but not without trembling.
“What’s the fule thing shaking for?” said he; “I mean nothing but civility to you. D—n me, I respect you, and I can’t help it. You have so much spunk, that d—n me, but I think there’s some chance of your carrying the day. But you must not go to the king till you have made some friend; try the duke—try MacCallummore; he’s Scotland’s friend—I ken that the great folks dinna muckle like him—but they fear him, and that will serve your purpose as weel. D’ye ken naebody wad gie ye a letter to him?”
“Duke of Argyle!” said Jeanie, recollecting herself suddenly, “what was he to that Argyle that suffered in my father’s time—in the persecution?”
“His son or grandson, I’m thinking,” said Ratcliffe, “but what o’ that?”
“Thank God!” said Jeanie, devoutly clasping her hands.
“You whigs are aye thanking God for something,” said the ruffian. “But hark ye, hinny, I’ll tell ye a secret. Ye may meet wi’ rough customers on the Border, or in the Midland, afore ye get to Lunnon. Now, deil ane o’ them will touch an acquaintance o’ Daddie Ratton’s; for though I am retired frae public practice, yet they ken I can do a gude or an ill turn yet—and deil a gude fellow that has been but a twelvemonth on the lay, be he ruffler or padder, but he knows my gybe* as well as the jark** of e’er a queer cuffin*** in England—and there’s rogue’s Latin for you.”
* Pass. ** Seal. *** Justice of Peace.
It was indeed totally unintelligible to Jeanie Deans, who was only impatient to escape from him. He hastily scrawled a line or two on a dirty piece of paper, and said to her, as she drew back when he offered it, “Hey!—what the deil—it wunna bite you, my lass—if it does nae gude, it can do nae ill. But I wish you to show it, if you have ony fasherie wi’ ony o’ St. Nicholas’s clerks.”
“Alas!” said she, “I do not understand what you mean.”
“I mean, if ye fall among thieves, my precious,—that is a Scripture phrase, if ye will hae ane—the bauldest of them will ken a scart o’ my guse feather. And now awa wi’ ye—and stick to Argyle; if onybody can do the job, it maun be him.”