The Heart of Mid-Lothian

almost nothing of this person's features, which were disguised apparently with red paint and soot, like an Indian going to battle, besides the projecting shade of a curch, or coif, which muffled the hair of the supposed female. He declared that he thought he could not know this Madge Wildfire, if placed before him in a different dress, but that he believed he might recognise her voice.

The magistrate requested him again to state by what gate he left the city.

'By the Cowgate Port,' replied Butler.

'Was that the nearest road to Libberton?'

'No,' answered Butler, with embarrassment; 'but it was the nearest way to extricate myself from the mob.'

The clerk and magistrate again exchanged glances.

'Is the Cowgate Port a nearer way to Libberton from the Grassmarket than Bristo Port?'

'No,' replied Butler; 'but I had to visit a friend.'

'Indeed!' said the interrogator—'You were in a hurry to tell the sight you had witnessed, I suppose?'

'Indeed I was not,' replied Butler; 'nor did I speak on the subject the whole time I was at St. Leonard's Crags.'

'Which road did you take to St. Leonard's Crags?'

'By the foot of Salisbury Crags,' was the reply.

'Indeed? you seem partial to circuitous routes,' again said the magistrate. 'Whom did you see after you left the city?'

One by one he obtained a description of every one of the groups who had passed Butler, as already noticed, their number, demeanour, and appearance; and, at length, came to the circumstance of the mysterious stranger in the King's Park. On this subject Butler would fain have remained silent, But the magistrate had no sooner got a slight hint concerning the incident, than he seemed bent to possess himself of the most minute particulars.

'Look ye, Mr. Butler,' said he, 'you are a young man, and bear an excellent character; so much I will myself testify in your favour. But we are aware there has been, at times, a sort of bastard and fiery zeal in some of your order, and those, men irreproachable in other points, which has led them into doing and countenancing great irregularities, by which the peace of the country is liable to be shaken.—I will deal plainly with you. I am not at all satisfied with this story, of your setting out again and again to seek your dwelling by two several roads, which were both circuitous. And, to be frank, no one whom we have examined on this unhappy affair could trace in your appearance any thing like your acting under compulsion. Moreover, the waiters at the Cowgate Port observed something like the trepidation of guilt in your conduct, and declare that you were the first to command them to open the gate, in a tone of authority, as if still presiding over the guards and out-posts of the rabble, who had besieged them the whole night.'

'God forgive them!' said Butler; 'I only asked free passage for myself; they must have much misunderstood, if they did not wilfully misrepresent me.'

'Well, Mr. Butler,' resumed the magistrate, 'I am inclined to judge the best and hope the best, as I am sure I wish the best; but you must be frank with me, if you wish to secure my good opinion, and lessen the risk of inconvenience to yourself. You have allowed you saw another individual in your passage through the King's Park to Saint Leonard's Crags—I must know every word which passed betwixt you.'

Thus closely pressed, Butler, who had no reason for concealing what passed at that meeting, unless because Jeanie Deans was concerned in it, thought it best to tell the whole truth from beginning to end.

'Do you suppose,' said the magistrate, pausing, 'that the young woman will accept an invitation so mysterious?'

'I fear she will,' replied Butler.

'Why do you use the word fear it?' said the magistrate.

'Because I am apprehensive for her safety, in meeting at such a time and place, one who had something of the manner of a desperado, and whose message was of a character so inexplicable.'

'Her safety shall be cared for,' said the magistrate. 'Mr. Butler, I am concerned I cannot immediately discharge you from confinement, but I hope you will not be long detained.—Remove Mr. Butler, and let him be provided with decent accommodation in all respects.'

He was conducted back to the prison accordingly; but, in the food offered to him, as well as in the apartment in which he was lodged, the recommendation of the magistrate was strictly attended to.

CHAPTER THIRTEENTH.

Dark and eerie was the night,
And lonely was the way,
As Janet, wi' her green mantell,
To Miles' Cross she did gae.

Old Ballad.

Leaving Butler to all the uncomfortable thoughts attached to his new situation, among which the most predominant was his feeling that he was, by his confinement, deprived of all possibility of assisting the family at St. Leonard's in their greatest need, we return to Jeanie Deans, who had seen him depart, without an opportunity of farther explanation, in all that agony of mind with which the female heart bids adieu to the complicated sensations so well described by Coleridge,—

                   Hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
                     An undistinguishable throng;
                    And gentle wishes long subdued—
                      Subdued and cherished long.

It is not the firmest heart (and Jeanie, under her russet rokelay, had one that would not have disgraced Cato's daughter) that can most easily bid adieu to these soft and mingled emotions. She wept for a few minutes bitterly, and without attempting to refrain from this indulgence of passion. But a moment's recollection induced her to check herself for a grief selfish and proper to her own affections, while her father and sister were plunged into such deep and irretrievable affliction. She drew from her pocket the letter which had been that morning flung into her apartment through an open window, and the contents of which were as singular as the expression was violent and energetic. 'If she would save a human being from the most damning guilt, and all its desperate consequences,—if she desired the life an honour of her sister to be saved from the bloody fangs of an unjust law,—if she desired not to forfeit peace of mind here, and happiness hereafter,' such was the frantic style of the conjuration, 'she was entreated to give a sure, secret, and solitary meeting to the writer. She alone could rescue him,' so ran the letter, 'and he only could rescue her.' He was in such circumstances, the billet farther informed her, that an attempt to bring any witness of their conference, or even to mention to her father, or any other person whatsoever, the letter which requested it, would inevitably prevent its taking place, and ensure the destruction of her sister. The letter concluded with incoherent but violent protestations, that in obeying this summons she had nothing to fear personally.