The Advocate presented us in a familiar, friendly way.
“Here, Fraser,” said he, “here is Mr. Balfour whom we talked about. Mr. David, this is Mr. Simon Fraser, whom we used to call by another title, but that is an old song. Mr. Fraser has an errand to you.”
With that he stepped aside to his book-shelves, and made believe to consult a quarto volume in the far end.
I was thus left (in a sense) alone with perhaps the last person in the world I had expected. There was no doubt upon the terms of introduction; this could be no other than the forfeited2 Master of Lovat and chief of the great clan3 Fraser. I knew he had led his men in the Rebellion; I knew his father’s head—my old lord’s, that grey fox of the mountains—to have fallen on the block for that offence, the lands of the family to have been seized, and their nobility attainted. I could not conceive what he should be doing in Grant’s house; I could not conceive that he had been called to the bar, had eaten all his principles, and was now currying4 favour with the Government even to the extent of acting5 Advocate-Depute in the Appin murder.
“Well, Mr. Balfour,” said he, “what is all this I hear of ye?”
“It would not become me to prejudge,” said I, “but if the Advocate was your authority he is fully6 possessed7 of my opinions.”
“I may tell you I am engaged in the Appin case,” he went on; “I am to appear under Prestongrange; and from my study of the precognitions I can assure you your opinions are erroneous. The guilt8 of Breck is manifest; and your testimony9, in which you admit you saw him on the hill at the very moment, will certify10 his hanging.”
“It will be rather ill to hang him till you catch him,” I observed. “And for other matters I very willingly leave you to your own impressions.”
“The Duke has been informed,” he went on. “I have just come from his Grace, and he expressed himself before me with an honest freedom like the great nobleman he is. He spoke11 of you by name, Mr. Balfour, and declared his gratitude12 beforehand in case you would be led by those who understand your own interests and those of the country so much better than yourself. Gratitude is no empty expression in that mouth: experto-crede. I daresay you know something of my name and clan, and the damnable example and lamented13 end of my late father, to say nothing of my own errata. Well, I have made my peace with that good Duke; he has intervened for me with our friend Prestongrange; and here I am with my foot in the stirrup again and some of the responsibility shared into my hand of prosecuting14 King George’s enemies and avenging15 the late daring and barefaced16 insult to his Majesty17.”
“Doubtless a proud position for your father’s son,” says I.
He wagged his bald eyebrows18 at me. “You are pleased to make experiments in the ironical19, I think,” said he. “But I am here upon duty, I am here to discharge my errand in good faith, it is in vain you think to divert me. And let me tell you, for a young fellow of spirit and ambition like yourself, a good shove in the beginning will do more than ten years’ drudgery20. The shove is now at your command; choose what you will to be advanced in, the Duke will watch upon you with the affectionate disposition21 of a father.”
“And do you really suppose, sir, that the whole policy of this country is to be suffered to trip up and tumble down for an ill-mannered colt of a boy?” he cried. “This has been made a test case, all who would prosper23 in the future must put a shoulder to the wheel. Look at me! Do you suppose it is for my pleasure that I put myself in the highly invidious position of persecuting24 a man that I have drawn25 the sword alongside of? The choice is not left me.”
“But I think, sir, that you forfeited your choice when you mixed in with that unnatural26 rebellion,” I remarked. “My case is happily otherwise; I am a true man, and can look either the Duke or King George in the face without concern.”
“Is it so the wind sits?” says he. “I protest you are fallen in the worst sort of error. Prestongrange has been hitherto so civil (he tells me) as not to combat your allegations; but you must not think they are not looked upon with strong suspicion. You say you are innocent. My dear sir, the facts declare you guilty.”
“I was waiting for you there,” said I.
“The evidence of Mungo Campbell; your flight after the completion of the murder; your long course of secresy—my good young man!” said Mr. Simon, “here is enough evidence to hang a bullock, let be a David Balfour! I shall be upon that trial; my voice shall be raised; I shall then speak much otherwise from what I do to-day, and far less to your gratification, little as you like it now! Ah, you look white!” cries he. “I have found the key of your impudent27 heart. You look pale, your eyes waver, Mr. David! You see the grave and the gallows28 nearer by than you had fancied.”
“I own to a natural weakness,” said I. “I think no shame for that. Shame. . .” I was going on.
“Shame waits for you on the gibbet,” he broke in.
“Where I shall but be even’d with my lord your father,” said I.
“Aha, but not so!” he cried, “and you do not yet see to the bottom of this business. My father suffered in a great cause, and for dealing29 in the affairs of kings. You are to hang for a dirty murder about boddle-pieces. Your personal part in it, the treacherous30 one of holding the poor wretch31 in talk, your accomplices32 a pack of ragged33 Highland34 gillies. And it can be shown, my great Mr. Balfour—it can be shown, and it will be shown, trust me that has a finger in the pie—it can be shown, and shall be shown, that you were paid to do it. I think I can see the looks go round the court when I adduce my evidence, and it shall appear that you, a young man of education, let yourself be corrupted35 to this shocking act for a suit of cast clothes, a bottle of Highland spirits, and three-and-fivepence-halfpenny in copper36 money.”
There was a touch of the truth in these words that knocked me like a blow: clothes, a bottle of usquebaugh, and three-and-fivepence-halfpenny in change made up, indeed, the most of what Alan and I had carried from Auchurn; and I saw that some of James’s people had been blabbing in their dungeons37.
“You see I know more than you fancied,” he resumed in triumph. “And as for giving it this turn, great Mr. David, you must not suppose the Government of Great Britain and Ireland will ever be stuck for want of evidence. We have men here in prison who will swear out their lives as we direct them; as I direct, if you prefer the phrase. So now you are to guess your part of glory if you choose to die. On the one hand, life, wine, women, and a duke to be your handgun: on the other, a rope to your craig, and a gibbet to clatter38 your bones on, and the lousiest, lowest story to hand down to your namesakes in the future that was ever told about a hired assassin. And see here!” he cried, with a formidable shrill voice, “see this paper that I pull out of my pocket. Look at the name there: it is the name of the great David, I believe, the ink scarce dry yet. Can you guess its nature? It is the warrant for your arrest, which I have but to touch this bell beside me to have executed on the spot. Once in the Tolbooth upon this paper, may God help you, for the die is cast!”
I must never deny that I was greatly horrified39 by so much baseness, and much unmanned by the immediacy and ugliness of my danger. Mr. Simon had already gloried in the changes of my hue40; I make no doubt I was now no ruddier than my shirt; my speech besides trembled.
“There is a gentleman in this room,” cried I. “I appeal to him. I put my life and credit in his hands.”
Prestongrange shut his book with a snap. “I told you so, Simon,” said he; “you have played your hand for all it was worth, and you have lost. Mr. David,” he went on, “I wish you to believe it was by no choice of mine you were subjected to this proof. I wish you could understand how glad I am you should come forth41 from it with so much credit. You may not quite see how, but it is a little of a service to myself. For had our friend here been more successful than I was last night, it might have appeared that he was a better judge of men than I; it might have appeared we were altogether in the wrong situations, Mr. Simon and myself. And I know our friend Simon to be ambitious,” says he, striking lightly on Fraser’s shoulder. “As for this stage play, it is over; my sentiments are very much engaged in your behalf; and whatever issue we can find to this unfortunate affair, I shall make it my business to see it is adopted with tenderness to you.”
These were very good words, and I could see besides that there was little love, and perhaps a spice of genuine ill-will, between these two who were opposed to me. For all that, it was unmistakable this interview had been designed, perhaps rehearsed, with the consent of both; it was plain my adversaries42 were in earnest to try me by all methods; and now (persuasion, flattery, and menaces having been tried in vain) I could not but wonder what would be their next expedient43. My eyes besides were still troubled, and my knees loose under me, with the distress44 of the late ordeal45; and I could do no more than stammer46 the same form of words: “I put my life and credit in your hands.”
“Well, well,” said he, “we must try to save them. And in the meanwhile let us return to gentler methods. You must not bear any grudge47 upon my friend, Mr. Simon, who did but speak by his brief. And even if you did conceive some malice48 against myself, who stood by and seemed rather to hold a candle, I must not let that extend to innocent members of my family. These are greatly engaged to see more of you, and I cannot consent to have my young womenfolk disappointed. To-morrow they will be going to Hope Park, where I think it very proper you should make your bow. Call for me first, when I may possibly have something for your private hearing; then you shall be turned abroad again under the conduct of my misses; and until that time repeat to me your promise of secrecy50.”
I had done better to have instantly refused, but in truth I was beside the power of reasoning; did as I was bid; took my leave I know not how; and when I was forth again in the close, and the door had shut behind me, was glad to lean on a house wall and wipe my face. That horrid51 apparition52 (as I may call it) of Mr. Simon rang in my memory, as a sudden noise rings after it is over in the ear. Tales of the man’s father, of his falseness, of his manifold perpetual treacheries, rose before me from all that I had heard and read, and joined on with what I had just experienced of himself. Each time it occurred to me, the ingenious foulness53 of that calumny55 he had proposed to nail upon my character startled me afresh. The case of the man upon the gibbet by Leith Walk appeared scarce distinguishable from that I was now to consider as my own. To rob a child of so little more than nothing was certainly a paltry56 enterprise for two grown men; but my own tale, as it was to be represented in a court by Simon Fraser, appeared a fair second in every possible point of view of sordidness57 and cowardice58.
The voices of two of Prestongrange’s liveried men upon his doorstep recalled me to myself.
“Ha’e,” said the one, “this billet as fast as ye can link to the captain.”
“Is that for the cateran back again?” asked the other.
“It would seem sae,” returned the first. “Him and Simon are seeking him.”
“I think Prestongrange is gane gyte,” says the second. “He’ll have James More in bed with him next.”
“Weel, it’s neither your affair nor mine’s,” said the first.
And they parted, the one upon his errand, and the other back into the house.
This looked as ill as possible. I was scarce gone and they were sending already for James More, to whom I thought Mr. Simon must have pointed49 when he spoke of men in prison and ready to redeem59 their lives by all extremities60. My scalp curdled61 among my hair, and the next moment the blood leaped in me to remember Catriona. Poor lass! her father stood to be hanged for pretty indefensible misconduct. What was yet more unpalatable, it now seemed he was prepared to save his four quarters by the worst of shame and the most foul54 of cowardly murders—murder by the false oath; and to complete our misfortunes, it seemed myself was picked out to be the victim.
I began to walk swiftly and at random62, conscious only of a desire for movement, air, and the open country.
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1
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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2
forfeited
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| （因违反协议、犯规、受罚等）丧失，失去( forfeit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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4
currying
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| 加脂操作 | |
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5
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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6
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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8
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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9
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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10
certify
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| vt.证明，证实；发证书(或执照)给 | |
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11
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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13
lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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15
avenging
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| adj.报仇的，复仇的v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的现在分词 )；为…报复 | |
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16
barefaced
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| adj.厚颜无耻的，公然的 | |
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17
majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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18
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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19
ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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20
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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21
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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22
docility
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| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
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23
prosper
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| v.成功，兴隆，昌盛；使成功，使昌隆，繁荣 | |
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24
persecuting
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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25
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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26
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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27
impudent
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| adj.鲁莽的，卑鄙的，厚颜无耻的 | |
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28
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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29
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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30
treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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31
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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32
accomplices
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| 从犯，帮凶，同谋( accomplice的名词复数 ) | |
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33
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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34
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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35
corrupted
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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36
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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37
dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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38
clatter
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| v./n.(使)发出连续而清脆的撞击声 | |
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39
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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40
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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41
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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42
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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43
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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44
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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45
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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46
stammer
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| n.结巴，口吃；v.结结巴巴地说 | |
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47
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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48
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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49
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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50
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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51
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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52
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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53
foulness
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| n. 纠缠, 卑鄙 | |
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54
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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55
calumny
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| n.诽谤，污蔑，中伤 | |
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56
paltry
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| adj.无价值的，微不足道的 | |
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57
sordidness
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| n.肮脏；污秽；卑鄙；可耻 | |
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58
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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59
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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60
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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61
curdled
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| v.（使）凝结( curdle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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62
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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