among some brave young woods. The laird's horse was standing saddled at
the door as I came up, but himself was in the study, where he received
me in the midst of learned works and musical instruments, for he was not
only a deep philosopher but much of a musician. He greeted me at first
pretty well, and when he had read Rankeillor's letter, placed himself
obligingly at my disposal.

"And what is it, cousin David?" says he--"since it appears that we are
cousins--what is this that I can do for you? A word to Prestongrange?
Doubtless that is easily given. But what should be the word?"

"Mr. Balfour," said I, "if I were to tell you my whole story the way it
fell out, it's my opinion (and it was Rankeillor's before me) that you
would be very little made up with it."

"I am sorry to hear this of you, kinsman," says he.

"I must not take that at your hands, Mr. Balfour," said I; "I have
nothing to my charge to make me sorry, or you for me, but just the
common infirmities of mankind. 'The guilt of Adam's first sin, the want
of original righteousness, and the corruption of my whole nature,' so
much I must answer for, and I hope I have been taught where to look for
help," I said; for I judged from the look of the man he would think the
better of me if I knew my questions.[11] "But in the way of worldly
honour I have no great stumble to reproach myself with; and my
difficulties have befallen me very much against my will and (by all that
I can see) without my fault. My trouble is to have become dipped in a
political complication, which it is judged you would be blythe to avoid
a knowledge of."