CHAPTER VI

UMQUILE THE MASTER OF LOVAT


There was a man waiting us in Prestongrange's study, whom I distasted at
the first look, as we distaste a ferret or an earwig. He was bitter
ugly, but seemed very much of a gentleman; had still manners, but
capable of sudden leaps and violences; and a small voice, which could
ring out shrill and dangerous when he so desired.

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. Symon 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 forfeited Master of Lovat and chief of
the great clan 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