the rider, a middle-aged, legal-faced man, who sat his sober steed none
too confidently, with thighs but lightly wed to the saddle.

"Yes, I'm Lord Durie. What can I do for you?"

"Weel, my lord, I've come far to see ye. They say there's no' a lawyer
leevin' or deid that kens mair nor you on a' thing. It's jist a bit plea
that I've gotten," said the man, laying a hand on the horse's neck and
sidling along close to his rider's knee.

"For onny advice on kittle points o' law, ye maun go to counsel, my
friend. I'm a judge, no' an advocate. Gude e'en to ye."

"Ay, but, my lord," said the man, laying a detaining left hand on the
near rein, "it's this way it is; ye see--" and at that, with a sudden
powerful upward push of the unskilled rider's leg, Lord Durie was hurled
from the saddle and lay sprawling on his back on the wet sand, as the
horse sprang forward with a startled bound.

"Goad's sake! what's this o't?" cried the poor judge, already tangled in
the folds of the long cloak, and struggling to rise. "Wad ye murder are
o' his Majesty's judges!"

"Lie still, my lord, lie still! There's no skaith will come to ye 'gin
ye but lie still. De'il's i' the body; wull the auld lurdane no hand
sae!"

Of small avail were the judge's struggles; as well might an infant
struggle in the folds of a python. Ere even an elderly man's scant
breath was quite spent, he lay among the whins, bound hand and foot,