'Ha, John, that wont do!' said I; 'your mind was never so unsteady.
Tell me the truth, for old times' sake; and if there is anything in
the story that should not be made public, you know I was always a
capital secret-keeper. Maybe it was a love-matter, John: are you
married yet?'

'No, Master Willie,' cried my old friend, with a look of the most
sincere self-gratulation I ever saw. 'But it's a queer story, and one
I shouldn't care for telling; only, you were always a discreet boy,
and it rather presses on my mind at times. The master won't be back
for awhile; he'll have the roast to try, and the pudding to taste--not
to talk of seeing the table laid out, for there are to be some
half-dozen besides yourself to-day at dinner. That's his way, you see.
And I'll tell you what took me from the toll-house--but mind, never
mention it, as you would keep peace in the west country.'

This is John's story, as nearly in his own words as I can call them to
mind:--

* * * * *

The family in whose service I was brought up lived on their estate in
Dumbartonshire, which came through the mistress of the mansion, who
had been heiress of entail, and a lady in her own right; we called her
Lady Catherine, and a prouder woman never owned either estate or
title. Her father had been a branch of the Highland family to whom the
property originally belonged. Her mother was sprung from the old
French nobility, an emigrant of the first Revolution, and she had been
brought up in England, and married in due time to an Honourable Mr