On the Monday I betook me for the first time to a barber's, and was
very well pleased with the result. Thence to the Advocate's, where
the red coats of the soldiers showed again about his door, making a
bright place in the close. I looked about for the young lady and
her gillies: there was never a sign of them. But I was no sooner
shown into the cabinet or antechamber where I had spent so wearyful
a time upon the Saturday, than I was aware of the tall figure of
James More in a corner. He seemed a prey to a painful uneasiness,
reaching forth his feet and hands, and his eyes speeding here and
there without rest about the walls of the small chamber, which
recalled to me with a sense of pity the man's wretched situation.
I suppose it was partly this, and partly my strong continuing
interest in his daughter, that moved me to accost him.

"Give you a good-morning, sir," said I.

"And a good-morning to you, sir," said he.

"You bide tryst with Prestongrange?" I asked.

"I do, sir, and I pray your business with that gentleman be more
agreeable than mine," was his reply.

"I hope at least that yours will be brief, for I suppose you pass
before me," said I.

"All pass before me," he said, with a shrug and a gesture upward of
the open hands. "It was not always so, sir, but times change. It
was not so when the sword was in the scale, young gentleman, and