asking myself,--"Can it be that all this realty happened to the same
_me_, who am now thinking about it in doubt and wonder?"




CHAPTER IV


_Hilton Hall_.

As my father accompanied me to the door, where the gig, which was to
carry me over the first stage of my journey, was in waiting, a large
target of hide, well studded with brass nails, which had hung in the
hall for time unknown--to me, at least--fell on the floor with a dull
bang. My father started, but said nothing; and, as it seemed to me,
rather pressed my departure than otherwise. I would have replaced the
old piece of armour before I went, but he would not allow me to touch
it, saying, with a grim smile,--

"Take that for an omen, my boy, that your armour must be worn over the
conscience, and not over the body. Be a man, Duncan, my boy. Fear
nothing, and do your duty."

A grasp of the hand was all the good-bye I could make; and I was soon
rattling away to meet the coach _for Edinburgh and London. Seated on the
top, I_ was soon buried in a reverie, from which I was suddenly startled
by the sound of tinkling iron. Could it be that my adversary was riding
unseen alongside of the coach? Was that the clank of the ominous shoe?
But I soon discovered the cause of the sound, and laughed at my own