Accordingly, the scribe was presently seen whispering in the ear of Peter Peebles, whose response came forth in the following broken form:--
‘Leave the court for ae minute on this great day of judgement? not I, by the Reg--Eh! what? Brandy, did ye say--French brandy?--couldna ye fetch a stoup to the bar under your coat, man? Impossible? Nay, if it’s clean impossible, and if we have an hour good till they get through the single bill and the summar-roll, I carena if I cross the close wi’ you; I am sure I need something to keep my heart up this awful day; but I’ll no stay above an instant--not above a minute of time--nor drink aboon a single gill,’
In a few minutes afterwards, the two Peters were seen moving through the Parliament Close (which new-fangled affectation has termed a Square), the triumphant Drudgeit leading captive the passive Peebles, whose legs conducted him towards the dramshop, while his reverted eyes were fixed upon the court. They dived into the Cimmerian abysses of John’s Coffeehouse, [See Note 5.] formerly the favourite rendezvous of the classical and genial Doctor Pitcairn, and were for the present seen no more.
Relieved from his tormentor, Alan Fairford had time to rally his recollections, which, in the irritation of his spirits, had nearly escaped him, and to prepare himself far a task, the successful discharge or failure in which must, he was aware, have the deepest influence upon his fortunes. He had pride, was not without a consciousness of talent, and the sense of his father’s feelings upon the subject impelled him to the utmost exertion. Above all, he had that sort of self-command which is essential to success in every arduous undertaking, and he was constitutionally free from that feverish irritability by which those whose over-active imaginations exaggerate difficulties, render themselves incapable of encountering such when they arrive.
Having collected all the scattered and broken associations which were necessary, Alan’s thoughts reverted to Dumfriesshire, and the precarious situation in which he feared his beloved friend had placed himself; and once and again he consulted his watch, eager to have his present task commenced and ended, that he might hasten to Darsie’s assistance. The hour and moment at length arrived. The macer shouted, with all his well-remembered brazen strength of lungs, ‘Poor Peter Peebles VERSUS Plainstanes, PER Dumtoustie ET Tough!--Maister Da-a-niel Dumtoustie!’ Dumtoustie answered not the summons, which, deep and swelling as it was, could not reach across the Queensferry; but our Maister Alan Fairford appeared in his place.