He had the more confidence of a favourable reception, that the Duke of Monmouth, to whom Charles had intrusted the charge of subduing this rebellion, was a man of gentle, moderate, and accessible disposition, well known to be favourable to the presbyterians, and invested by the king with full powers to take measures for quieting the disturbances in Scotland. It seemed to Morton, that all that was necessary for influencing him in their favour was to find a fit and sufficiently respectable channel of communication, and such seemed to be opened through the medium of Lord Evandale. He resolved, therefore, to visit the prisoner early in the morning, in order to sound his dispositions to undertake the task of mediator; but an accident happened which led him to anticipate his purpose.
CHAPTER VII.
Gie ower your house, lady, he said,—
Gie ower your house to me.
Edom of Gordon.
Morton had finished the revisal and the making out of a fair copy of the paper on which he and Poundtext had agreed to rest as a full statement of the grievances of their party, and the conditions on which the greater part of the insurgents would be contented to lay down their arms; and he was about to betake himself to repose, when there was a knocking at the door of his apartment.
“Enter,” said Morton; and the round bullethead of Cuddie Headrigg was thrust into the room. “Come in,” said Morton, “and tell me what you want. Is there any alarm?”
“Na, stir; but I hae brought ane to speak wi’ you.”
“Who is that, Cuddie?” enquired Morton.
“Ane o’ your auld acquaintance,” said Cuddie; and, opening the door more fully, he half led, half dragged in a woman, whose face was muffled in her plaid.—“Come, come, ye needna be sae bashfu’ before auld acquaintance, Jenny,” said Cuddie, pulling down the veil, and discovering to his master the well-remembered countenance of Jenny Dennison. “Tell his honour, now—there’s a braw lass—tell him what ye were wanting to say to Lord Evandale, mistress.”
“What was I wanting to say,” answered Jenny, “to his honour himsell the other morning, when I visited him in captivity, ye muckle hash?—D’ye think that folk dinna want to see their friends in adversity, ye dour crowdy-eater?”
This reply was made with Jenny’s usual volubility; but her voice quivered, her cheek was thin and pale, the tears stood in her eyes, her hand trembled, her manner was fluttered, and her whole presence bore marks of recent suffering and privation, as well as nervous and hysterical agitation.