He was driving off the cattle of a certain proprietor,
called Killan--something or other--'
'Killancureit?'
'The same. Now, the gentleman being, it seems, a great farmer, and
having a special value for his breed of cattle--being, moreover, rather
of a timid disposition, had got a party of soldiers to protect his
property. So Donald ran his head unawares into the lion's mouth, and was
defeated and made prisoner. Being ordered for execution, his conscience
was assailed on the one hand by a Catholic priest,--on the other by
your friend Morton. He repulsed the Catholic chiefly on account of the
doctrine of extreme unction, which this economical gentleman considered
as an excessive waste of oil. So his conversion from a state of
impenitence fell to Mr. Morton's share, who, I dare say, acquitted
himself excellently, though, I suppose, Donald made but a queer kind
of Christian after all. He confessed, however, before a magistrate--one
Major Melville, who seems to have been a correct, friendly sort of
person--his full intrigue with Houghton, explaining particularly how it
was carried on, and fully acquitting you of the least accession to
it. He also mentioned his rescuing you from the hands of the volunteer
officer, and sending you, by orders of the Pret--Chevalier, I mean as a
prisoner to Doune, from whence he understood you were carried prisoner
to Edinburgh.
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