'There were few
knew more about port wine than my father, God rest him!' She
settled herself in a chair with an alarming air of resolution.
'And so there is some particular direction that you wish to go in?'
said she.
'O,' said I, following her example, 'I am by no means such a
vagrant as you suppose. I have good friends, if I could get to
them, for which all I want is to be once clear of Scotland; and I
have money for the road.' And I produced my bundle.
'English bank-notes?' she said. 'That's not very handy for
Scotland. It's been some fool of an Englishman that's given you
these, I'm thinking. How much is it?'
'I declare to heaven I never thought to count!' I exclaimed. 'But
that is soon remedied.'
And I counted out ten notes of ten pound each, all in the name of
Abraham Newlands, and five bills of country bankers for as many
guineas.
'One hundred and twenty six pound five,' cried the old lady. 'And
you carry such a sum about you, and have not so much as counted it!
If you are not a thief, you must allow you are very thief-like.'
'And yet, madam, the money is legitimately mine,' said I.
She took one of the bills and held it up. 'Is there any
probability, now, that this could be traced?' she asked.
'None, I should suppose; and if it were, it would be no matter,'
said I.
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