After leaving Penrith, the remainder of the journey was performed much in the same state of discomfort as travelling in those distant days was usually accomplished. The hedges and trees flew past us as fast as the coach went forward, and the Advocate's tongue was not slower. The chief was more taciturn, speaking in a voice hoarse and constipated; and the old lady, Mrs. Peerie, was only occasionally loquacious.

From Glengowl's inquiries and Mr. Gledde's interlocutors, I could gather that there was some secret understanding between them, relative to a cousin of the former, who had died in England, leaving him a considerable legacy; which, with the good prices of black cattle, was one of the causes of his journey to London, as for some time their discourse was of stirks and inheritances. It did not, however, appear that the old gentleman knew much of the matter; and I am not sure, as he lived in the misty Morven, that law had in those days reached farther than Inverary.

Mrs. Peerie distinguished herself, much to my amusement, by some of her observations, and occasional touches of shrewd humour. Once, for example, when we happened to halt for a moment, a peasant spoke something to the guard, which was not the best of English, being in the broad dialect of the district: as soon as we were again underweigh, giving a wink to me, she said to Glengowl in her most mellifluous and merriest manner, “No doubt the young man was speaking Gaelic.” In reply to which the old gentleman gave an emphatic grumph, at the same time also winking to me in marvel at her ignorance.