Chapter 17

Well, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage,
Granting I knew all that you charge me with.
What though the tomb hath borne a second birth,
And given the wealth to one that knew not on't,
Yet fair exchange was never robbery,
Far less pure bounty--
Old Play.

The Antiquary, in order to avail himself of the permission given him to
question the accused party, chose rather to go to the apartment in which
Ochiltree was detained, than to make the examination appear formal by
bringing him again into the magistrate's office. He found the old man
seated by a window which looked out on the sea; and as he gazed on that
prospect, large tears found their way, as if unconsciously, to his eye,
and from thence trickled down his cheeks and white beard. His features
were, nevertheless, calm and composed, and his whole posture and mien
indicated patience and resignation. Oldbuck had approached him without
being observed, and roused him out of his musing by saying kindly, "I am
sorry, Edie, to see you so much cast down about this matter."

The mendicant started, dried his eyes very hastily with the sleeve of his
gown, and endeavouring to recover his usual tone of indifference and
jocularity, answered, but with a voice more tremulous than usual, "I
might weel hae judged, Monkbarns, it was you, or the like o' you, was
coming in to disturb me--for it's ae great advantage o' prisons and
courts o' justice, that ye may greet your een out an ye like, and nane o'
the folk that's concerned about them will ever ask you what it's for."

"Well, Edie," replied Oldbuck, "I hope your present cause of distress is
not so bad but it may be removed."

"And I had hoped, Monkbarns," answered the mendicant, in a tone of
reproach, "that ye had ken'd me better than to think that this bit
trifling trouble o' my ain wad bring tears into my auld een, that hae
seen far different kind o' distress.--Na, na!--But here's been the puir
lass, Caxon's daughter, seeking comfort, and has gotten unco little--
there's been nae speerings o' Taffril's gunbrig since the last gale; and
folk report on the key that a king's ship had struck on the Reef of
Rattray, and a' hands lost--God forbid! for as sure as you live,
Monkbarns, the puir lad Lovel, that ye liked sae weel, must have
perished."

"God forbid indeed!" echoed the Antiquary, turning pale--"I would rather
Monkbarns House were on fire. My poor dear friend and coadjutor! I will
down to the quay instantly."

"I'm sure yell learn naething mair than I hae tauld ye, sir," said
Ochiltree, "for the officer-folk here were very civil (that is, for the
like o' them), and lookit