Flare and sonorousness and a deep vibration of the old massive passions, and through all the outward air a September sea mist creeping.
Ian Rullock, walking down the High Street, approaching St.Giles, heard his name spoken from a little knot of well-dressed citizens.

As he turned his head a gentleman detached himself from the company.

It proved to be Mr.Wotherspoon the advocate, old acquaintance and adviser of Archibald Touris, of Black Hill.
"Captain Rullock--" "Mr.Wotherspoon, I am glad to see you!" Mr.Wotherspoon, old moderate Whig, and the Jacobite officer walked together down the clanging way.

The mist was making pallid garlands for the tall houses, a trumpet rang at the foot of the street, Macdonald of Glengarry and fifty clansmen, bright tartan and screaming pipes, poured by.
"Auld Reekie sees again a stirring time!" said the lawyer.
"I am glad to have met you, sir," said Rullock.

"I fancy that you can tell me home news.