He repeated the name to himself, mumbling it toothlessly.

"It sticks i' my memory," he said, "but when and where I canna tell.

Certes, there's no man o' the name in Virginia." I was beginning to think that my memory had played me false, when suddenly the whole scene in the Saltmarket leaped vividly to my brain.
Then I remembered the something else I had been enjoined to say.
"Ninian Campbell," I went on, "bade me ask for him here, and I was to tell you that the lymphads are on the loch and the horn of Diarmaid has sounded." In a twinkling his face changed from vacancy to shrewdness and from senility to purpose.

He glanced uneasily round.
"For God's sake, speak soft," he whispered.

"Come inside, man.