breathing his native air he could create, and not merely construct character. After all, your buccaneer does not pay for mining deep into his character. Stevenson had struck it rich when he had to deal with Alan Breck, poet and spy, deserter and rebel, brave and a braggart. Those who know the printed report of the trial of James Stuart will recognise what scanty material Stevenson had for his creation both in Kidnapped and its sequel Catriona. This latter failed just because he gave us too much of the trial. It is, indeed, curious that in both books fascination only begins when we cross the Highland line, either locally or spiritually. The Lowlander, with his canny caution, cannot stir our blood. It is one of Stevenson's triumphs to have kept consistently cool the tone of the narrator, the Lowland David Balfour, amidst all the feuds of the Gael.
A similar triumph was achieved when Stevenson put in the mouth of a dominie the strange tale of a fraternal feud told in The Master of Ballantrae. The Master himself is over-elaborated, and the whole book is too episodical and not closely enough knit together. Yet there are touches that cut us deep, and there are scenes that stand out as clear as anything in Stevenson. The duel by candlelight, the Master's farewell to his home,
