he mist to Redgauntlet Castle, and with much ado he got speech of the
laird.

"Well, you dyvour bankrupt," was the first word, "have you brought me my
rent?"

"No," answered my gudesire, "I have not; but I have brought your honour
Sir Robert's receipt for it."

"How, sirrah? Sir Robert's receipt! You told me he had not given you
one."

"Will your honour please to see if that bit line is right?"

Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter, with much attention;
and at last at the date, which my gudesire had not observed--"From my
appointed place," he read, "this twenty-fifth of November."

"What! That is yesterday! Villain, thou must have gone to hell for
this!"

"I got it from your honour's father; whether he be in heaven or hell, I
know not," said Steenie.

"I will debate you for a warlock to the Privy Council!" said Sir
John. "I will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of a
tar-barrel and a torch!"

"I intend to debate mysell to the Presbytery," said Steenie, "and tell
them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for them to
judge of than a borrel man like me."

Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to hear the full history;
and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have told it
you--neither more nor less.

Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very
composedly: "Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honour of many
a noble family besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep
yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have a red-hot
iron driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad as scaulding
your fingers wi' a red-hot chanter. But yet it may be true, Steenie; and
if the money cast up, I shall not know what to think of it. But where
shall we find the Cat's Cradle? There are cats enough about the old
house, but I think they kitten without the ceremony of bed or cradle."

"We were best ask Hutcheon," said my gudesire; "he kens a' the odd
corners about as weel as--another serving-man that is now gane, and that
I wad not like to name."

Aweel, Hutcheon, when he was asked, told them that a ruinous turret lang
disused, next to the clock-house, only accessible by a ladder, for the
opening was on the outside, above the battlements, was called of old the
Cat's Cradle.

"There will I go immediately," said Sir John; and he took--with what
purpose Heaven kens--one of his father's pistols from the hal