o prison, as he had a
small share in the firm. In the midst of our sorrowful explanation we
were disturbed by a loud knocking at the outer door of the prison. The
Highland turnkey, with as much delay as possible, undid the fastenings,
my guide sprang up the stair, and into Owen's apartment. He cast his
eyes around, and then said to me, "Lend me your pistols. Yet, no, I can
do without them. Whatever you see, take no heed, and do not mix your
hand in another man's feud. This gear's mine, and I must manage it as
best I can. I have been as hard bested and worse than I am even now." As
he spoke, he confronted the iron door, like a fine horse brought up to
the leaping-bar.

But instead of a guard with bayonets fixed, there entered a good-looking
young woman, ushering in a short, stout, important person--a magistrate.
"A bonny thing it is, and a beseeming, that I should be kept at the door
half-an-hour, Captain Stanchells," said he, addressing the principal
jailer, who now showed himself. "How's this? how's this? Strangers in
the jail after lock-up hours! I must see into this. But, first, I must
hae a crack with an auld acquaintance here. Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen, how's a'
wi' you man?"

"Pretty well in body, I thank you, Mr. Jarvie," drawled out poor Owen,
"but sore afflicted in spirit."

Mr. Jarvie was another correspondent of my father's whom Owen had had no
great belief in, largely because of his great opinion of himself. He now
showed himself kindly and sensible, and asked Owen to let him see some
papers he mentioned. While examining them, he observed my mysterious
guide make a slight movement, and said, "I say, look to the door,
Stanchells; shut it, and keep watch on the outside."

Mr. Jarvie soon showed himself master of what he had been considering,
and saying he could not see how Mr. Owen could arrange his affairs if he
were kept lying there, undertook to be his surety and to have him free
by breakfast time. He then took the light from the servant-maid's hand,
and advanced to my guide, who awaited his scrutiny with great calmness,
seated on the table. "Eh! oh! ah!" exclaimed the Bailie. "My conscience!
it's impossible! and yet, no! Conscience, it canna be. Ye robber! ye
cateran! born devil that ye are--can this be you?"

"E'en as ye see, Bailie," said he.

"Ye are a dauring villain, Rob," answered the Bailie; "and ye will be
hanged. But bluid's thicker than water. Whar's the gude thousand pounds
Scots than I lent ye,