istrate of
the city, should have been kept half an hour knocking as hard for
entrance into the tolbooth as the poor creatures within knock to get
out! And what, pray, is the meaning of this--strangers in the jail after
lock-up time? I will look after this, Stanchells, depend upon it. Keep
the door locked. By and by I will speak with these gentlemen. But first,
I must have a talk with an old acquaintance here. Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen,
how's all with you, man?"

"Well in body, I thank you, Mr. Jarvie," said poor Owen, "but sore
afflicted in spirit."

"Ay, ay--no doubt--no doubt," said the Bailie, briskly, "but we are all
subject to a downcome, and it comes hard on those that have held their
heads high. But I have not come out at twelve o'clock of a Sabbath night
to cast up to an unfortunate man his backslidings. That was never
Bailie Nicol Jarvie's way, nor yet was it his father the deacon's
before him. Why, man, even in the Kirk I was thinking on your letter.
And after supper I sat yawning wide enough to swallow St. Enoch's Kirk,
till twelve of the clock struck. Then I took a bit look at my ledger
just to see how matters stood between us. Syne I called up Mattie and
bade her light the lamp and convoy me down to the tolbooth. I have entry
here at any hour of the night and day, and so had my father before me,
God bless him!"

II. ROB ROY AT LAST

During this harangue Frank's mysterious guide had been gradually edging
toward the door, and showing signs of slipping away. But even when
looking carefully over Mr. Owen's papers, the keen eyes of the
magistrate detected the movement.

"Shut the door, Stanchells, and keep it locked!" he cried.

The Highlander took three or four steps across the room, muttered an
execration in Gaelic, and then with an air of careless defiance set
himself down on a table and proceeded to whistle a stave with all
possible assurance.

The Bailie soon arranged Mr. Owen's affairs. He would become his bail
himself, and promised to secure his liberation early next morning. Then
he took the lantern from his servant Mattie, and, holding it up,
proceeded to examine the stern, set countenance of Frank's guide. That
stout-hearted Celt did not move a muscle under the inspection, but with
his arms folded carelessly, his heel beating time to the lilt of his
whistled strathspey, he came very near to deceiving the acuteness of his
investigator.

"Eh--ah--no--it cannot be. It is! Eh, ye born deevil, ye