On the scroll I read the legend "Ex libris Petri Burgess," and I saw that the book was a copy of Rutherford’s _Lex Rex_. I sat down at once on a high-backed oak chair, and, taking off my shoe, found the letter and handed it to him. He took it with a grave bow, and, breaking its seal, sat down at the black-oak table in the centre of the room. As he did so, I looked about me. The room was furnished with considerable taste and was lit by two candles which stood in silver candlesticks on the table. Between the candlesticks lay a sheet of paper. Beside them stood an ink-horn and a little bowl of sand in which was a small bone spoon. The light was somewhat uncertain, and to read with greater ease he drew one of the candlesticks nearer to him. When he had read the letter through, he sat in a fit of meditation, beating a gentle tattoo with the fingers of his left hand upon the top of the table. He read it again, and went towards the fireplace where he tore the missive into tiny pieces and dropped them into the fire. Then he came back to the table. "Forgive," he said, "my seeming lack of hospitality; you must be worn out and famished. Let me offer you some refreshment." I thanked him heartily, and in a few minutes he had set food and wine before me. He joined me in the repast, and as we sat at the table I had an opportunity of studying him with some care. I judged him to be a man over sixty. His face was refined and the delicate line of his mouth which his beard did not conceal bespoke a sensitive nature. He treated me with a courtly grace, asked interestedly as to my journey, and inquired earnestly as to the progress of the Cause in the South. I told him all I knew, and when he heard from my lips how Mr. Corsane, though evicted from his Church, still regarded himself as the shepherd of his people and was constant in his devotion and instant in his service to them, he said: "Good! good! But how he must have suffered! As for me," he continued, "I have no cave in which to take refuge, so I must steal away like a thief in the night. Please God, ere morning I may find a boat in which to escape to the Low Countries. But you must have bed and lodging; and ere I leave the city I shall see you safely housed with a friend in the Lawn Market." When our meal was over my host pushed back his chair and said: "Now I must go." He went to the bookcase, and taking from it two or three volumes put them in the pockets of his coat. Turning to me with a smile, he said: "A fugitive had best go unencumbered; but I should be lost without a book." He made up a small parcel of food, and then, extinguishing one candle and taking the other from its candlestick, he led the way to the door, and together we passed out. He locked the door from the outside, and lighting the way with the candle, which he still held in his hand, he conducted me downstairs. When we entered the High Street, we turned and walked up past the Tron Kirk.