"No, no," she said, as she shook her head. "Maister Burgess paid your lawin’ for ye; and indeed there was nae necessity, for ony frien’ o’ that saint o’ God is aye welcome to a bed and a sup o’ parritch frae Betty Macfarlane." As I had given up all intention of trying to reach Closeburn by the following Sunday, I thought I might with advantage spend the rest of the day in rambling round the historic town. Such an opportunity might not offer again, and I knew that Scotland’s story was graven upon the face of her Capital. Under the cover of the night I would begin my journey home. So I walked down the Lawn Market, and descended the Canongate until I came within sight of Holyrood. As I went I admired the lordly houses which flanked each side of the thoroughfare--some of them gaunt, grey and forbidding; others finely timbered; others again turreted and adorned with stone-fretwork that proclaimed the high skill of the carvers’ art. I lingered for a time in front of Holyrood, thinking of the tragic career of her whose spirit still seemed to haunt the pile. Then I made my way by the Cowgate to the Grassmarket, where, sombre and menacing--the symbol of the dark days through which this tortured land was passing--stood the scaffold. On that forbidding gibbet I knew that many a brave martyr had met his end. The walls around me had heard the intrepid challenge of their testimonies, while the grim Castle rock, towering above, looked down silent and frowning as though it scorned the cruelties of man to his brother man. From the Grassmarket I climbed up a tortuous and steep wynd to the Lawn Market again. By this time the afternoon was far advanced, and evening was at hand. In the High Street, not far from the church of St. Giles, I entered a tavern, and having supped I looked at the clock in the Church Tower and saw that it was close upon six. I judged it would be well to set out in another hour. By so doing I should have left the city behind me and be far in the open country ere it was time to sleep; so I settled myself comfortably on a chair in the inglenook and called for another pot of ale. When the clock in the church tower struck seven I called for my score, and, having settled it, made my way out into the High Street. As I came out of the tavern door two officers passed me. I was less than a couple of paces behind them as they walked down the street. Had I willed it so, I could not have failed to catch some fragment of their talk, but my ears were pricked to a lively attention when I heard one of them say: "... Among the hills ... Closeburn." I caught a few disjointed words. "Sabbath ... three or four thousand ... a great occasion ... Claver’se, Lag, ... something complete ... no miserable failure ... Drumclog ... stamp out... no quarter ... woman or child." A horror so sudden seized me that I stood stock still, and the officers, unaware that I had overheard them, walked on.