“Why couldn’t the old fossil have stayed at home?” she said to herself angrily. “This promised to be such a romantic adventure, landlord,” she said aloud, poutingly. “And now ’tis all spoiled. Plague take it. Hurry, landlord, and get my—father away, for I must return to the ball before my absence is noticed.” She went into the room, her heart filled with apprehension, and closed the door, which John promptly locked. “Thank the Lord,” he muttered with a sigh of relief. “I breathe easier.” Going to the door leading to the hall, he listened for a moment. From below came the sound of clinking glasses. He closed the door quickly. The coast was clear now. His guidwife was waiting on the customer. He hurried across the room and was about to release his prisoner, when he heard the door of Robert’s chamber open. He turned quickly and found his lodger yawning in the doorway. “Well, John Anderson, my Jo John,” said he lazily, “what’s all the row here, eh?” John looked up guiltily. “Are ye up, laddie?” he stammered. “Nay, John, I’m walkin’ round in my bed,” retorted Robert dryly. “Dinna ye think it’s time for me to be up?” he asked. “What’s the matter, mon? stand still, ye make me dizzy.” John was uneasily walking up and down, casting surreptitious glances at the door of the room which held the fair captive. “Oh, Johnny, my Jo John,” laughed Robert as he caught sight of the old man’s lugubrious countenance, “ye’ve been drinkin’ too much Usqubaugh.” “Too much what, Robbie?” he asked nervously. “Usqubaugh. Dinna ken what that is? It’s whisky, whisky, whisky.” “Oh, I ken, laddie,” replied John, smiling grimly. “Ye needna’ repeat it; one whisky is enough.” “Not for me,” laughed Robert, slapping him on the shoulder. “Ye dinna ken my capacity.” The noise of a chair overturning in the next room arrested his attention. “What’s that?” he asked quickly. “It’s n—nothing,” stammered John. “There’s somebody in that room,” exclaimed Rob, putting his ear to the crack in the door. “I hear her walking around.” “Nay, nay, Rob, it’s nobody,” protested John, pushing him away. “Oh, oh, John Anderson, my Jo John!” cried Rob, pointing an accusing finger at the flushed, embarrassed face of the old man, “I’m on to ye.” “For shame, Robbie, an’ me wi’ an old wife below stairs,” he answered indignantly. “Faith, I’ll just find out who it is,” chuckled Rob, going toward the door. “Nay, nay, lad!” remonstrated John, holding him back. “Wait, I’ll tell ye who it is.” “Ah, I knew it,” ejaculated Rob triumphantly. “Who is it?” “It’s—it’s the Bailie,” faltered John. “The Bailie? what’s he doing in there?” “Weel, he—he came to arrest ye for debt,” glibly lied the old man. “So I told him to wait in there till ye came hame, an’ noo he’s my prisoner; that’s a’, Robbie.” Rob grasped his hand gratefully. “Ye’re a true friend, John Anderson. Let me see, how much do I owe him?”