"It is well," said he; "and, Master Burnet, I fear you have come back to a desolate lodging. As ye see, all are gone and only I am left. Yestreen word came that that had happened which we had long expected. There was once a man among us whom we cast out for evil living. He has proved the traitor and there is no more safety here. They scattered last night, the puir feckless folk, to do for themselves among the moors and mosses, and I am left here to wait for the coming of the enemy." "Do you hold your life so cheap," I cried, "that you would cast it away thus? I dare not suffer you to bide here. I would be a coward indeed if I did not take care of you." A gleam of something like pleasure passed over his worn face. But he spoke gravely. "No, you are too young and proud and hot in blood. You think that a strong arm and a stout heart can do all. But I have a work to do in which none can hinder me. My life is dear to me, and I would use it for the best. But you, too, are in danger here; the soldiers may come at any moment. If you go far to the back you’ll find a narrow way up which you can crawl. It’ll bring ye out on the back side of the hill. Keep it well in mind, lad, when the time comes. But now, sit ye down, and give us your crack. There’s a heap o’ things I want to speir at ye. And first, how is auld Veitch at Smitwood? I once kenned him well, when he was a young, ’prising lad; but now I hear he’s sair fallen in years and gien ower to the pleasures of eating and drinking." I told him all of the laird of Smitwood that I could remember. "It would be bonny on the muirs o’ Clyde in this weather. I havena been out o’ doors for mony a day, but I would like fine to feel the hill-wind and the sun on my cheek. I was aye used wi’ the open air," and his voice had a note of sorrow. To me it seemed a strange thing that in the presence of the most deadly danger this man should be so easy and undisturbed. I confess that I myself had many misgivings and something almost approaching fear. There was no possibility of escape now, for though one made his way out of the cave when the soldiers came, there was little hiding on the bare hillside. This, of course, was what the old man meant when he bade me stay and refused to go out of doors. It was more than I could do to leave him, but yet I ever feared the very thought of dying like a rat in a hole. My forebodings of my death had always been of an open, windy place, with a drawn sword and more than one man stark before me. It was with downcast eyes that I waited for the inevitable end, striving to commend my soul to God and repent of my past follies. Suddenly some noise came to the quick ear of the old man, and he stood up quivering. "John," he cried, "John, my lad, gang to the place I told ye. Ye’ll find the hole where I said it was, and once there ye needna fear."