"But the Master is out," he hastened to add, referring to Lord Lovat's son, who was in command of the clan Fraser. "It is the sly pussie sits on the top of the wall. Well, well," she concluded, "what's done's done, and so off to bed wi' ye, and get your sleep." Rob, concealing his delight at his aunt's apparent complacency, rose to his feet, and wishing her a very good night--for which she thanked him grimly--betook himself to the adjoining room, and flinging himself down on his bed was soon fast asleep. It was pitch dark when he awoke some two hours later, and he awakened so suddenly that he started up in bed listening intently. Surely somebody had spoken in the room! But there was no sound, only the crying of the night wind in the street outside. And then there fell on his ears a muffled murmur of voices in the kitchen, and a faint noise like the falling of shoes upon the stone floor. Stealing across the room, he knelt before the door and listened with a sudden dread in his heart. For a moment he heard nothing at all, then to his horror he caught the whisper of a voice he knew too well--the shrill, nasal accents of Mr. Macaulay, the schoolmaster, in close conversation with his aunt. So near were they both to the door that he could hear every word they said. "I tell you I saw him," said the schoolmaster. "But what of that? Every one knows that old Castleleathers is safe as Mr. Hossack himself." "Who cares two pins for Castleleathers--it is the other I want..." "Ye mean the big man..." "That I do. If I can lay hands on him I'll fling a net over more rebels than if we had Lovat himsel'." "But Rob knows nothing of this. He's only a laddie gone daft over soldiers. He'll have forgotten all about it in the morning." "Not he--but if he can tell me where one whose name I'll no breathe to you nor to any one else, can be found, I'll see his neck is safe." "Then on wi' ye," whispered Miss Macpherson, "for I doubt we must save Rob if we can. Ye hae the rope." "That have I," returned the master. Then followed complete silence, and a second later the faint creaking of the door behind which he crouched. Rob sprang to his feet, and paused irresolutely. He was unarmed and helpless. Very slowly the door began to open. He knew it by the draught of air upon his face. In the pitch darkness he leaned close to the wall waiting for them to pass him towards the bed. But at that moment there sounded very faintly, like the sighing of the wind--the far-off catch of a tune--a little twisted coil of melody such as the fairies dance to. "Hold!" whispered Macaulay, in a low tense voice. "It is but a laddie's whistle," snapped Miss Macpherson, "haste ye." But he appeared to have a dread of something in his mind. "That is no boy's whistle," he replied sullenly, "but the pipe o' Muckle John."