More than that he would not say. Frank could follow him or not, just as he chose. Only if he did not, he would rue it all his life. Furthermore, he stung the young man, perhaps intentionally, with the taunt of being afraid. Frank cast back his words in his teeth. He was young, active, armed, of a good conscience. Why then had he need to be afraid? "But," said the stranger, "if you are not afraid of what I can do to you, do you not fear the consequences of being found in the company of one whose very name whispered in this lonely street would make the stones themselves rise up to apprehend him--on whose head half the men in Glasgow would build their fortune as on a found treasure, had they the luck to grip him by the collar--the sound of whose apprehension were as welcome at the Cross of Edinburgh as ever the news of a field stricken and won in Flanders?" "And who, then, are you?" cried Frank, "whose name should create so deep a terror?" "No enemy of yours, since I am taking you to a place where, if I were recognised, cold iron for my heels and hemp for my throat would be my brief dooming." Instinctively Frank laid his hand on his sword. "What," said the stranger, "on an unarmed man and your friend?" "I am ignorant if you be either the one or the other!" said Frank, "and indeed your language and manner lead me to doubt both." "Manfully spoken," said the unknown; "well, I will be frank and free with you--I am conveying you to prison!" "To prison," cried Frank, "and by what warrant--for what offence? You shall have my life sooner than my liberty. I defy you! I will not follow you a step farther!" The unknown drew himself up haughtily. "I am not taking you there as a prisoner," he said. "I am neither messenger nor sheriff's officer. _Your_ liberty is little risked by the visit. _Mine_ is in some peril. But I care not for the risk. For I love a free young blood, that kens no protector but the cross of his sword." So saying he tapped at a low wicket, and was answered sharply from within, as by one awakened suddenly from a dream. "Fat's tat? Wha's that, I wad say? And what the deil want ye at this hour o' the e'en? Clean again rules--clean again rules--as they call them!" The speaker seemed by the yawning drone of the last words again to be composing himself to slumber. Then the stranger, who had hitherto guided Frank, spoke in a loud whisper, "Dougal man! hae ye forgotten _Ha nun Gregarach?_" Instantly there was a bustle inside. "Deil a bit, deil a bit!" said the voice within, briskly.