"Conceal it somewhere about your person, and go to the warden's office and ask leave to see your old fellow-servant, and no doubt you will get it. And when you see him deliver this note secretly, as I told you." "Verra weel, me laird," said the old man, going and knocking on the door of the cell to be let out. The turnkey opened the door, released him, and locked it again. And the viscount, left alone, paced up and down the floor in unutterable distress of mind. An hour passed and then Cuthbert re-entered the cell, wearing a frightened visage. "Well, Cuthbert, well! did you find an opportunity of delivering the note?" "Yes, me laird, I did," said the old man hesitatingly. "Secretly?" "Y-yes, me laird!" The viscount looked relieved of a great fear. He saw the great disturbance of his servant's face, but ascribed it to the effect of his interview with the condemned man, and sympathy for his awful position, and he inquired: "How did Frisbie look, Cuthbert?" "Like a ghaist; na less! pale as deeth; trembling like a leaf about to fa'! and waefully distraught in his mind!" "Did he get an opportunity of reading my note while you were with him?" "Oh, me laird, I maun just tell you! I hope there was na ony great secret in that same note." The viscount started and stared wildly at the speaker, but then everything alarmed Lord Vincent now. "What do you mean?" he asked: "Oh, me laird! I watched my opportunity, and I gi'e him the note in secrecy, as your lairdship tauld me; and I stooped and whispered till him in his lugs to keep the note till he was his lane, and read it then. But the doitted fule, gude forgi'e me, didna seem to compreheend; but was loike ane dazed. He just lookit at me and then proceeded to open the note before my face. Whereupon the turnkey lad takit it out fra his hand, saying that the prisoner, being a condemned man, maunna receive ony faulded paper that hadna passit under the observation of the governor, because sic faulded packets might contain strychnine or other subtle poison. And sae he took possession o' your note, me laird, before the prisoner could read a word of it; and said he maun carry it to the governor whilk I suppose he did." To see the consternation of the viscount was dreadful. "Oh, Cuthbert, Cuthbert, the cowardice of that miserable wretch will ruin me!" he exclaimed bitterly. "Oh, me laird, dinna rail at the puir sinfu' soul for cowardice. Sure mesel' would be a coward gin I had the waefu' woodie before my ees. 'Deed, me laird, and me heart is sair for the mischance o' the note." "It cannot be mended now, Cuthbert." The time was drawing near for the closing of the prison doors, and the old man took a dutiful leave of his master and departed.