This interview with his counsel had only tended to confirm the fears of the viscount and deepen his despondency, for, notwithstanding the guarded words of the lawyer, Lord Vincent saw that he had well-nigh given up all for lost. With a deep groan he sat down to the table and resumed the writing of his letter. He had not written many minutes when he was startled by the opening of the door. He hastily concealed his writing under a piece of blotting paper, and nervously turned to see who was the new intruder. It was old Cuthbert, come back from his errand. As soon as the door was closed upon them, the old man approached his master. "Have you got the medicine, Cuthbert?" "Aye, me laird," replied the servant, taking a bottle, rolled in a white paper, from his pocket, and handing it to his master. Some instinct made the viscount conceal the bottle in his own bosom. "And here, me laird, are two letters the turnkey gave me to hand to your lairdship. He tauld me they had just been left at the warden's office for you," said Cuthbert, laying two formidable-looking epistles before his master. Lord Vincent recognized in the superscription of the respective letters the handwriting of his counsel, Mr. Drummond and Mr. Stair. He hastily opened them one after the other. Several banknotes for a large amount rolled out of each. Surprised, he rapidly cast his eyes over each in turn. And his face turned to a deadly whiteness. The two letters were in effect the same. It seemed as though the writers, though not in partnership, had acted in concert on this occasion. They each respectfully begged leave to return their retaining fees and retire from the defense of the viscount. Since reading the confession of the convict, Alick Frisbie, they could not conscientiously act as counsel for Lord Vincent. Such was the purport, if not the exact words of the two letters. "Me laird, me laird, ye are ill again!" said old Cuthbert, anxiously approaching his master. "Yes; the pain has returned." "Will ye no tak' some o' the medicine noo?" "No, Cuthbert; not until I retire for the night," answered the viscount; but he withdrew the bottle from his bosom, and took it to the wash-basin and washed off the label and then threw it--the label--into the fire. Cuthbert watched him, and wondered at this proceeding, but was too respectful to express surprise or make inquiries. And at this moment the turnkey entered with Lord Vincent's supper, that had been brought from the "Highlander"; and while he arranged it on the table he warned Cuthbert that the prison doors were about to be closed for the night, and that Mrs. MacDonald was waiting for him to drive her back to the castle. Upon hearing this the old man took a respectful leave of his master and departed. The turnkey remained in attendance upon the prisoner, kindly pressing him to eat.