She would not be persuaded that I did not desire to have my bed warmed, but, by some short cut, got in before us. On entering the castle-hall, I found her, with the warming-pan in her hand, held back by the inquisitive servants, who were all questioning her about the news, of which she was the first, and not very intelligible enunciator. I called for bread and water for my prisoner in the strong-room, and then I heard various exclamations of wonder. “Ay, it is all true! it is no jest! Joe is at the bottom of all. _I_ never liked Joe Kelly--_I_ always knew Joe was not the right thing--and _I_ always said so; and I, and I, and I. And it was but last week I was saying so: and it was but yesterday _I_ said so and so.” I passed through the gossiping crowd with bread and water for my culprit. McLeod instantly saw and followed me. “I will make bold to come with you,” said he; “a pent rat’s a dangerous animal.”--I thanked him, and acquiesced; but there was no need for the precaution. When we opened the door, we found the conscience or terror-struck wretch upon his knees, and in the most abject terms he implored for mercy. From the windows of the room, which looked into the castle-yard, he had heard enough to guess all that had happened. I could not bear to look at him. After I had set down his food, he clung to my knees, crying and whining in a most unmanly manner. McLeod, with indignation, loosened him from me, threw him back, and locked the door. “Cowardice and treachery,” said he, “usually go together.” “And courage and sincerity,” said I. “And now we’ll go to supper, my good friends. I hope you are all as hungry as I am.” I never did eat any meal with so much appetite. “Tis a pity, my lord,” said McLeod, “but that there was a conspiracy against you every day of your life, it seems to do you so much good.” CHAPTER XVI. “What new wonders? What new misfortunes, Ellinor?” said I, as Ellinor, with a face of consternation, appeared again in the morning in my room, just as I was going down to breakfast: “what new misfortunes, Ellinor?” “Oh! the worst that could befall me!” cried she, wringing her hands; “the worst, the very worst!--to be the death of my own child!” said she, with inexpressible horror. “Oh! save him! save him! for the love of heaven, dear, save him! If you don’t save him, ‘tis I shall be his death.” She was in such agony, that she could not explain herself farther for some minutes. “It was I gave the information against them all to you. But how could I ever have thought Owen was one of them? My son, my own son, the unfortunate cratur; I never thought but what he was with the militia far away. And how could it ever come into my head that Owen could have any hand in a thing of the kind?” “But I did not see him last night,” interrupted I.