Just as one of his companions was about to reply, a loud crash in the
yard, as if some heavy substance was thrown to the ground, at once
arrested their attention. The men instantly started to their feet, and
eagerly listened for a repetition of the sound; but nothing more was
heard.
"What can it be?" said one of the party, whose pallid face and faltering
voice betokened the agitation. under which he laboured.
"O! it is just the wind that has blown down something about the barn,"
replied one of his comrades.
At the mention of the word barn Andrew Hamilton gave utterance to a loud
exclamation, and seizing a lantern that stood on the table, darted
towards the door, closely followed by his astonished companions. With a
sinking heart, he pursued his way; and to his unspeakable horror, the
first object that greeted his eyesight, on his arriving at the spot, was
the door—the key of which he was carrying for safety in his pocket—lying
prostrate on the ground, bereft of its hinges. Impatient to learn the
worst, he rushed into the barn; it was empty—the prisoner was gone.
The reader must now please to accompany us into the interior of Lag
Tower, in the banqueting hall of which several gentlemen are seated
round a long oaken table, strewn with the remains of dessert,
half-emptied bottles of wine, drinking cups, etc. The gentleman
presiding over the entertainment, and whose hoarse laugh even now
resounds through the hall, is the dreaded persecutor, Sir Robert
Grierson; on his right hand are seated Captain Bruce and Captain
Dalziel, also notorious for their dreadful cruelties practised towards
the Covenanters; while Lieutenant Livingstone, Cornet Douglas, and
others of lesser note, occupy the remaining seats. The hall, which is
long and narrow in its proportions, is lighted up by the aid of
pine-torches stuck in the wall, and the huge fire, as it roars in the
capacious chimney, casts a ruddy glow over the swarthy faces of the
revellers, and dances fantastically over the suits of time-honoured
armour, swords, guns, pistols and other warlike weapons with which the
walls of the apartment are adorned.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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