"The auld vagabond that he is!" muttered the incensed listener, "to be going on in that daft manner just after he has doomed a wheen fellow-creatures to death; it really astonishes me that the walls o’ the castle dinna’ come doon about his ears and finish him in the midst o’ his evil on-goings. Truly the Lord is merciful! Nae wonder cauld water takes to the boil whenever he puts his foot in’t! I am sure I wad gin he cam near me, the nasty fellow that he is. My very blood rins cauld till hear him going on at that gait; it’s like naething human. Gude sake! how I pity these poor fellows at this moment in the power o’ sic a character; indeed, I may just as well pity myself when I’m at it, for I’m no that far out o’ the wood that I can afford to waste time in talking to mysel’ like some auld spaewife—the more especially when I may be able to do something a hantle better, than a wheen useless words, for my comrades in captivity." So saying, William Hislop thrust aside a huge block of wood which somewhat obstructed his exit, and prepared to issue forth. Scarcely had he ventured a few steps across the courtyard, when, with a loud scream, the owl darted forth from its hiding-place amongst the ivy, and again commenced wheeling in rapid circles around the castle; but this time in such close proximity as almost to strike him with its wings. Horrified beyond measure at the sight of this unexpected apparition, and fully persuaded of its being nothing else than an emissary of Satan’s, William Hislop crept back to his retreat amongst the wood, where he lay for several minutes, gazing with distended eyes on the ill-omened bird as it pursued its wayward flight. "I am a gone man!" he muttered; "a gone man! that owl will be the death o’ me! It has discovered I am here, and the next thing will be the Laird coming his ain sell to pull me out o’ my hiding-place. Whist ye there wi’ your crying! I am sure ye might be contented wi’ the lot that has fallen to your share and let me alane. O sirs me! had I but foreseen the tae half o’ the misfortunes that were to befall us this dreadful night, I wad hae been sitting by my mother’s hearthstane, supping my porritch wi’ a thankfu’ heart, instead o’ lying here, expecting every moment to be my last." While William Hislop was thus indulging in soliloquy, one of the windows of the banqueting hall was thrown open, and a voice exclaimed, evidently in reply to a question from within, "Morning breaks, and ere another hour has passed, we must be in our saddles;" then the casement was closed, and once more the festivity was resumed.