As soon as Dawtie heard her mistress's door close, she followed her master to the study, and arrived just as the door of the hidden room was shut behind him. There was not a moment to be lost! She went straight to it, and knocked rather loud. No answer came. She knocked again. Still there was no answer. She knocked a third time, and after a little fumbling with the lock, the door opened a chink, and a ghastly face, bedewed with drops of terror, peeped through. She was standing a little back, and the eyes did not at once find the object they sought; then suddenly they lighted on her, and the laird shook from head to foot. “What is it, Dawtie?” he faltered out in a broken voice. “Please, sir,” answered Dawtie, “I have something to confess: would ye hearken to me?” “No, no, Dawtie! I am sure you have nothing to confess!” returned the old man, eager to send her away, and to prevent her from seeing the importance of the room whose entrance she had discovered. “Or,” he went on, finding she did not move, “if you have done anything, Dawtie, that you ought not to have done, confess it to God. It is to Him you must confess, not to a poor mortal like me! For my part, if it lies to me, I forgive you, and there is an end! Go to your bed, Dawtie.” “Please, sir, I canna. Gien ye winna hear til me, I'll sit doon at the door o' this room, and sit till--” “What room, Dawtie? Call you this a room? It's a wee bit closet where I say my prayers before I go to bed.” But as he spoke his blood ran cold within him, for he had uttered a deliberate lie--two lies in one breath: the bit closet was the largest room in the house, and he had never prayed a prayer in it since first he entered it! He was unspeakably distressed at what he had done, for he had always cherished the idea that he was one who would not lie to save his life. And now in his old age he had lied who when a boy had honor enough to keep him from lying! Worst of all, now that he had lied, he must hold to the lie! He _dared_ not confess it! He stood sick and trembling. “I'll wait, sir,” said Dawtie, distressed at his suffering, and more distressed that he could lie who never forgot his prayers! Alas, he was further down the wrong road than she had supposed! Ashamed for his sake, and also for her own, to look him in the face--for did he not imagine she believed him, while she knew that he lied?--she turned her back on him. He caught at his advantage, glided out, and closed the door behind him. When Dawtie again turned, she saw him in her power. Her trial was come; she had to speak for life or death! But she remembered that the Lord told His disciples to take no care how they should speak; for when the time came it would be given them to speak. So she began by simply laying down the thing that was in her hand. “Sir,” she said, “I am very sorry, but this morning I made a dirty mark in one of your books!”