"Ay, but it's a young murderer he is," said a third. And this word "murderer" sounded in my ears from every side, and much I wondered what it all could mean. When we arrived at the door of the prison house a crowd of the townspeople awaited us. I looked round the faces fearlessly, and in their midst I recognized the wrinkled face of my skipper, Davie Flett. "Cheer up, my hearty!" said he, as I passed by him. "We'll not heave anchor till ye come out; and you'll not be long, I'll warrant." But I confess it was difficult for me to feel cheerful at that moment. Indeed, when the prison doors closed upon me, when I found myself alone in my dark cell, I became dazed and stupid, and began to think that perhaps after all I was the murderer that I had been called. Yet what could it all mean? Colin Lothian murdered! My old friend Colin Lothian! Chapter XXXVIII. Accused Of Murder. I need not prolong my narrative by telling you in what way I spent that first night in the cold solitude of my prison cell, or by recording the thoughts that occupied my mind through those long and weary hours. My jailer, one Jimmy Macfarlane, an honest, kind-hearted man, who had known my father, gave me a basin of hot porridge before he locked me up for the night, and left with me, as though by accident, a good, thick horse cloth to keep me warm. Conscious of my innocence, and trusting in the justice of my accusers, I slept well and soundly, nor did I awake until late on the following morning, when the Sabbath light stole through the crossbars of the little window, and the opening of the door aroused me. I heard Macfarlane speaking with some one. "Ye'll find him in here, captain; but dinna stay ower long wi' him; for, ye ken, I'm breakin' the rule in letting ye see the lad." "All right, Jimmy!" said a voice that I at once recognized as that of Captain Flett. "Well, Ericson, my lad," he said, entering the cell and offering me his hand. "They've not put the hangman's rope round your neck yet, I see." Then he added in a more serious tone, "Come, I canna stay with you long. Let us talk the affair over, and see what's to be done." "First of all then," I said, "I want to know what it's all about. Why have they put me in here?" "What! have they not told you the particulars?" "No; I know nothing but that old Colin Lothian has been murdered." "And ye dinna ken who it was that murdered him? Tell me the truth now." "I know nothing at all about it," I said. "Well, then, I'll just tell you all that I know myself, Ericson." And sitting down beside me on an old box that was in the cell, the skipper proceeded with his account of the affair, of which the following is the substance.