The mansion was a high and narrow edifice, built on the very verge of a cliff overhanging the water of Leith, that struggled through a deep and wooded gorge a hundred feet below, and the rock was so abrupt that a plumb-line could have reached without impediment from one of the turrets to the rocky bed of the river. The house had the usual Scottish gablets, turrets at the angles and machecoulis between. Its windows were all thickly barred, dark, silent, and in many places broken. The vanes creaked mournfully in concert with the rooks and the wind that sighed through the ancient oaks. All else was silent as the grave. There came no sound from the mansion; none from the empty stalls of the stable court, and none from the tenantless perches of the Falconry. On the door-lintel, notwithstanding the darkness, Clermistonlee could decypher _I fear God onlye_, 1506, a legend placed there by his pious forefathers to exclude witches and evil spirits, on whom it was supposed that the name of the Deity would act as a spell of potence. The present Lord was as evil a spirit as the city contained; but the legend neither affected him or his purpose, and he furiously tirled at the risp and kicked at the door till the whole house rang to the noise. A ray of light streamed through the key-hole, and vizzying slit of the door, on the green leaves and dewy grass, and the approach of a slip-shod female was heard. "Who knocks so late?" asked a shrill voice. "A proper hour and a pleasant to disturb folk. Marry, Deil stick the visitor," she added, withdrawing the ponderous bolts, and opening the door. "As of old, good Beatrix, you are still without fear," said Clermistonlee. "Why? because I am without hope," she rejoined in a fierce tone. "Fear! what should I fear? Did I not know it was thee? But what fool's errand or knavish purpose brings thee here now?" "Silence, Mistress Malapert!" There was a momentary pause, and a terrible glance--one at least of intense expression passed between these two. A sentence will explain it.