The Iron Room of the ancient Tolbooth of Edinburgh was a dreary vault of massive stone-work, and was named so in consequence of its strength and security. A low heavy arch roofed it, and the walls from which it sprung were composed of great blocks of roughly hewn stone elaborately built. Here and there a chain hung from them. The floor was paved, and the door was a complicated mass of iron bars, locks, bolts, and hinges. A single aperture, high up in the wall, admitted the cold midnight wind through its deep recess. An iron cruise burned on a clumsy wooden table, near which sat Walter Fenton the condemned, with his face covered by his hands and his mind buried in sad and melancholy thoughts. One bright and solitary star shone down upon him through the grated window, flashing, dilating, and shrinking; often he gazed upon it wistfully--for it was his only companion--the partner or the witness of his solitude and his sorrow. Once he turned to look upon it--but it had passed away. He reflected that never again would he behold a star shining in the firmament. Sad, bitter, and solitary reflection--for a few hours was all that was left him now: and, though the sands of life were ebbing fast, one absorbing thought occupied his mind--that Lilian was false and his rival triumphant; that all his long cherished schemes and dreams of love and happiness, glory and ambition, were frustrated and blasted irredeemably and for ever. He was to die! The infliction of punishment immediately after trial was anciently practised in all criminal cases, and the victim was usually led from the presence of the judge to the scaffold. Walter had been doomed to death as a traitor, a raiser of sedition, and a deserter from the Scottish forces: the last accusation, in support of which his signed _oath of fealty_ to the Estates of Scotland, had been produced in council by General Sir Thomas Livingstone, commander-in-chief of the army, saved him the dishonour of dying on the gibbet. The door of the Iron Room was opened stealthily, and the heavy bolts and swinging chains were again rattling into their places, when Walter slowly raised his head. His eye had become haggard, and his face was overspread with a deathly pallor. The tall spare form of the Reverend Mr. Ichabod Bummel stood before him, clad in his ample black coat with its enormous cuffs and pocket-flaps, his deep waistcoat, and voluminous grey breeches. He removed his broad hat, and smoothed down the long lank hair which was parted in a seam over the top of his cranium, and fell straight upon each shoulder. He did not advance, but continued to press his hat upon his breast with both hands, to turn up his eyes and groan mournfully.