"Begone to the bartizan!" exclaimed his master, angrily, "and bring me instant tidings if anything seems astir in the country about us. I expect news from the city hourly. Leave me." Juden vanished. "The deevil tak' lovers and lords!" he muttered, as he drew his broad worsted bonnet over his cross visage, and ascended to the bartizan of the tower, and setting his teeth hard, as he faced the keen north wind, took a survey of the dreary and snow-covered landscape. On the passing wind ten o'clock came sullenly from the spire of St. John of Corstorphine; then all was deathly still save the sough of the winter breeze as it swept over the dreary Lee, and whistled through the open corbells of the projecting tower. Juden had no particular fancy for enacting the part of warder in so cold a night, and after taking a rapid survey of the extensive waste, he was about to descend again, when an unusual redness in the sky to the eastward arrested him. It rose in the direction of the city, and resembled the lurid and wavering glow of a great conflagration. The red blaze was rapidly spreading and crimsoning the edges of the dusky clouds above, and throwing forward in strong relief the southern edge of the Corstorphine Kills, and the dark pines that shaded them. Astonished, perplexed, and alarmed, Juden continued to gaze in the direction of the light, until a loud hollo startled him, and he perceived a man on horseback close to the foot of the tower. "Ho!" cried Juden through his hand, for the wind blew keen and high. "What want ye, friend?" "No a night's lodging, or I wadna come here," answered the other testily. "Closed gates and dark windows betoken cauld cheer and a caulder ingle." "Beware o' your tongue, friend," replied the butler from aloft. "Langer lugs than yours hae been nailed to the tower yett. You have come frae Edinburgh I warrant?" "Troth have I, on the spur, man, so open the yett, Juden Stenton." "What's a' the steer there this night?" "Gif you had been there ye wad ken," responded the other with sulky importance. "I bear a letter for my Lord Clermistonlee on the king's service, which king Gude kens and the Deil cares." "Thir are kittle times, friend," replied the butler, warily; "so if King James himsel' came to the peel o' Clermiston this mirk night, not a bolt would be drawn, or a lock undone. Tie the letter to this twine, gossip, and sae gang your way in peace." Rendered cautious by the nature of the times, and by being constantly on the alert against force and treachery, the wary old servitor lowered over the wall a string, to which after sundry curses the horseman tied a letter, and Juden towed it up, "hand over hand."