"Ill folk are aye feared," said the stranger; "and I doubt there are but few clear consciences in Clermistonlee. My horse is sair forfoughton wi' my ride frae the West Port; he fell at the Foulbrigs, and was nigh swept awa' when fording the Leith doon by there; but I maun een ride on to his honor the Laird o' Niddry without a stirrup cup or a 'God save ye.' Out upon Clermiston and its ill-mannered loons!" and dashing spurs into his horse, the servant galloped at a hunting pace away to the westward, and disappeared among the hollows at the verge of the Lee. Anxious to learn the contents of a letter in which he doubted not he had as much interest as his Lord, Juden hurried down the corkscrew stair from the bartizan, and repairing to the little study where his half-muddled master was gazing dreamily into the fire, and imbibing his sixth cup of sack, he placed the little square billet before him. Clermistonlee tore it open, and read hurriedly, "Dear Gossip, "A glorious revolution hath been accomplished, (and I am just drinking to its success in sugared brandy,) but Satan seems to have broken loose in the city, whilk the rascal sort hath fired in six different places. The acts of Estate and Council are mere nullities. Your presence is required by the Council anent ane address to the new king. We are to have a grand onslaught to-morrow against Baal's prophets, the Host of Pharaoh, and a' that, ye ken. "Yrs. at service, "MERSINGTON." "_Postscriptum_.--Keep the bonnie bird in the cage close; her kinsman Napier hath been slain by young Fenton, and ye know how the entail stands. Vale! King William the Second of Scotland for ever!" Clermistonlee's first impulse was to start up and buckle on his sword, exclaiming, "My gambadoes, Juden; the red leather ones--saddle Meg, and, peril of thy life, look well to--but no--no! I will not. Thou mayest go to the devil, Mersington, with thy drunken scrawl, the address, and the Council to boot. I leave not Clermiston to-night. Napier slain--and by Fenton! By George, how the plot is thickening! 'Tis glorious. Juden, don your shabble, and ride to the city; tell my gossip Mersington in the _matter_ pending, mark me, knave! in the matter pending to use my name as he shall deem fitting." Juden replied by a leer of deep cunning (for he too was something of a politician), and, animated by an intense curiosity to know what was acting in the city, hurried away, and in ten minutes had left far behind him the dreary tower and frozen muir, above which its dark outline reared like that of a spectre.