"'Carle Logan, thou hast dared to do what never mortal man has done before; thou hast bearded Michael Scott under his own roof-tree in the Castle of Balwearie, and it is but fair that such insolent courage should have its reward. To-morrow, at midnight, commences the Feast of St. Adrian, the martyr of the May, launch then your boat alone, and cast your line in Mortimer's Deep, and thou wilt see what will happen then. Bid your son, at sunrise, drop his nets off the Cave of St. Monan, and he will have in it such a strange haul as never fisherman, since the days of the blessed St. Peter, brought out of the great deep before!' "On this the cat purred, the owl whistled, the star flashed fire, and wi' a surly laugh the warlock received the thanks o' auld Logan, who was right glad when he found himsel clear o' the great Castle o' Balwearie, and hurrying alang the bright green links o' Kirkcaldy, when the summer sun was setting behind the Lowmonds o' Fife. "The morrow's midnight came; the Feast o' St. Adrian was held in a' the fisher-touns o' Fife, and the priests o' Pittenweem were saying solemn mass for the souls of him, of the Bishop Stalbrand, and of the six thousand six hundred that perished wi' them when the heathen Danes sacked all the Isle o' May and the towns o' the East Neuk. Logan's gudewife, Mysie, as she lay alane in her warm box-bed at Pittenweem, put up many a prayer to St. Adrian o' the May for her puir auld fisherman, who had launched his boat alane, and sailed to the Mortimer's Deep. The night was calm and clear; her son was away to the fishing-ground off St. Monan's Cave, and there he was to drop his nets, as the warlock had said, at the uprising o' the sun. "It was about the middle watch o' the night when Mysie dreamed that she saw her gudeman's boat wi' its lugsail floating on the dark waters o' Mortimer's Deep. A bright moon shone on the Isle o' St. Colme, and the abbey lights were glinting on the water; but the great Castle of Aberdour, and its wooded beach, cast a gloomy shade on the place where Logan's boat was drifting, and where the dead crusader lay. She saw him drop his line, and stoop owre the gunnel; then she saw him bringing it in hand-owre-hand--for all in a dream passes quick; he had caught something! Was it a fine fish, for which the chamberlain would gie a golden price at the Castell o' Crail? Up it came, slowly and heavily, and lo! a mailed hand arose from the water, it grasped her husband by the throat, and dragged him down--down beneath the sea--and the empty boat drifted awa' in the munelight, with its lug-sail flapping in the wind.