’There’s that poor man thinks I’m gaun to allow him to gang away to that wretched hole o’ a lodging o’ his, where he’s just eating his heart out wi’ solitariness and a wheen useless books. But I’m not. I ken better than that, Ronald, my lad. Whilst ye’ve a’ been singing and roaring, I’ve had a room got ready for ye; and there ye’ll sleep this night, my man—for I’m not going to hae ye march away through the lonely streets, and maybe cut your throat ere daybreak; and ye can lock yourself in, if ye’re feared that any warlock or bogle is likely to come and snatch ye; and in the morning ye’ll come down and have your breakfast wi’ auntie Paterson and me—and then—what then? What do ye think? When the dog-cart’s at the door, and me gaun to drive ye oot to Campsie Glen? There, laddie, that’s the programme; and wet or dry is my motto. If it’s wet we’ll sing "Come under my plaidie"; and we’ll take a drop o’ something comfortable wi’ us to keep out the rain.’ ’I wish I was gaun wi’ ye, Mistress,’ the big skipper said. ’Two’s company and three’s none,’ said Kate Menzies, with a frank laugh. ’Is’t a bargain, Ronald?’ ’It’s a bargain, lass; and there’s my hand on’t,’ he said. ’Now, where’s this room—for I don’t know whether it has been the smoke, or the singing, or the whisky, or all o’ them together, but my head’s like a ship sailing before the wind, without any helm to steer her.’ ’Your head!’ she said proudly. ’Your head’s like iron, man; there’s nothing the matter wi’ ye. And here’s Alec—he’ll show you where your room is; and in the morning ring for whatever ye want; mind ye, a glass o’ champagne and angostura bitters is just first-rate; and we’ll have breakfast at whatever hour ye please—and then we’ll be off to Campsie Glen.’ The little party now broke up, each going his several way; and Ronald, having bade them all good-night, followed the ostler-lad Alec along one or two gloomy corridors until he found the room that had been prepared for him. As he got to bed he was rather sick and sorry about the whole night’s proceedings, he scarcely knew why; and his thinking faculty was in a nebulous condition; and he only vaguely knew that he would rather not have pledged himself to go to Campsie Glen on the following morning. No matter—’_another glass before we go_,’ that was the last of the song they had all shouted: he had forgotten that other line—’_and some win hame, and some are lost_.’ *CHAPTER XV.* *CAMPSIE GLEN.* The next morning, between nine and ten o’clock, there was a rapping at his door, and then a further rapping, and then he awoke—confused, uncertain as to his whereabouts, and with his head going like a threshing machine. Again there came the loud rapping. ’Come in, then,’ he called aloud.