"I hear nae stir in the howe," said the beadsman, "and see naething but that rickle o' a house standing on that eerie pinnacle, like a craw's nest on the tap o' a tree in a glen. The creature's surely sleeping after his day's wark; for he works like a dergar, and nae man kens what at. He maks neither wicker corbins nor quhorls, like the rest o' his Droich species." "Hist! Carey; heard ye not a noise?" said the youth. "A hungry stane hawk spooming down the quarry after some raven that has been picking the banes o' the Melvilles," replied the other. "Wear-awins! there's a sad change on Falconcleugh now," he continued, as he turned his face to the walls. "The fire o' the ha' has been eighteen years extinguished; and when it may be lighted again, it will be to warm fremmet blude o' the spoiler o' the auld family. Heard ye that Gilbert Blackburn o' Kingsbarns, the commendator o' Pittenweem, is shortly to tak up his residence here, whar, methinks, he has as little right as the puir beadsman." "No," replied Henry, as, keeping his eye on the house of the strange inhabitant, he lent his ear to the gaberlunzie man. "It is even so," continued the old man. "It is now eighteen years, come the time, since George Melville, the last o' his ancient race, was burned for a heretic in Bordeaux. He was driven frae that mansion there, and the braw lands o' Falconcleugh, by Gilbert Blackburn, the persecutor o' the heretics, even he wha had a hand in raising the black stake at the cross o' St Andrews the day. I saw his ee, red as the burning faggots, fixed on the puir youth. I'm thinking I didna thank him for his awmous." "You seem friendly to the heretics, Carey, yet live by the kirk," said the youth, withdrawing his eye from the chasm. "The kirk's penny has as mony placks in't as a heretic's--the mair by token, they hae baith three," replied Carey. "I hae my ain thoughts o' the auld faith and the new doctrines; but it's better to live by the altar than be burned on't." "It might have been well for the earthly part of Patrick Hamilton, had he observed your worldly wisdom," said Henry. "Ay; but his soul wadna hae been in yon blue lift the night," replied Carey, looking up to the sky. "Na, na, nor might that o' puir Falconcleugh have been there afore him, if he had bowed his head at the auld altar. Yet _he_ tried to save his body by fleeing to France--vain flight, for his persecutor, Kingsbarns, wrote incontinent to the authorities at Bordeaux, to watch him as an enemy to the holy kirk. Then cam the sough, as pleasant to the ears o' Kingsbarns as the whistlin' winds to the outlaying bluegowns, that his victim was burned. His bonny wife, ane o' the Blebos, wha fled wi' him, died o' a broken heart; and now, they say, the race is dune. Whist! whist! Gude and the rude! What's the creature doing amang the trees o' the howe at this time o' nicht?"