The moon had now risen, and its clear radiance struggled through the rifts in the cloudy sky, and shone weirdly and fitfully on the wintry landscape, making strange fantastic shadows too on the walls of the outhouses grouped about the farmhouse. Adam Hepburn stepped across the courtyard, and opened the barn door. He then motioned to Watty to enter, and after carefully closing the door, lighted the lantern he had brought with him from the house. The barn at Rowallan was a large and commodious place, with a steep ladder-like stair ascending to the granary above. In one corner a small door gave admittance to an inner apartment, something resembling a closet in a house, and into which the chaff was swept after it was separated from the wheat by the flail. At the present time it was, however, almost empty, there being only a slight sprinkling on the wooden floor. Into this place Adam Hepburn threw the light of his lantern, and then looked enquiringly at Watty.
"What do you see there, Watty, anything by ordinar?" he asked.
"Naething but a common chaff-hole," answered Watty, "and no' a very safe hidin'-place, I wad think. The Douglas Water hole beats it yet."
"Come in, though, Watty, and I'll show you something," said Adam, with a smile, and Watty stepped into the place, in which he could scarcely stand upright. Adam then set down his lantern, and with his hands swept aside the chaff, but still Watty saw nothing save a moth-eaten and discoloured wooden floor. But when Adam inserted into some of the seams the strong blade of his gully knife, and Watty saw a distinct movement in the flooring, he began to have an inkling of what was coming. After some little exertion, Adam Hepburn raised a small trap-door, sufficient to admit the body of a man, and Watty peering into the chasm, with excited interest, saw a ladder which appeared to lead into the bowels of the earth.
"Now creep down after me, Watty, and shut the door after you, and I'll show you something worth seeing," said Adam, and Watty made haste to obey. The ladder was of considerable length, but at last Watty felt his feet on the firm earth, and looking about, saw by the light that he was in a subterranean passage, narrow certainly, but of sufficient height to accommodate even Adam Hepburn's tall figure. Still following his guide, Watty walked a little way along the passage, and then found himself in a kind of cave, a wide open space, sufficient to hold about a dozen people. There was a rude couch composed of stones, built in one corner, upon which now had been piled a substantial tick filled with chaff, above which was spread plenty of blankets and thick coverings, which would make a very comfortable resting place, even in winter. A piece of rough matting covered the floor in front of the bed, and there were some benches which formed a table, or could be used for seats. The floor of the place was perfectly dry, and the atmosphere felt warm and free from dampness. Watty gazed round him in unmitigated astonishment and admiration, and at lasted gasped out--
"This is a howdie hole, an' nae mistak'! Whaur did it come frae, an' wha made it?"
"It has always been here. I believe my great-grandfather, who was killed at Flodden, had something to do with it," replied Adam Hepburn. "At any rate, not a living soul knows of its existence but our own family and you, Watty. But you don't know half its advantages yet. See, the underground passage continues right through here," he added, shedding the light of his lantern into another dark recess; "and what do you think? it runs right through the fields of Rowallan, and under the bed of the Douglas Water, and comes out in the middle of all the brushwood and tangle on the face of the Corbie's Cliff. Ye didna ken there was a hole there, did ye, Watty?"
"No; although I hae speeled [climbed] the Corbie mony a time for nests when I was a laddie," said Watty, solemnly. "It seems as if the Lord had made the place Hissel'."
"Mr. Gray can be made very comfortable here, Watty," continued Adam Hepburn; "and, by the simple pulling of a string I have fastened up in the chaff-hole, I can make a noise which will warn him to escape by the Corbie should the soldiers discover the trap. But I don't think there can be any fear of that."
"No' likely, for I couldna see onything but the flure," said Watty, in much glee; "an' I'm no' blind. Eh, weel, may be mair than the minister 'll be glad o' this grand shelter."