“Thank the Lord,” he muttered with a sigh of relief. “I breathe easier.” Going to the door leading to the hall, he listened for a moment. From below came the sound of clinking glasses. He closed the door quickly. The coast was clear now. His guidwife was waiting on the customer. He hurried across the room and was about to release his prisoner, when he heard the door of Robert’s chamber open. He turned quickly and found his lodger yawning in the doorway.
“Well, John Anderson, my Jo John,” said he lazily, “what’s all the row here, eh?”
John looked up guiltily. “Are ye up, laddie?” he stammered.
“Nay, John, I’m walkin’ round in my bed,” retorted Robert dryly. “Dinna ye think it’s time for me to be up?” he asked. “What’s the matter, mon? stand still, ye make me dizzy.”
John was uneasily walking up and down, casting surreptitious glances at the door of the room which held the fair captive. “Oh, Johnny, my Jo John,” laughed Robert as he caught sight of the old man’s lugubrious countenance, “ye’ve been drinkin’ too much Usqubaugh.”
“Too much what, Robbie?” he asked nervously.
“Usqubaugh. Dinna ken what that is? It’s whisky, whisky, whisky.”
“Oh, I ken, laddie,” replied John, smiling grimly. “Ye needna’ repeat it; one whisky is enough.”
“Not for me,” laughed Robert, slapping him on the shoulder. “Ye dinna ken my capacity.” The noise of a chair overturning in the next room arrested his attention.