"Yon old fox, Lovat, is safe at home," she retorted. "When the chief bides it is not good for the clansmen to stir."
"But the Master is out," he hastened to add, referring to Lord Lovat's son, who was in command of the clan Fraser.
"It is the sly pussie sits on the top of the wall. Well, well," she concluded, "what's done's done, and so off to bed wi' ye, and get your sleep."
Rob, concealing his delight at his aunt's apparent complacency, rose to his feet, and wishing her a very good night—for which she thanked him grimly—betook himself to the adjoining room, and flinging himself down on his bed was soon fast asleep.
It was pitch dark when he awoke some two hours later, and he awakened so suddenly that he started up in bed listening intently. Surely somebody had spoken in the room! But there was no sound, only the crying of the night wind in the street outside. And then there fell on his ears a muffled murmur of voices in the kitchen, and a faint noise like the falling of shoes upon the stone floor. Stealing across the room, he knelt before the door and listened with a sudden dread in his heart.
For a moment he heard nothing at all, then to his horror he caught the whisper of a voice he knew too well—the shrill, nasal accents of Mr. Macaulay, the schoolmaster, in close conversation with his aunt.
So near were they both to the door that he could hear every word they said.
"I tell you I saw him," said the schoolmaster.
"But what of that? Every one knows that old Castleleathers is safe as Mr. Hossack himself."
"Who cares two pins for Castleleathers—it is the other I want..."