"Ye mean the big man..."
"That I do. If I can lay hands on him I'll fling a net over more rebels than if we had Lovat himsel'."
"But Rob knows nothing of this. He's only a laddie gone daft over soldiers. He'll have forgotten all about it in the morning."
"Not he—but if he can tell me where one whose name I'll no breathe to you nor to any one else, can be found, I'll see his neck is safe."
"Then on wi' ye," whispered Miss Macpherson, "for I doubt we must save Rob if we can. Ye hae the rope."
"That have I," returned the master.
Then followed complete silence, and a second later the faint creaking of the door behind which he crouched. Rob sprang to his feet, and paused irresolutely. He was unarmed and helpless.
Very slowly the door began to open. He knew it by the draught of air upon his face. In the pitch darkness he leaned close to the wall waiting for them to pass him towards the bed.
But at that moment there sounded very faintly, like the sighing of the wind—the far-off catch of a tune—a little twisted coil of melody such as the fairies dance to.
"Hold!" whispered Macaulay, in a low tense voice.