Walter bowed, and was led out by the macer, while the council proceeded to "worry" and terrify the remaining prisoners, Lady Bruntisfield's household, and, after nearly scaring them out of their senses, dismissed them all, (save two stout ploughmen, who were given to Sir Thomas Dalyel as troopers,) with warning to take care of themselves in all time coming, and with a promise of a thousand marks if they gave intimation of their lady's retreat.
CHAPTER IX.
DEJECTION.
A mournful one am I, above whose head,
A day of perfect bliss hath never passed;
Whatever joys my soul have ravished,
Soon was the radiance of those joys o'ercast.
LAYS OF THE MINNESINGERS.
Walter was conducted back to the prison-house in Gourlay's Close, the Heart of Mid Lothian being already filled with nonconforming culprits.
Preceded by Macer Maclutchy and the gudeman or governor of the establishment, who wore the city livery, blue, laced with yellow, and carried a bunch of ominous-like keys. Walter found himself before a little archway, closed by a strong iron door, which opened under the great turnpike stair of the edifice, and led to the lower regions—to a superstructure of vaults, which, from their low and massive aspect, might have been deemed coeval with the days of the Alexanders. The light of the iron cruise borne by the gudeman failed to penetrate the deep abyss which yawned before them on the door being opened, and the cold wind of the subterranean chambers rushed upward in their faces. Slowly descending the hollowed and time-worn steps of an ancient stair, accompanied by his guard and conductors, poor Walter moved mechanically: the lamp, as it flared in the chill atmosphere, shewed the dark arches and green slimy walls of massive stonework forming the basement story of the prison. He felt a horror creeping over his heart. A profound and dismal silence reigned there; for these earthy passages where the frog croaked, the shining beetle crawled, and the many-legged spider span in undisturbed security, gave back no echo to their footsteps. In the heart of a populous city, thought he, can such a place be? Is it not a dream?
"Adonai! Adonai!" cried a voice in the distance, so loud, so shrill, and unearthly, that the gudeman paused, and the macer started back. "How long, O Lord, wilt thou permit these dragons to devour thy people? Rejoice, ye bairns of the Covenant! Rejoice, O ye nations, for He will avenge the blood of his chosen, and render vengeance on his adversaries."
"Hoots! It's that fule-body Bummel blawing like a piper through the key-hole," said the macer, and knocking thrice on the cell door with his mace, added, "Gif your tongue had been bored with an elshin as it deserved, my braw buckie, ye wadna hae crawn sae crouse. However, gudeman, his rebellious yammering will not disturb you muckle."
"The vaults are gey far doon—we would be deeved wi' him else," replied the gudeman; "but he gangs to the Bass in the morning, and there he can sing psalmody to the roaring waves and the cauld east wind, wi' Trail, Bennet, Blackadder, and other brethren in tribulation."
"By my word, keeping thae chields on the auld craig is just feeding what ought to be hanged," responded the macer, for these underlings affected to acquire the cavalier sentiments of the day. A door was now opened, and Walter Fenton heard the voice of the gudeman saying,