By the time I had bathed and eaten, his message was ready, and with a few last words of instruction I was about to set off. But he called me back.
"Have a care to your goings, my son. Be wary! be brave! I trust you will succeed in reaching my friend ere it is too late; but you cannot be back in time for the great Assembly on Sabbath. I shall miss you."
He raised his hand in blessing, and, secreting the letter about me, I turned, and was gone.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE FLIGHT OF PETER BURGESS
When night fell I was far away among the hills. I had made good progress and was well content. I should accomplish the journey in good time--of that I was confident--so I crawled into a bed of heather and slept soundly.
In the early morning I was awakened by the call of the moor birds. Before starting on my journey again, I thought it wise to secrete the letter with greater care, so I took off one of my shoes, and, making a hollow in the heel, folded the letter tightly and placed it there. Then I took to the road again.
I had hoped to reach Edinburgh by noon on Thursday, but when I came in sight of the city it was past five o'clock. The journey had proved more arduous than I expected; but I was still in time. The last long mile accomplished, I reached the city. The moon had risen, and as I swung round beneath the grey shadow of Holyrood I caught a glimpse of the noble brow of Arthur's Seat towering high behind it. I passed the guard of soldiers at the Canongate without challenge, for, apparently, they saw in me nothing more than a travel-stained and dusty wanderer--some gangrel body.
I did not wish to draw suspicion upon myself by asking anyone to direct me to Halkerstone Wynd where Peter Burgess dwelt. But, meeting a boy, I stopped him to ask where I could find the Tron Kirk, which Mr. Corsane had given me as a landmark. His reply was explicit enough, if somewhat rude. "Follow yer nose," he said, "and ye'll be there in five meenutes," which I took to mean that I was to continue my journey up the hill. Very shortly a large church came into view, and as it took shape in the moonlight a clock in its tower struck ten. I counted the strokes, and, turning, retraced my steps and found at no great distance from the Church, as the minister had told me, the Wynd which I sought. The minister had given me careful instructions, so that when I entered the Wynd I had no difficulty in finding the house in which his friend lived. The outer door stood open, and I entered, passing at once into the confusion of darkness; but I had learned from Hector the wisdom of carrying a candle in one's pocket, and lighting it, I looked around me. I knew that I should find Peter Burgess on the top floor of the house, so, shading the candle with one hand, I began the ascent. Up, and up and up, in never ceasing spirals wound the stair. To me, weary with my journey, it seemed interminable. Between two of its flights I paused, and leaning over the balustrade looked downwards. A chasm, black as pitch and unfathomable to my straining eyes, gaped below me. After a moment's rest I continued my ascent, and by and by, breathless, I came to the top. An oaken door barred my further progress. An iron knocker, shaped like a lady's hand, hung gracefully upon its middle beam. I remember that as I seized it to knock, I held it for a second while I looked at the delicate metal filigree of lace that adorned the wrist. Then I knocked three times--first gently, then more firmly and, as no answer came, more loudly still. At last I heard movements on the other side, and in the flickering candle-light I saw a little peep-hole open, and a voice said "Who is it?" I bent my head to the tiny aperture and said in a whisper "Naphthali," the password I had been told to use. Instantly the peep-hole was closed, and the door was thrown open. "Enter and welcome," said the voice, and I needed no second invitation. I found myself in a narrow passage at the end of which was a room through whose open door a light shone. The man who had admitted me closed and barred the door and then led the way to the room. Then turning to me he said:
"To what do I owe this late visit?"