“I hae sat for days by mysel, as a relay to watch for the deer,” said Rory—“ay, and I hae lien for weeks by my lane, watching the saumonts loupin’, without hearing voice save the water-kelpy roarin’ in the Ess—yet was I never sae tired as I am at this precious moment, sitting in this hole, wi’ a bit chink yonder aboon just enew to let a poor deevil ken that it’s daylight, and that he mought be happy thereout i’ the sun. As for that chield, Roger Riddel there, my ain Oscar would be mair companionable, I wot. He lies rucking and snorting there as composed as if he were in the best hostel in a’ bonny Scotland. As St. Lowry kens, I wad be content to be in its warst, rather than whaur I am. Holy St. Mungo, the chield hath buried himsel like a very mouldiwort; I can see nought but his nose. A-weel, an I could only gie owre thinking o’ Alice, and Kate, and the Yearl o’ Moray, I mought peraunter sleep mysel.”
As he was stretching himself along the bench where he had been sitting, with the resolution of trying the experiment, he was disturbed by a coming step. The door opened, and an officer entered in great seeming haste.
“Thou art a body attendant of the Earl of Moray, art thou not?” said he, glancing at Spears. [[425]]
“Yea, I am the noble Yearl’s henchman, as I mought say,” replied Rory.
“Doubtless thou knowest well the person of the Lord Douglas?” said the officer.
“Ay, weel do I that,” replied Rory; “and mair, he hath a great good-wull to me, for mony is the time we hae hunted thegither. Is he not my master the Yearl’s brother-in-law?”
“Follow me then without loss of time,” said the officer; “Sir Henry Piersie would have conference with thee.”
Rory said no more, but joyfully obeyed; and the officer, too much occupied with his errand to investigate things closely, and having no suspicion that the place contained two prisoners, tripped up the stair that led from the dungeon, leaving the door open behind him.
Master Roger Riddel was not asleep; he had only dosed, to save himself the trouble of forming replies to the incessant talk which Rory had carried on; on peeping out from his straw after the officer and his fellow-prisoner had left him, and seeing the door of the dungeon wide open, he slowly raised himself up, walked out of the place, and ascended the short winding stair, from the top of which he quietly emerged into the pure air. With the utmost composure, he then struck into one of the lanes that led from the walls, and walked coolly down a street, through crowds of anxious individuals, all of whom were too busily occupied with anticipations of glory or defeat, to notice a man in the attire of a squire, of whom there were many. Following a crowd that was pressing forwards, he reached the gate. There was a muster at the barriers.
“Where are thy weapons, Sir Squire?” demanded a spearman as he passed by.