CHAPTER XX.

IN THE TOWER.

'I wad gie a' my goud, my bairn,
Sae wad I a' my fee,

For ae blast o' the western wind,

To blaw the reek frae thee.'

Old Ballad.

OTSPUR and mother O'Neill had withdrawn from the light, which disclosed their forms to Grace, into a place of impenetrable shade, to continue their conversation. Hotspur was annoying the mother excessively. She found him ready for nothing, but possessed of the key, and much disposed to dally with her, before giving it up. He had brought it with him; but he would not explicitly say so, and with all her cunning, she could not make him out.

'You must provide me some dress, mother,' he was saying. 'How should I have been able to fit myself with one here, with no one to help me?'

'A long shirt—can't forget a long shirt-you have one of your own, surely?'

'Not half long enough. It won't reach nearly to my knees. I had thought of one of the girls' night-gowns, but

how was I to get them; or a sheet, but I know no one here to get me that either.'

'You had none on your bed, I suppose ?' was the impatient reply.

'Oh! I can go and get one, so I can! only I shall never get back again through all those people.'

'Never, I should think—not you, at least. I tell you what, master, you must wear this dress,' pointing to her mummer's garment. 'It's very long for you, but there is nothing else to be done. You said that you would be ready, but I might have known that you would not. I suppose you have not the key either?'

You may

'Yes, yes, I have, all safe and sound. scold, mother, but you wouldn't have got that without me. I'll unlock the door in good time. When are we going to begin?'

'Half-an-hour after the two boys are in bed, and the place quiet. You meet me

'How are we to know?' interrupted Hotspur.

'When the candles are out, you gaby,' exclaimed the bothered mother. Really, Master Hotspur ——.'

'Well, well,' returned the boy, feeling intolerably small, 'I will watch and come.'

'You come, when all is quiet, to the old summer-hut yonder, and I will be there. Bring the key, and bring your dog ——:

'I suppose I can find him

Suppose !' panted mother O'Neill; 'give me the key, Master Hotspur, and I'll do it all. Where is your dog? Go and fetch him at once, and we'll tie him up there now.' 'Then he'll bark there, mother.'

'Muzzle him! my stars!' exclaimed mother O'Neill. 'Go and fetch him.'

Hotspur did as he was bid. All his efforts at independ

ence only resulted in keeping hold of the key, which, he rightly conceived, to be his only bond upon his accomplice. He brought the dog, with a cord, a remarkable piece of readiness on his part, and Pincher was safely fastened to the upright of the summer-house. Mother O'Neill had left

her red cloak there, for which she intended to change her ghost's attire; when, remembering that the latter garment might be useful to scare intruders, should any approach, she covered it instead with her cloak, and composed herself in the warmest corner she could find. She did not sleep. She had been afraid of bringing much gin with her, lest sleep might overpower her. She had a little, a very little, almost required just then on account of the piercing cold-but that was all.

Her thoughts were exciting her beyond measure, as she sat waiting.

Another half night, and she might be free and gone. She clutched her stick tightly, as she realized it. And the purse would be returned, and Isabel M'Ivor exculpated. Both would afford her real satisfaction. Isabel was the only person who had spoken kindly to her for many a long weary year, except Bob Dacres, but he could bear no comparison to that young lady. And it had given her deep pain to observe the girl's saddened shrinking expression that evening, and to know what sorrow she was causing her. The detention of the purse, too, was an additional burden upon her conscience, which she would gladly cast off, for the sake of her own self-respect, and Jem's esteem.

Gradually the night drew on. The bitter cold was 'eating' into her, though, except by a long shiver now and again, she scarcely noticed it. The hours were struck by the large stable clock. It was nearly ten, and Hotspur had not come, nor had the motley procession of guests

yet emerged from the house. But very shortly after, she heard their drums, and fifes, and fiddles, and could see the glare of their torches, and their figures, as they came into view (for she was a little behind the tower), and then wound away out of sight and sound. At about the same time, a light appeared in the tower window, announcing that Roger and Tom were going to bed. Soon after, Hotspur appeared, or rather, could be heard in the summer-house; for it was too dark to see. And the first words he uttered, were spoken in a tone of triumph and glee. 'Mother! I've white-washed my face.'

Mother started from her seat. 'Well you have done it' she exclaimed.

'Why? I thought I had done very well.'

'Oh, if you like it. No one else need mind.'

'It is just a little hot; but that will go off soon, you know.'

'Where did you get it? is it strong?' she inquired, really feeling for his folly.

'There was some in the kitchen for dipping the berries in. I stole in and found it. I don't know about its strength; what harm will it do?'

'None perhaps. But you will find out if it does. But put on this dress; I should have been safer in it, but you must take it. Now, are you ready?' she added, after a pause of impatience.

'No-I can't see—I can't—I can't get into it!'

6 Can't you feel?'

'Yes-no-I've got the neck upside down, I believe.' Mother O'Neill seized the garment, and pushed him into it, and then demanded, 'Have you got the key?' 'Yes,' he answered, 'mind Pincher.' And the dog was untied, and they started.

They had not advanced six steps when a furious bark

ing arrested them. Out of the bushes there darted, and snarled a most wrathfully fierce little dog, who attacked them generally, and the mother in particular. Pincher was not to be outdone. He had shaken off Hotspur's flimsy muzzling, and began a defensive warfare, fully as noisy and alarming as the puppy Tear'em, who was the beast in the bushes.

'Drat the dogs!' exclaimed mother O'Neill. 'Let them go ! let them go ! we shall be found out to a certainty !' 'What can I do without Pincher?' groaned Hotspur, in despair.

'Let them go! I say at once. Go! go!' she exclaimed, as she drove the quarrelling animals away. 'We must get in directly, or we shall be stopped. Once in, we can hide.'

'But my dog? what shall I do without Pincher?' repeated Hotspur.

Mother O'Neill's only reply was to take him fiercely by the shoulder, and hurry him on towards the tower. But his long garment forbade too much hurry; and his face was getting very hot indeed; and the loss of his dog, and his trouble altogether were too much for him, and he began to whimper.

His companion ruthlessly pushed him along, with sounds so like muttered curses, that Hotspur's woe became fright; and this so overcame him, that by the time he reached the tower door, he had no wits left wherewith to find the key.

He began fumbling; but the old woman soon cut him short. She dived fiercely into one pocket after another, and finding the key at last, she noiselessly unlocked the door, entered, shoving Hotspur in before her, and locking them both in, she deposited the key safely in her own pocket. She then proceeded to light the dark lantern