CHAPTER XIX.
Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers We garr'd the bars bang merrily, Until we came to the inner prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.
Old Border Ballad.
We return to Portanferry, and to Bertram and his honest-hearted friend, whom we left most innocent inhabitants of a place built for the guilty.
The slumbers of the farmer were as sound as it was possible.
But Bertram's first heavy sleep passed away long before midnight, nor could he again recover that state of oblivion.

Added to the uncertain and uncomfortable state of his mind, his body felt feverish and oppressed.
This was chiefly owing to the close and confined air of the small apartment in which they slept.

After enduring for some time the broiling and suffocating feeling attendant upon such an atmosphere, he rose to endeavour to open the window of the apartment, and thus to procure a change of air.

Alas! the first trial reminded him that he was in jail, and that the building being contrived for security, not comfort, the means of procuring fresh air were not left at the disposal of the wretched inhabitants.
Disappointed in this attempt, he stood by the unmanageable window for some time.

Little Wasp, though oppressed with the fatigue of his journey on the preceding day, crept out of bed after his master, and stood by him rubbing his shaggy coat against his legs, and expressing by a murmuring sound the delight which he felt at being restored to him.