And, Malachi,'-- this he said in an undertone,--'see you give them a a creed of doctrine that will last them till I come back; or else these inconsiderate lads will be out of the house, and away to the publics, wasting their precious time, and, it may be, putting themselves in the way of missing the morning tide.' An inarticulate answer from within intimated Malachi's acquiescence in the commands imposed; and, Mr.Trumbull, shutting the door, muttered something about fast bind, fast find, turned the key, and put it into his pocket; and then bidding his visitor have a care of his steps, and make no noise, he led him through the house, and out at a back-door, into a little garden.

Here a plaited alley conducted them, without the possibility of their being seen by any neighbour, to a door in the garden-wall, which being opened, proved to be a private entrance into a three-stalled stable; in one of which was a horse, that whinnied on their entrance.

'Hush, hush!' cried the old man, and presently seconded his exhortations to silence by throwing a handful of corn into the manger, and the horse soon converted his acknowledgement of their presence into the usual sound of munching and grinding his provender.
As the light was now failing fast, the old man, with much more alertness than might have been expected from the rigidity of his figure, closed the window-shutters in an instant, produced phosphorus and matches, and lighted a stable-lantern, which he placed on the corn-bin, and then addressed Fairford.

'We are private here, young man; and as some time has been wasted already, you will be so kind as to tell me what is your errand.

Is it about the way of business, or the other job ?' 'My business with you, Mr.Trumbull, is to request you will find me the means of delivering this letter, from Mr.Maxwell of Summertrees to the Laird of Redgauntlet.' 'Humph--fashious job! Pate Maxwell will still be the auld man--always Pate-in-Peril--Craig-in-Peril, for what I know.