The sound of people talking in a near chamber, the pleasant note of
a harpsichord, and once the voice of a lady singing, bore me a kind
of company.
I do not know the hour, but the darkness was long come, when the
door of the cabinet opened, and I was aware, by the light behind
him, of a tall figure of a man upon the threshold. I rose at once.
"Is anybody there?" he asked. "Who in that?"
"I am bearer of a letter from the laird of Pilrig to the Lord
Advocate," said I.
"Have you been here long?" he asked.
"I would not like to hazard an estimate of how many hours," said I.
"It is the first I hear of it," he replied, with a chuckle. "The
lads must have forgotten you. But you are in the bit at last, for
I am Prestongrange."
So saying, he passed before me into the next room, whither (upon
his sign) I followed him, and where he lit a candle and took his
place before a business-table. It was a long room, of a good
proportion, wholly lined with books. That small spark of light in
a corner struck out the man's handsome person and strong face. He
was flushed, his eye watered and sparkled, and before he sat down I
observed him to sway back and forth.
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