'I know all that, but this person will not stay there very long;
it's only a makeshift for a night, a mere lock-up house till
farther examination. There is a small room through which it opens;
you may light a fire for yourselves there, and I'll send you
plenty of stuff to make you comfortable. But be sure you lock the
door upon the prisoner; and, hark ye, let him have a fire in the
strong room too, the season requires it. Perhaps he'll make a
clean breast to-morrow.'

With these instructions, and with a large allowance of food and
liquor, the Justice dismissed his party to keep guard for the
night in the old castle, under the full hope and belief that they
would neither spend the night in watching nor prayer.

There was little fear that Glossin himself should that night sleep
over-sound. His situation was perilous in the extreme, for the
schemes of a life of villainy seemed at once to be crumbling
around and above him. He laid himself to rest, and tossed upon his
pillow for a long time in vain. At length he fell asleep, but it
was only to dream of his patron, now as he had last seen him, with
the paleness of death upon his features, then again transformed
into all the vigour and comeliness of youth, approaching to expel
him from the mansion-house of his fathers. Then he dreamed that,
after wandering long over a wild heath, he came at length to an
inn, from which sounded the voice of revelry; and that when he
entered the first person he met was Frank Kennedy, all smashed and
gory, as he had lain on the beach at Warroch Point, but with a
reeking punch-bowl in his hand. Then the scene changed to a
dungeon, where he heard Dirk Hatteraick, whom he imagined to be
under sentence of death, confessing his crimes to a clergyman.