Edith, holding by her attendant's arm, hastened with trembling steps to the place of Morton's confinement.
This was a small study, or closet, in one of the turrets, opening from a gallery in which the centinel was pacing to and fro; for Serjeant Bothwell, scrupulous in observing his word, and perhaps touched with some compassion for the prisoner's youth and genteel demeanour, had waived the indignity of putting his guard into the same apartment with him. Halliday, therefore, with his carabine on his arm, walked up and down the gallery, occasionally solacing himself with a draught of ale, a huge flagon of which stood upon a table at one end of the apartment, and at other times humming the lively Scottish air,
"Between Saint Johnstone and Bonny Dundee,
I'll gar ye be fain to follow me"———
Jenny Dennison cautioned her mistress once more to let her take her own way.
