he noisy summons on the oak, and
Mungo, with a bold aspect well essayed, but in no accord with the
tremour of his knees and the pallor of his countenance, stood, in
dragging pantaloons and the gaudy Kilmarnock cap cocked upon his bald
head, at the stair-foot with a flambeau in his hand. He seemed hugely
relieved to have the company of Count Victor.

"Noo, wha the deevil can we hae here at sic an unearthly oor o' nicht?"
said he, trying a querulous tone befitting an irate sentinel; but
the sentence trailed off unconvincingly, because his answer came too
promptly in another peremptory summons from without.

"Lord keep 's!" whispered the little man, no longer studying to sustain
his martial _role_. He looked nervously at Count Victor standing
silently by, with some amusement at the perturbation of the garrison and
a natural curiosity as to what so untimely a visit might portend. It was
apparent that Mungo was for once willing to delegate his duty as keeper
of the bartizan to the first substitute who offered, but here was no
move to help him out of his quandary.

"It's gey gash this!" whispered the little man. "And the tide in, too!
And the oor sae late!"

These sinister circumstances seemed to pile upon his brain till his
knees bent below the weight of accumulated terror, and Montaiglon must
smile at fears not all unreasonable, as he felt himself.

"Oh! better late than never--is not that the proverb, Master Mungo?"
said he. "Though, indeed, it is not particularly consoling to a widow's
husband."

"I'd gie a pound Scots to ken wha chaps," said Mungo, deaf to every
humour.

"Might I suggest your asking? It is, I have heard, the customary
proceeding," said Count Victor.

"Wha's there?" cried Mungo, with an ear to the wood, that appeared to
have nothing human outside, for now for a little there was absolute
stillness. Then an answer as from a wraith--the humble request of some
one for admission.

"Noo, that's michty droll," said Mungo, his face losing its alarm and
taking on a look of some astonishment. "Haud that," and he thrust the
torch in the Frenchman's hand. Without another word he drew back the
bars, opened the door, and put out his head. He was caught by the throat
and plucked forth into the darkness.

Count Victor could not have drawn a weapon had he had one ere the
door fell in thundering on the walls. He got one glimpse of the _sans
culottes_, appealed again to the De Chenier macer in his ancestry, and