ere content to lay it upon the natural
dislike of Bonthron's countrymen of Fife to see him hanging on the river
side, as a spectacle dishonourable to their province.

About midnight succeeding the day when the execution had taken place,
and while the inhabitants of Perth were deeply buried in slumber, three
men muffled in their cloaks, and bearing a dark lantern, descended the
alleys of a garden which led from the house occupied by Sir John Ramorny
to the banks of the Tay, where a small boat lay moored to a landing
place, or little projecting pier. The wind howled in a low and
melancholy manner through the leafless shrubs and bushes; and a pale
moon "waded," as it is termed in Scotland, amongst drifting clouds,
which seemed to threaten rain. The three individuals entered the boat
with great precaution to escape observation. One of them was a tall,
powerful man; another short and bent downwards; the third middle sized,
and apparently younger than his companions, well made, and active. Thus
much the imperfect light could discover. They seated themselves in the
boat and unmoored it from the pier.

"We must let her drift with the current till we pass the bridge, where
the burghers still keep guard; and you know the proverb, 'A Perth
arrow hath a perfect flight,'" said the most youthful of the party, who
assumed the office of helmsman, and pushed the boat off from the pier;
whilst the others took the oars, which were muffled, and rowed with all
precaution till they attained the middle of the river; they then ceased
their efforts, lay upon their oars, and trusted to the steersman for
keeping her in mid channel.

In this manner they passed unnoticed or disregarded beneath the stately
Gothic arches of the old bridge, erected by the magnificent patronage
of Robert Bruce in 1329, and carried away by an inundation in 1621.
Although they heard the voices of a civic watch, which, since these
disturbances commenced, had been nightly maintained in that important
pass, no challenge was given; and when they were so far down the stream
as to be out of hearing of these guardians of the night, they began to
row, but still with precaution, and to converse, though in a low tone.

"You have found a new trade, comrade, since I left you," said one of the
rowers to the other. "I left you engaged in tending a sick knight, and I
find you employed in purloining a dead body from the gallows."

"A living body, so please your squirehood, Master Bu