I mean, brother in affliction?"

"Bread and water once a day," replied the voice.

"Prithee, friend, let me taste your loaf," said Dalgetty; "I hope we
shall play good comrades while we dwell together in this abominable
pit."

"The loaf and jar of water," answered the other prisoner, "stand in
the corner, two steps to your right hand. Take them, and welcome. With
earthly food I have wellnigh done."

Dalgetty did not wait for a second invitation, but, groping out the
provisions, began to munch at the stale black oaten loaf with as much
heartiness as we have seen him play his part at better viands.

"This bread," he said, muttering (with his mouth full at the same time),
"is not very savoury; nevertheless, it is not much worse than that which
we ate at the famous leaguer at Werben, where the valorous Gustavus
foiled all the efforts of the celebrated Tilly, that terrible old hero,
who had driven two kings out of the field--namely, Ferdinand of Bohemia
and Christian of Denmark. And anent this water, which is none of the
most sweet, I drink in the same to your speedy deliverance, comrade,
not forgetting mine own, and devoutly wishing it were Rhenish wine, or
humming Lubeck beer, at the least, were it but in honour of the pledge."

While Dalgetty ran on in this way, his teeth kept time with his tongue,
and he speedily finished the provisions which the benevolence or
indifference of his companion in misfortune had abandoned to his
voracity. When this task was accomplished, he wrapped himself in his
cloak, and seating himself in a corner of the dungeon in which he could
obtain a support on each side (for he had always been an admirer of
elbow-chairs, he remarked, even from his youth upward), he began to
question his fellow-captive.

"Mine honest friend," said he, "you and I, being comrades at bed
and board, should be better acquainted. I am Dugald Dalgetty of
Drumthwacket, and so forth, Major in a regiment of loyal Irishes,
and Envoy Extraordinary of a High and Mighty Lord, James Earl of
Montrose.--Pray, what may your name be?"

"It will avail you little to know," replied his more taciturn companion.

"Let me judge of that matter," answered the soldier.

"Well, then--Ranald MacEagh is my name--that is, Ranald Son of the
Mist."

"Son of the Mist!" ejaculated Dalgetty. "Son of utter darkness, say I.
But, Ranald, since that is your name, how came you in possession of the
provost's court of guard? what the devil brough