Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. "Set it down, I tell you," thundered Blueskin, "or I shall do it a mischief. If she had once known him, if he were some former neighbour, it would be comprehensible.
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