lasso-fashion so as to fling the file through the bars, and drawing it back sharply fix the line. The first throw missed; the second time the file went through, but as he drew the rope back, it slipped through the knot and fell. A thrill of horror ran through him,—but fortunately it fell inside. He seized the file as if it was his last friend, and resolved not to hazard it again. What was to be done now? The knife—yes it would do; so he made it secure much in the same way, and he had a better hollow between the haft and the blade. Again he threw it; the light from the window was very slight, but after two more failures he succeeded, and, catching the rope, tried if it would bear his weight. It did, and he swarmed up, and was soon seated on the window sill. He tied the rope firmly round one of the bars, and then commenced filing. The rain dashed in upon him, and the vivid lightning once startled him so much he nearly fell back; but he worked on, and after an hour's labour filed through a bar; he forced it backwards and forwards till he loosened the upper end soldered into the stone; at last it fell out into his hand, and he then dropped it below in order to gain from the length of time it took in falling a rough estimate of the depth. He calculated it was at least thirty-five feet. He had twenty feet of rope; he would stretch nearly seven, leaving eight feet to drop,—nothing after all! He descended once more into his cell, secured his pistol, and climbed up again. He could not suppress a laugh as he thought how scared his gaolers would look when they found the bird flown. He then wound himself through the bars and the wall, getting somewhat torn and clawed by the spikes; but liberty was before him, and he recked not of the pain. After much squeezing and exertion he at last got on the outside. He looked once more to see if the rope was firmly knotted, waited for a faint flash of the waning storm, and then began his descent. It was not long ere he reached the Ultima Thule of his line; then with a beating heart, he let go. It was a horrid feeling, that letting go, and the fall in darkness! He had miscalculated the height; instead of thirty-five, the depth was forty-one or forty-two feet, and instead of dropping eight, he had fourteen or fifteen feet to fall. He fell with a heavy shock, bruising himself a good deal on the slippery rocks down which he rolled. He was, however, not materially injured, and when he looked back at the perilous height he had come from, and looked at his befouled garments dimly seen in the early dawning, he laughed heartily, and, losing no more time, dived into the Canongate, soon reaching the Hunter's Bog, where he found his comrades waiting. At first he hardly distinguished them from the rocks; then he saw the dark outlines of horses and men; by-and-by he distinguished Bill Stacy, Archy, and three horses. He quickened his pace.

"Hillo, you young dog, so you've run the blockade? A rascally time you have kept old Bill anchored in these d—d moorings."

"Bill, how are you? I was as quick as I could be. I thought I'd never saw through those d—d bars. How they will gape when they find me off!"

"I have no time for words now; get aboard your craft and away, or the bloodhounds will overhaul us."

"Away—where to? The old Peel."

"Not likely; away to the sea. You must give the old land a wide berth. The Peel! good God! That would be a wise caché to hit on."

"But I must not—will not leave this country. Can we not hide? What would happen?—they would be married!"

"I don't care what would happen, or what wouldn't happen. The ship has weighed anchor, and by it you go; and be d—d to the wench!"

"Stay, Bill,—what if I say I won't?"

"Then I say I will shoot you. I am in earnest. So you had better be led! What the devil makes you care about a gal that don't care a straw for you?"

"Bill, what should you know of love?"

"What should I, or what shouldn't I,—up, I say, and off. G—'s name, it is gettin' light!"

Finding there was no remedy, L'Estrange mounted, and the three rode along the shore till they got to Musselburgh, when Archy turned off to the right; Bill and L'Estrange kept on till they reached a barren stretch of sand and common, where three more men met them. The five walked to the beach, where a smuggler's craft was in readiness. Leaving one to take away the horses, the other four embarked, and set sail. A fresh breeze, which had sprung up after the storm, swelled the sails, and they soon rounded the bay, steering southward.

Leaving them, we now return to the Towers. Of course, the news of the escape was so unlooked for—so startling—that for some time it was hardly credited. The Earl, the Captain, and one or two others rode in to Edinburgh, and found everyone at the prison in a vast state of excitement. A more audacious escape had never been perpetrated. Moreover, the turnkey was also missing, and the detectives could gain no clue. Hundreds of visitors saw the cell, the bars filed through, the rope still hanging, and the tracks of the fall on the rocks. Here, as a matter of course, all traces were lost, and it was conjectured he might be hiding in some of the dens of the old town. The most vigilant inquiries ended, however, in nought. It was evident he had bold and powerful confederates. The Earl was not without anxiety about Ellen, and determined to take her from the spot for some time. The marriage was fixed for the first week in November, and meantime Lord and Lady Arranmore invited the Earl, Lady Florence, and Miss Ravensworth to spend a month or two at their residence, Claremont Castle, close to Killarney. The Captain left for Brighton, promising to be up at the marriage, and bring Sir Harry Maynard, Major Forbes, young Pringle, and others. The rest of the visitors left for their respective homes, receiving an invitation to come to Dun Edin Towers on the 8th of November, when the castle would be all decked out for the ceremony. A letter from Frank also announced he had got leave, and would come home from Corfu in time for his brother's marriage.

CHAPTER II.

We pass over the time spent at Claremont Castle, and again introduce our readers to the dining-room at the Towers, where a large party sat down to a very handsome repast. At the head of the table sat the Marchioness doing the honours of her brother's table with the greatest grace; she had but lately made the Marquis happy by the tribute of a son and heir to his titles. On the right of the Earl sat his bride elect in blushing loveliness, and down the long table we observe many old faces amongst a tribe of new. Talking to a pretty girl sat Sir Richard, about the middle of the table; directly opposite him was the Captain. Frank, lately returned from the Mediterranean, sat a few seats from the Marchioness. Then there was Scroop, Wilson, and Sir Harry Maynard, Major Forster, young Pringle, and numbers of ladies, amongst whom Lady Florence shone next Johnny, who was her devoted admirer; Mr. Lennox, Mr. Power, the clergyman, and Mr. Ravensworth made up a large company. The greatest merriment prevailed, and every one was speaking of the approaching marriage.

"How have you amused yourself to-day?" said the Earl, who had been in Edinburgh with Mr. Ravensworth and Ellen, as he cut into the fine haunch of venison that smoked on its massive silver plate; "it has been snowing so hard, I suppose it kept you in the house."

"Snow doesn't keep me in," said the Captain; "I and Pringle were riding, though most preferred the ladies' company to snowy roads."

"Ah! we had the best of it," said Sir Richard, "had we not, Sir Harry; knocking about the billiard balls with the fair occupants of the Castle?"

"What? Why you don't mean to say you played billiards all day, Sir