He stepped out onto the lawn to wait for his pass.  Bobby stood at his feet, quivering with impatience to be off, but trusting in the man’s given word.  The upper air was clear, and the sky studded with stars.  Twenty minutes before the May Light, that guided the ships into the Firth, could be seen far out on the edge of the ocean, and in every direction the lamps of the city seemed to fall away in a shower of sparks, as from a burst meteor.  But now, while the stars above were as numerous and as brilliant as before, the lights below had vanished.  As the sergeant looked, the highest ones expired in the rising fog.  The Island Rock appeared to be sinking in a waveless sea of milk.

A startled exclamation from the sergeant brought other men out on the terrace to see it.  The senior officer withheld the pass in his hand, and scouted the idea of the sergeant’s going down into the city.  As the drum began to beat the tattoo and the bugle to rise on a crescendo of lovely notes, soldiers swarmed toward the barracks.  Those who had been out in the town came running up the roadway into the Castle, talking loudly of adventures they had had in the fog.  The sergeant looked down at anxious Bobby, who stood agitated and straining as at a leash, and said that he preferred to go.

“Impossible!  A foolish risk, Sergeant, that I am unwilling you should take.  Edinburgh is too full of pitfalls for a man to be going about on such a night.  Our guests will sleep in the Castle, and it will be safer for the little dog to remain until morning.”

Bobby did not quite understand this good English, but the excited talk and the delay made him uneasy.  He whimpered piteously.  He lay across the sergeant’s feet, and through his boots the man could feel the little creature’s heart beat.  Then he rose and uttered his pleading cry.  The sergeant stooped and patted the shaggy head consolingly, and tried to explain matters.

“Be a gude doggie noo.  Dinna fash yersel’ aboot what canna be helped.  I canna tak’ ye to the kirkyaird the nicht.”

“I’ll take charge of Bobby, Sergeant.”  The dog-loving guest ran out hastily, but, with a wild cry of reproach and despair, Bobby was gone.

The group of soldiers who had been out on the cliff were standing in the postern a moment to look down at the opaque flood that was rising around the rock.  They felt some flying thing sweep over their feet and caught a silvery flash of it across the promenade.  The sergeant cried to them to stop the dog, and he and the guest were out in time to see Bobby go over the precipice.

For a time the little dog lay in a clump of hazel above the fog, between two terrors.  He could see the men and the lights moving along the top of the cliff, and he could hear the calls.  Some one caught a glimpse of him, and the sergeant lay down on the edge of the precipice and talked to him, saying every kind and foolish thing he could think of to persuade Bobby to come back.  Then a drummer boy was tied to a rope and let down to the ledge to fetch him up.  But at that, without any sound at all, Bobby dropped out of sight.