But Ewen, tirling the risp on the door in the gloom, welcomed this suggestion with delight, since, if it were so, the Prince would be obliged to go home again. And for some little time it did appear as if his hope were to be fulfilled, for no one came in answer to his summons. He peered up the close; it seemed to him possible that its upper end debouched on the Castle Hill itself. It was madness to have come here.
The Prince himself then seized the ring and rasped it impatiently up and down, and very soon Ewen’s heart sank again as he heard bolts being withdrawn inside. An old serving-man opened the door a little way and put his head out.
“Will Lady Easterhall receive her kinsman, Mr. Murray of Broughton, and his friends?” asked Mr. Murray’s impersonator.
The ancient servitor opened the door a little wider. “Ou, ay, Mr. Murray o’ Broughton,” he said, stifling a yawn. “Mr. Murray o’ Broughton,” he repeated, in an owl-like manner which hinted at recent refreshment. “An’ Mr. Murray’s frien’s,” he added, with another yawn but no motion to admit the visitors. “Hoo mony o’ ye wull there be then—is yon anither?” For footsteps had been coming up the close, and at the words a man passed the group, walking quickly. He did not glance at them, and it was too dark in the alley to see faces; but Ewen felt an uncomfortable suspicion that it was the same man who had passed them in the Cowgate and had looked at the Prince. But no, surely this man was shorter; moreover he had betrayed no interest in them.
“Come, man, conduct us to Lady Easterhall,” said O’Sullivan sharply. “Or is she abed?”
“Nay, her leddyship’s taking a hand at the cartes or playing at the dambrod wi’ Miss Isobel. Come ben then, sirs. Which o’ ye wull be Mr. Murray?”
But nobody answered him. They followed him towards the staircase, up which he began laboriously to toil. “Forbye her leddyship’s no’ expectin’ Mr. Murray till the morn,” they heard him mutter to himself, but soon he did little save cough as he panted and stumbled upwards, pausing once to announce that whiles he had a sair hoast.
“Take heart, my Nestor,” said the Prince in Ewen’s ear, as they arrived at the first floor. “It may be difficult to get into this house, but I have heard that it is easy to get out of it.”
Before he could explain himself the old man had opened the door of a large room, economically and most insufficiently lit by the flickering firelight and a couple of candles on a small table near the hearth, at which sat an old lady and a young playing draughts. There was no one else in the room.
“My leddy, here’s yer leddyship’s kinsman, Mr. Murray o’ Broughton, and a wheen frien’s tae veesit ye. Wull I bring some refreshment?”