“Never mind the time, mistress Brookes,” said Arctura; we can do just as we please about that! One time is as good as another—isn’t it, Mr. Grant?”
“I sometimes sit up half the night myself,” said Donal. “I like to know God’s night. Only it won’t do often, lest we make the brain, which is God’s too, like a watch that won’t go.”
“It’s sair upsettin’ to the wark!” said the housekeeper. “What would the hoose be like if I was to do that!”
“Do go on, please, mistress Brookes,” said Arctura.
“Please do,” echoed Donal.
“Sir, an’ my leddy, I’m ready to sit till the cocks be dune crawin’, an’ the day dune dawin’, to pleesur the ane or the twa o’ ye!—an’ sae for my true tale!—They war varra dacent, weel-behavet fowk, wi’ a fine faimily, some grown an’ some growin’. It was jist a fauvour to see sic a halesome clan—frae auchteen or thereawa’ doon tu the wee toddlin’ lassie was the varra aipple o’ the e’e to a’ the e’en aboot the place! But that’s naither here nor yet there! A’ gaed on as a’ should gang on whaur the servan’s are no ower gran’ for their ain wark, nor ower meddlesome wi’ the wark o’ their neebours; naething was negleckit, nor onything girned aboot; but a’ was peace an’ hermony, as quo’ the auld sang aboot bonnie Kilmeny—that is, till ae nicht.—You see I’m tellin’ ye as it cam to mysel’ an’ no til anither!
“As I lay i’ my bed that nicht—an’ ye may be sure at my age I lay nae langer nor jist to turn me ower ance, an’ in general no that ance—jist as I was fa’in’ asleep, up gat sic a romage i’ the servan’ ha’, straucht ’aneth whaur I was lyin’, that I thoucht to mysel’, what upo’ earth’s come to the place!—‘Gien it bena the day o’ judgment, trowth, it’s no the day o’ sma’ things!’ I said. It was as gien a’ the cheirs an’ tables thegither war bein’ routit oot o’ their places, an’ syne set back again, an’ the tables turnt heels ower heid, an’ a’ the glaiss an’ a’ the plate for the denner knockit aboot as gien they had been sae mony hailstanes that warna wantit ony mair, but micht jist lie whaur they fell. I couldna for the life o’ me think what it micht betoken, save an’ excep’ a general frenzy had seized upo’ man an’ wuman i’ the hoose! I got up in a hurry: whatever was gaein’ on, I wudna wullin’ly gang wantin’ my share o’ the sicht! An’ jist as I opened my door, wha should I hear but the maister cryin’ at the heid o’ the stair,—‘What i’ the name o’ a’ that’s holy,’ says he, ‘is the meanin’ o’ this?’ An’ I ran til him, oot o’ the passage, an’ throuw the swing-door, into the great corridor; an’ says I,—‘’Deed, sir, I was won’erin’! an’ wi’ yer leave, sir, I’ll gang an’ see,’ I said, gaitherin’ my shawl aboot me as weel as I could to hide what was ’aneth it, or raither what wasna ’aneth it, for I hadna that mickle on. But says he, ‘No, no, you must not go; who knows what it may be? I’ll go myself. They may be robbers, and the men fighting them. You stop where you are.’ Sayin’ that, he was half-ways doon the stair. I stood whaur I was, lookin’ doon an’ hearkenin’, an’ the noise still gaein’ on. But he could but hae won the len’th o’ the hall, whan it stoppit a’ at ance an’ a’thegither. Ye may think what a din it maun hae been, whan I tell ye the quaiet that cam upo’ the heels o’ ’t jist seemed to sting my twa lugs. The same moment I h’ard the maister cryin’ til me to come doon. I ran, an’ whan I reached the servan’s ha’, whaur he stood jist inside the door, I stood aside him an’ glowert. For, wad ye believe me! the place was as dacent an’ still as ony kirkyard i’ the munelicht! There wasna a thing oot o’ it’s place, nor an air o’ dist, nor the sma’est disorder to be seen! A’ the things luikit as gien they had sattlet themsel’s to sleep as usual, an’ had sleepit till we cam an’ waukit them. The maister glowert at me, an’ I glowert at the maister. But a’ he said was,—‘A false alarm, ye see, Rose!’ What he thoucht I canna tell, but withoot anither word we turnt, an’ gaed up the stair again thegither.
“At the tap o’ the stair, the lang corridor ran awa’ intil the dark afore ’s, for the can’le the maister carried flangna licht half to the en’ o’ ’t; an’ frae oot o’ the mirk on a suddent cam to meet ’s a rampaugin’ an’ a rattlin’ like o’ a score o’ nowt rinnin’ awa’ wi’ their iron tethers aboot their necks—sic a rattlin’ o’ iron chains as ye never h’ard! an’ a groanin’ an’ a gruntin’ jist fearsome. Again we stood an’ luikit at ane anither; an’ my word! but the maister’s face was eneuch to fricht a body o’ ’tsel’, lat alane the thing we h’ard an’ saw naething til accoont for! ‘Gang awa’ back to yer bed, Rose,’ he said; ‘this’ll never do!’ ‘An’ hoo are ye to help it, sir?’ said I. ‘That I cannot tell,’ answered he; ‘but I wouldn’t for the world your mistress heard it! I left her fast asleep, and I hope she’ll sleep through it.—Did you ever hear anything strange about the house before we came?’ ‘Never, sir,’ said I, ‘as sure as I stan’ here shiverin’!’—for the nicht was i’ the simmer, an’ warm to that degree! an’ yet I was shiverin’ as i’ the cauld fit o’ a fivver; an’ my moo’ wud hardly consent to mak the words I soucht to frame!
“We stood like mice afore the cat for a meenute or twa, but there cam naething mair; an’ by degrees we grew a kin’ o’ ashamet, like as gien we had been doobtfu’ as to whether we had h’ard onything; an’ whan again he said to me gang to my bed, I gaed to my bed, an’ wasna lang upo’ the ro’d, for fear I wud hear onything mair—an’ intil my bed, an’ my heid ’aneth the claes, an’ lay trimlin’. But there was nane mair o’ ’t that nicht, an’ I wasna ower sair owercome to fa’ asleep.
“I’ the mornin’ I tellt the hoosekeeper a’ aboot it; but she held her tongue in a mainner that was, to say the least o’ ’t, varra strange. She didna lauch, nor she didna grue nor yet glower, nor yet she didna say the thing was nonsense, but she jist h’ard an’ h’ard an’ saidna a word. I thoucht wi’ mysel’, is ’t possible she disna believe me? but I couldna mak that oot aither. Sae as she heild her tongue, I jist pu’d the bridle o’ mine, an’ vooed there should be never anither word said by me till ance she spak hersel’. An’ I wud sune hae had eneuch o’ haudin’ my tongue, but I hadna to haud it to onybody but her; an’ I cam to the conclusion that she was feart o’ bein’ speirt questons by them ’at had a richt to speir them, for that she had h’ard o’ something afore, an’ kenned mair nor she was at leeberty to speak aboot.