“You shouldn’t have told her, sir!”
“I’ve seen it with my own eyes!”
“You’ve been into it, my leddy?—What—what—?”
“It is a chapel—the old castle-chapel—mentioned, I know, somewhere in the history of the place, though no one, I suppose, ever dreamed the missing room could be that!—And in the chapel,” continued Arctura, hardly able to bring out the words, for a kind of cramping of the muscles of speech, “there was a bed! and in the bed the crumbling dust of a woman! and on the altar what was hardly more than the dusty shadow of a baby?”
“The Lord be aboot us!” cried the housekeeper, her well-seasoned composure giving way; “ye saw that wi’ yer ain e’en, my leddy!—Mr. Grant! hoo could ye lat her leddyship luik upo’ sic things!”
“I am her ladyship’s servant,” answered Donal.
“That’s varra true! But eh, my bonnie bairn, sic sichts is no for you!”
“I ought to know what is in the house!” said Arctura, with a shudder. “But already I feel more comfortable that you know too. Mr. Grant would like to have your advice as to what—.—You’ll come and see them, won’t you?”
“When you please, my lady.—To-night?”
“No, no! not to-night.—Was that the knocking again?—Some ghosts want their bodies to be buried, though your butler—”