“That’s it, my lord,” she said, in conclusion. “And there’s one thing to be observed,” she added, “—that that door is the only one in all the passage that has a sneck, as they call it.”
“What is a sneck?” asked his lordship, who was not much of a scholar in his country’s tongue.
“What we call a latch in England, my lord. I took pains to learn the Scotch correctly, and I’ve repeated it to your lordship, word for word.”
“I don’t doubt it,” returned Lord Lossie, “but for the sense, I can make nothing of it.—And you think my brother believed the story?”
“He always laughed at it, my lord, but pretended at least to give in to old Eppie’s entreaties.”
“You mean that he was more near believing it than he liked to confess?”
“That’s not what I mean, my lord.”
“Why do you say pretended then?”
“Because when the news of his death came, some people about the place would have it that he must have opened the door some time or other.”
“How did they make that out?”