“Why should it terrify him?” said Cosmo.
“There may be things we know nothing of,” replied his father, “to answer that question. I cannot help feeling rather uneasy about it.”
“Did you see anything frightful about my man of light, papa?” inquired Cosmo.
“No,” answered his father, thoughtfully; “but the thing, you see, was in the shape of a man—a man lying at full length as if he were dead, and indeed in his grave: he might take it for his wraith—an omen of his coming end.”
“But he is an Englishman, papa, and the English don’t believe in the second sight.”
“That does make it less likely.—Few lowlanders do.”
“Do you believe in it, papa?”
“Well, you see,” returned the laird, with a small smile, “I, like yourself, am neither pure highlander nor pure lowlander, and the natural consequence is, I am not very sure whether I believe in it or not. I have heard stories difficult to explain.”
“Still,” said Cosmo, “my lord would be more to blame than me, for no man with a good conscience would have been so frightened as that, even if it had been his wraith.”
“That may be true;—still, a man cannot help being especially sorry anything should happen to a stranger in his house. You and I, Cosmo, would have our house a place of refuge.—But you had better go to bed now. There is no reason in tiring two people, when one is enough.”