“What do you mean, woman? Would you drive me mad with your gibberish?” cried his lordship, getting up, and going to the window.
“Ow, na, my lord!” returned Grizzie quietly; “mad’s mad, but there’s waur nor mad.”
“Grizzie!” said the laird, and she did not speak again.
Lurking in Grizzie was the suspicion, less than latent in the minds of the few who had any memory of the old captain, that he had been robbed as well as murdered—though nothing had ever been missed that was known to belong to him, except indeed an odd walking-stick he used to carry; and if so, then the property, whatever it was, had been taken to the loss of his rightful heir, Warlock o’ Glenwarlock. Hence mainly arose Grizzie’s desire to play upon the fears of the English lord; for might he not be driven by terror to make restitution? Therefore, although obedient to the will of her master and leaving the room in silence, she cast on the old man, as she turned away, a look, which, in spite of the wine he had drunk, and the wine he hoped to drink, he felt freeze his very vitals—a look it was of inexplicable triumph, and inarticulate doom.
The final effect of it on her victim, however, was different from what she intended. For it roused suspicion. What if, he thought with himself, he was the victim of a conspiracy? What if the something frightful that befell him the night before, of which he had but a vague recollection, had been contrived and executed by the people of the house? This horrible old hag might remember else-forgotten things! What if they had drugged his wine? the first half of the bottle he had yesterday was decanted!—But the one he had just drunk had not been touched! and this fresh one before the fire should not be carried from his sight! he would not take his eyes off it for a moment! he was safe so far as these were concerned! only if after all——if there should be no difference——if something were to happen again all the same—ah, then indeed!—then it would only be so much the worse!—Better let them decant the bottle, and then he would have the drug to fall back upon!
Just as he heard the loud bang of Grizzie’s closure of the great door, the wind rushed all at once against the house, with a tremendous bellow, that threatened to drive the windows into the room. An immediate lull followed, through which as instantly came strange sounds, as of a distant staccato thunder. The moment the laird heard the douf thuds, he started to his feet, and made for the door, and Cosmo rose to follow.
“Stop! stop!” shouted Lord Mergwain, in a quavering, yet, through terror, imperative voice, and looked as if his hair would have stood on end, only that it was a wig.
Lady Joan gave Cosmo a glance of entreaty: the shout was ineffectual, the glance was not. The laird scarcely heard his visitor’s cry, and hastened from the room, taking huge strides with his long thin legs; but Cosmo resumed his seat as if nothing were the matter.
Lord Mergwain was trembling visibly; his jaw shook, and seemed ready to drop.
“Don’t be alarmed, my lord,” said Cosmo; “it is only one of the horses kicking against his stall.”