“Look half way up the mountain side,” said her husband, pointing with his finger. “Do you see that broad ledge set thick with black looking trees, firs, larches and mountain pines? Back of the ledge, at a distance of half a mile, rises the high mountain peak. Well, on that wild looking ledge, perched in mid-air, as one might say, an outlaw ancestor of mine who fought on the losing side in one of the Scottish wars, and was compelled to flee for his life, built an outlaw’s den, in which he spent his last years and finally died. The house has since been improved and enlarged—”
“But, my dear Craven,” interrupted Octavia, “the Wilderness cannot be upon that ledge, up this steep pile of rocks. Why, the ledge is inaccessible, unless to yonder eagle. We cannot get up there without wings.”
“You comprehend why I could never let nor sell the place,” said Craven Black. “But we can get up the cliff. There is a narrow footpath, not especially dangerous, but rather fatiguing. The men will bring up the luggage, and we will walk up. The boat is ready. Come.”
He assisted his wife into the boat, and then Neva. The maid came next. Dressing bags followed. Mr. Black sprang in, and two of the sailors pulled lustily for the shore.
The passengers were landed at a projecting rock at the water’s edge, and Craven Black, ordering the seamen to remain where they were until he should send a servant to them, conducted his wife, Neva and the maid, by a narrow, steep and tortuous path, up the precipitous face of the cliff. The dreary night fell before they had gained the ledge, but the soft moonlight flecked their path with gleams of brightness, and at last they stood upon the ledge, high up among the mountains, with the loch lying like a tarnished jewel far below at their feet.
“We are buried alive here, mon Dieu!” gasped the little French woman, staring around her. “We are in a tomb!”
Neva’s heart echoed the words.
The wide plateau, with its thickly growing trees on every side, looked very grim in the moonlight, obscured as that light was by the towering, frowning mountains. In the midst of the plateau stood an old stone house, long and low, and hideously ugly in its proportions, having a frowning and grim appearance well in keeping with its surroundings.
The front door of this house was opened, and lights gleamed from the windows, and forms were seen hovering near the dwelling in watchful expectation.
“It looks as if we were expected!” said Neva, in surprise. “The house is not closed, as you said, Mr. Black!”