The old man’s hand trembled as he laid it on her head. “You are growing tall, my child; we shall soon see you a woman. I have just arrived with some strange and horrible news, which I have been telling my Lord of Ochil. You remember old ‘Moll o’ the graves,’ Aline.”
“Yes, Father.”
“She’s dead, my child; I saw her a few minutes ago on my way up. She was lying at the foot of the Crags.”
Aline shuddered.
“We cannot leave the poor creature there,” he continued; “can you let me have a couple of men, Master Richard, and would you mind her lying here for the night? I will arrange for the funeral to-morrow.”
“Certainly,” said Master Mowbray, and he arose and accompanied Father Laurence.
Twenty minutes later Aline and Ian were crossing the courtyard and saw the bearers carrying the body on a hurdle into the room below the granary. Ian at once drew Aline away in another direction, that she should not see the horrible sight. He had caught one glimpse of the face, and it was enough. It was the same as he had seen in his awful vision in the fire,—the terrible grin,—the blood trickling through the teeth. “Come away, little one, let us go elsewhere,” he said.
After all was quiet again, Thomas Carluke walked stealthily across the quadrangle and entered the room where the body lay. A sheet had been placed over it, but he drew it aside. The grin on the face seemed to mock him. “Aha!” he said, “you fooled me twice, you old wretch, but you will never do it again. You need not laugh at me like that. I have cleared my score with you now. Did you not tell me that you would get rid of the child?—and they got her out of the moat. Did you not tell me she would be burnt?—and now Queen Mary is dead and there are no more burnings. You miserable worm, what was the good of your hate? You were no better than Andrew, no better than Father Ambrose. Pah! You defied me just now on the Crags, did you? Well, here you are; and I would do it again. Oh, it was so easy,—one little push. Ha, you still mock; no, you cannot hurt me,—no, no,” he repeated apprehensively. “You are dead, you cannot come back. I will not believe it. The devil has your soul. But I must go, must go.”
He drew the sheet over the body again and went out. “Fool,” he said to himself, “what am I afraid of? Fool, I say.”