"Yes—and spoken with her."
"I wish you had tarried with her; for you have spilled our wine, and spoiled our game."
"It is all an illusion—an impossibility," said Herr Roskilde; "for I swear to you, gentlemen, there is no such person——"
"Hold, Rollo," said M'Alpine, gravely, on perceiving that I was getting wroth; "perhaps there is something supernatural in all this."
"Nothing supernatural at all, Angus. I spoke with her—saw her, and kissed her hand."
"Oho! Mahoud! thou art getting on apace," said the lieutenant, laughing.
"Beware!" growled Otto in his deep German bass, "for these Trolds are mere unsubstantial forms; hollow behind——"
"Trolds be hanged!" said I; "hollow behind, indeed! Do you laugh at me, friend Otto?"
"No—but I say, that I think you have been deceived."
"Nay, may I die if I ever touched a hand more fair, more round, more beautiful! And then her eyes! Ah, Master Otto! 'tis for yourself you keep this fair prize so slily locked up—but you cannot deceive me. Come with me, gentlemen, and I will show you whether or not I have been deceived by the Herr or my own eyes, and whether I have deserved the jests of Ian for the last week."