Forward he went at a hunting pace, and, keeping his body well back and bridle-hand low, he cleared the wall of the park at a bound, and galloped over the whitening lawn towards the portico, under which he reined up his panting steed. The whole mansion was involved in silence and darkness; and as he looked upon its closed windows and gloomy façade, new apprehensions and terrors began to arise before him.
He rang the lobby-bell with fury, and waited long, but without receiving an answer. Again and again he rang, yet no one came. He walked round the house, but every window was closed and dark. The stables were shut up, and the vane on the clock-tower creaked dismally. Neither dogs nor fowls appeared about the kitchen offices; not a bat was stirring, and no sign of life was visible anywhere. Ronald thought that he was bewitched, that there was a glamour over him, or that the land had been deserted by its inhabitants.
The chill snow-flakes were descending thick and fast, and he trembled as much with cold as with apprehension. It was quite a relief when a large mastiff dog bounded forth suddenly, to the full extent of his chain, from his kennel in a corner, and barked furiously; and standing erect on his hind legs, yelled till the house and the surrounding plantations echoed far and near to the sound. At that moment a light flashed out upon the snow, and a man, half dressed, appeared at an upper window with a gun in his hand. Ronald was so white with snow, that it was impossible to recognise what or who he was, and consequently his reception was rather rougher than he expected.
"Wha may you be, frien', that come prowlin' aboot honest men's doors at this time o' the nicht—or mornin' rather, eh?"
"Hah!" exclaimed Ronald, "are you Jock Nevermiss,—roaring Jock the game-keeper?"
"What the better wad ye be for kennin'?" asked the other, cautiously.
"Come, come, Jock; you must remember me, surely? We have had many a merry day's sport together. Is it possible that you do not know me?"
"Possible eneuch, chield. But its ower cauld the nicht to hae ony mair giff-gaff; sae come back i' the morning, and then well see what like ye are. I like none o' yer Southland-tongued folk."
Ronald was enraged at the fellow's pertinacity, but his fierce reply was interrupted by the soft voice of a female.
"Gude sake! surely I should ken his voice! O Jock! Jock! what hae ye been sayin'? It's the young captain o' Lochisla. It's maister Ronald Stuart o' the tower—Miss Alice's Joe, come home frae the wars! Haud awa, ye muckle gowk Jock! Oh, I ken ye weel, sir; for many a blithe kiss ye've gi'en me to carry to Miss Alice."