“Ye see,” said John, “the Laird was to have been married langsyne—the time’s past minding—it was lang or ever ye were born or heard tell o’; but ye’ll no prevent the lass frae seeing somebody she likit better,—and a shilpit chield he was, no fit to haud the candle to Mossgray;—sae the short and the lang o’t is, that the twaesome ran away, and the Laird was left without his bride, and took it sair to heart, as I have heard. Aweel, there was nae mair word o’t till a young lady came to the Mount—that’s where I am—to learn the young lasses the kind of havers that’s guid enough for the like o’ them; and wha should this be but the daughter of the Laird’s auld joe, and nae suner was’t found out, than she behoved to gang hame to Mossgray, and as muckle wark made about her as if she had been a crowned head, let alane a bit peenging lassie: and there she’s been, ever since, mistress and mair. The word gangs that she’ll get a’ the land; but I canna think that Mossgray would pass ower his ain bluid for a stranger, and they say there are some of the name to the fore yet.”
The young man made no answer, and just at this crisis John Brown pulled up his horse opposite a lane which sloped down to the waterside.
“Ye see yon light? it’s in the Laird’s study, for he’s an awfu’ feelosophical man. Yon’s Mossgray; if ye hand straight down ye canna miss’t.”
There was only the partial light of the moon to guide the stranger, as he turned the sudden angle of one of the accumulated buildings, which formed the house of Mossgray. Dimly seen, and in glimpses, as these clouds flitted across the moon, the old house looked grand and imposing to the inexperienced eyes eagerly gazing upon it. A thrill of family pride, the first he had ever felt, made the young man draw himself up, and hold his head higher, as he looked at the heavy bulk of the old tower rising between him and the sky. In the projecting turret high up yonder, and from the small deep windows in its rugged wall, gleams the light which John Brown pointed out. The Laird’s study—the heart of the adventurer beat high, as he tried to prepare himself to meet this stern Laird, half dreaded, half defied.
Lower down in a more modern part of the house, from larger windows of some household sitting room, warm light was shining, and close beside the visitor as he stood surveying the dark mass of building, was the cheerful kitchen fire and lamp. The young man did not perceive that at the uncurtained kitchen window there were curious faces watching him. He lingered with natural hesitation before presenting himself to the unknown Mossgray, whose welcome was so dubious; but while he lingered, another face appeared at the low window near him. The old housekeeper, with excited curiosity, had come to see for herself who the intruder was. A loud exclamation aroused him.
“God preserve us!—we never did ye ill. Have ye come to warn us of our end, Charlie Graeme?”
He saw an aged face, strangely convulsed with terror, fall back upon the shoulder of a strong middle-aged woman who stood behind, as the shrill cry ceased; and hastily advancing, he discovered the kitchen door, and knocked. For some time his summons was not attended to; at last a decent gray-haired elderly man opened it, and looked out, not without timidity. The young man asked for Mr Graeme, and was silently admitted.
In an old elbow-chair by the fire sat the housekeeper of Mossgray, hysterically wringing her withered hands.
“I never did him ill! Oh guid send he be come for me, and no for the innocent callant that he did enow mischief too, when he was in the flesh; but ye saw it, Saunders Delvie—ye saw the Appearance as weel as me.”
“I tell ye, Auntie,” said Janet, “it was nae Appearance; it was a mortal lad, as life-like as either you or me.”