“Eh, woman!” exclaimed the grieve’s wife, forgetting her good manners in astonishment. “Ye maun have been awfu’ short time hereabout, if ye havena heard the story of the Laird o’ Redheugh.”
“I only arrived yesterday,” said Anne.
“Weel, it’s no ill to tell. The young gentleman that aught it killed a man and was drowned himsel when he was trying to escape: it’s just as like the Book o’ Jonah as anything out o’ the Bible could be. There was a great storm, and the ship he was in sank; he couldna carry the guilt of the pluid over the sea. They say murder wouldna hide if ye could put a’ the tokens o’t beneath North Berwick Law. It made an awfu’ noise in the countryside at the time, but it’s no muckle thought o’ now, only a’body kens what gars the house lie desolate. Folk say ye may see the gentleman that was killed, and Redheugh himsel in his dreeping claes, like as if he was new come up from the bottom of the sea, fighting and striving in the auld avenue—aye at midnight o’ the night it was done—but ye’ll no believe the like o’ that?”
“No,” said Anne vacantly; she did not know what she answered.
“Weel, I never saw onything myself—but they say the spirit’s ill to pacify, that’s met wi’ a violent death—and I wad just be as weel pleased no to put myself in the way. I have aye an eerie feeling when I pass the gate at night. After a’ ye ken, there’s naething certain about it in Scripture—maybe the dead can come back, maybe they canna—ane disna ken. I think it’s aye best to keep out of the gait.”
“It is, no doubt, the most prudent way,” said Anne, smiling.
“Ye wad, maybe, like to see the garden, Miss—”
Mrs. Brock was mightily anxious to know who her visitor was.
“Ross,” said Anne.
“Weel, Miss Ross, I am sure ye’ll be pleased wi’ the garden—will ye come this way?”