“Na, na! ye mauna leave me here!” cried Mungo, plucking at his sleeve.
There was something besides fear in the appeal, there was alarm of another sort that made Montaiglon pause and look the servitor in the eyes. He found confusion there as well as alarm at the furore outside and the imminent danger of the castle.
“I wish to God he was here himser,” said Mungo helplessly, but still he did not relinquish his hold of Count Victor's sleeve.
“That need not prevent us comforting the lady,” said Count Victor, releasing himself from the grasp.
“Let her alane, let her alane!” cried the servant distractedly, following the Frenchman upstairs.
Count Victor paid no heed: he was now determined to unveil a mystery that for all he knew might menace himself in this household of strange midnight happenings. The cries of the woman came from the corridor he had guessed her chamber to occupy, and to this he hastened. But he had scarcely reached the corridor when the flambeau Mungo held was suddenly blown out, and this effectively checked his progress. He turned for an explanation.
“D—n that draught!” said Mungo testily, “it's blawn oot my licht.”
“We'll have to do without it, then,” said the Count, “but you must show me the way to this shrieking woman.”
“A' richt,” said Mungo, “mind yer feet!” He passed before the Count and cautiously led him up to the passage where the woman's cries, a little less vehement, were still to be heard.
“There ye are! and muckle gude may it dae ye,” he said, stopping at a door and pushing it open.