“He has my sincere felicitations, I assure you,” said Count Victor, “and I can only hope he is worthy of the honour of Master Mungo's connivance and the lady's devotion.”
“Oh! he's a' richt! It's only a whim o' Doom's that mak's him discoontenance the fellow. I'll allow the gentleman has a name for gallantry and debt, and a wheen mair genteel vices that's neither here nor there, but he's a pretty lad. He's the man for my fancy—six feet tall, a back like a board, and an e'e like lightning. And he's nane the waur o' ha'in' a great interest in Mungo Byde's storie.”
“Decidedly a diplomatist!” said Count Victor, laughing. “I always loved an enthusiast; go on—go on, good Mungo. And so he is my nocturnal owl, my flautist of the bower, my Orpheus of the mountains. Does the gifted Annapla also connive, and are hers the window signals?”
“Annapla kens naething o' that—”
“The—what do you call it?—the Second Sight appears to have its limitations.”
“At least if it does she's nane the less willin' to be an unconscious aid, and put a flag at the window at the biddin' o' Olivia to keep the witches awa'. The same flag that keeps aff a witch may easily fetch a bogle. There's but ae time noo and then when it's safe for the lad to venture frae the mainland, and for that there maun be a signal o' some kind, otherwise, if I ken his spirit, he wad never be aff this rock. I'm tellin' ye a' that by Mistress Olivia's command, and noo ye're in the plot like the lave of us.”
Mungo heaved a deep breath as if relieved of a burden.
“Still—still,” said Count Victor, “one hesitates to mention it to so excellent a custodian of the family reputation—still there are other things to me somewhat—somewhat crepuscular.”
His deprecatory smile and the gesture of his hands and shoulders conveyed his meaning.
“Ye're thinkin' o' the Baron in tartan,” said Mungo, bluntly. He smiled oddly. “That's the funniest bit of all. If ye're here a while langer that'll be plain to ye too. Between the darkest secrets and oor understanding o' them there's whiles but a rag, and that minds me that Mistress Olivia was behin' the arras tapestry chitterin' wi' fright when ye broke in by her window. Sirs! sirs! what times we're ha'in; there's ploy in the warld yet, and me unable—tuts! I'm no' that auld either. And faith here's himsel'.”