“Here, my poor Morag,” said the Pensassenach, after she had dropped into a cup a small quantity of some liquid nostrum of her own, from a phial, hastily taken from a little medicine chest, and added some water to it, “drink this, my good girl!”
“Och, hoch!” said Morag, after she had swallowed it; “she thinks she sees ta ghaist yet.”
“What ghost did you see?” demanded the Pensassenach.
“Och, hoch! Och, hoch, memm!” replied Morag, trembling more than ever; “Shon Smiss ghaist; Shon Smiss, as sure as Morag is in life, an’ ta leddy stannin’ in ta body tare afore her e’en.”
“John Smith’s ghost!” cried the Pensassenach. “Pooh, nonsense! But again I ask you, how went the battle? The rumour is, that the rebels have been signally defeated, and all cut to pieces.”
“Och, hoch! is tat true?” said Morag, weeping. “Och, hoch, poor Shon Smiss!”
“Did you not see the rout?” demanded the Pensassenach. “Did you not witness the battle, and behold the glorious triumph of the royal army?”
“Och, hoch, no!” replied the girl. “Morag saw nae pattals, nor naesin’ but hearin’ terrible shots o’ guns, an’ twa or sree red cotted sodgers tat pursued her for her life.”
“Well, well!” replied the Pensassenach; “Come now! tell me your whole history.”
Morag’s nerves being now somewhat composed, she gave her mistress as clear an outline as she could, of all that had befallen her. The Pensassenach dropped some tears, to mingle with those which Morag shed, when she recounted the evidence of John Smith’s death, which she felt to be but too probably true. But when she came to talk of the ghost, she did all she could to laugh the girl out of her fears, insisting with her that she had been deceived by terror and weakness, and seeing how much the poor girl was worn out, she desired her to take some refreshment, and to go to bed directly; and she had no sooner retired, than the Pensassenach prepared to follow her example.