"'I have vowed,' said he, 'to the Virgin, never to leave this place alive; but, if you will send to Edinburgh, and get me a priest of our Holy Faith, that I may receive the last rites and consolations of the True Church, my soul will thank you and depart in peace—you, my friend, know whom. If possible, I would wish you to learn if he is still alive; he will not refuse to come.'
"In a few days after, a stranger came to our door, and gave me a letter for the strange gentleman. I had not seen him for several days, Grace being his sole attendant; and even she dared not interrupt him but as little as possible. I was shocked at the change I saw upon him. He lay, pale and exhausted, his eyes bent on the crucifix, and his thin, wasted hands clasped upon his bosom, as if he had been entranced. The sickly light of the wax candle that burned beside the crucifix cast a strange light upon the dead-like body before me. I started back, and looked aghast. The noise of my entrance had aroused him.
"'What want you, William?' he inquired, in a hollow voice.
"'It is a letter for you, sir,' said I, 'brought by a stranger, whom the laird said I might admit.'
"A glow of pleasure passed over his face, as, with an effort, he raised himself, and took the letter from my hand.
"'Blessed Jesus!' he said, 'my prayers are heard! Admit him. He brings me peace and salvation through the Church. My penitence and penances have prevailed.'
"After the stranger, who was a Papist priest, was admitted, they remained alone until our guest died, which was on the second day after. He was buried by the laird. What or who he was, we never knew. All his books and papers were taken away; but the consequences of his residence still remain, as a punishment for harbouring a Papist, and suffering idolatry under our roof. The room he possessed and died in is, we are certain, disturbed by a spirit. We hear the door open and shut at night, and strange noises startle us from our rest. Two visiters, one after the other, who attempted to sleep in it, were terrified almost out of their senses; and it is for this reason we could not offer it to you to sleep in."
My curiosity was as much awakened by the vague account the good people gave me of the room in its present state, as my interest had been excited by the account of the poor outlaw. I am, I confess, not more brave than other people. I never courted danger for the love of it, or fled from it to meet dishonour; and, as for the reality of spectres, I neither believe nor disbelieve in them; having, in all my travels, never seen a legitimate one, nor troubled my head about them. As much through curiosity, I believe, as anything else—for I am sure it was not the love of a good bed, far less an adventure—I told my hosts I would with pleasure sleep in the room, if they would allow me; and, after some honest endeavours to dissuade me, they consented. Supper and family-worship being finished, we all three entered the apartment—the good woman insisting upon our company while she prepared my bed, and her husband going more cheerfully when I proposed to accompany them. All the little duties were done by the dame in a hurried, timid manner; and, while she was occupied, I looked round. The door was only fastened by a wooden latch, which opened by a string hung upon the outside. The whole interior had a simple, clean, neat look, which pleased me. After a hasty good-night and God be with you, they withdrew. When I was left alone, the account I had just heard of the strange individual who had for so long a period inhabited the apartment passed over my mind; and who or what he could be gave rise to many a conjecture. I became low-spirited at the thought of the many miseries that human nature is liable to, under reverses of fortune from which neither birth nor riches can protect us. In this frame of mind I retired to rest—the idea of anything supernatural never entering my mind, and no shade of fear discomposing my thoughts. I soon fell asleep. How long I had slept I know not; but I was awakened by a slight noise at the door of the room, as if some one had put his hand upon it. I now felt alarmed, and expected to witness some fearful sight. The door opened and shut with a faint clang. I heard a movement on the floor. A cold sweat came over me. I raised myself upon my elbow. All was dark—impenetrably dark, and I saw nothing; but the curtains at the foot of the bed shook violently.
"Who is there?" I attempted to inquire; but only a faint murmur escaped my lips.
A strange noise and movement on the floor again took place, and I bolted up and sat in the bed. The curtains again moved at the head; and, as I thought, were partially opened. Still nothing was to be seen, and I put forth my hand to grope. Something as cold as death touched it. This was more than I could endure. I sunk upon the bed, buried my head in the clothes, and would have cried out; but that terror had paralysed every faculty. Whatever was the cause of my alarm, I now found that the object had come into the bed, and was either seated or lying between me and the wall. I dared not uncover my head, or put out my hands to ascertain what it might be. The icy feeling still thrilled through my frame; and thus I lay in mortal agony, under the conviction that the object still reclined immoveable by my side. My firmness gradually began to return; and with it came calm reflection. I thought I heard a heavy breathing; and slowly uncovered my head to hear it better. Once more I summoned a desperate resolution to put forth my hand. What did my hand encounter?—the shaggy coat of a dog. A gentle whine followed; the next moment my hand was licked by a warm tongue. I smiled at my late alarm. It was Colin.