"I winna, I canna, I daurna, sir. Gang to the Dean o' Guild. There's a dead body in the green bed, and there's a spirit in a lang white goun that watches it."

The hand of the stranger shook, as he grasped spasmodically his staff; his teeth for a moment were clenched; and he plainly showed a resolution not to seem moved by that which as clearly did move him to the innermost parts of his being. Nor did it now escape Gourlay, as he sat and gazed at him, that he was the original of that picture in the dining-room, which hung by the side of the beautiful lady.

"Then you must have been in?"

Geordie was silent, meditating on some new light gradually breaking in upon him.

"You must have been in, and—and—know the secret?"

"I ken nae secret, except it be that the goose which has been at the fire for twenty years is no roasted yet."

"That goose at the fire even yet!" ejaculated the stranger.

"Ay, and the thread still on the pirn."

"Pirn!" responded he mechanically.

"Ay, and the bottle standing on the dresser along by the pewter mug."