"Oh, you may laugh; for you are a young man, and ignorant of many things; but I tell you there was that time; and the tenants and the people at the Big House were very friendly. And the tenants they paid part of their rent in things that were useful for the Big House—such things as hens, and butter, and eggs, and the like; but it was not taken as rent; not at all; it was taken as a present; and the people at the Big House they would have the tenant sit down, and drink a glass of whisky, and hear the news. And now do you understand that there's many a one about here knows well of that custom; and they may pay their money-rent to the English family; but they would rather send their Kain to the old family, that is, to our master; and that is why the Gillie Ciotach and the rest of them are very glad when they can take out a hare or a brace of birds or something of that kind to Heimra. And why should not the sea pay Kain to Donald Ross of Heimra?—I will ask you that question, Calum. If the sea about here belongs to any one, it belongs to the old family, and not to the English family——"
"But if they catch us with the scringe-net, Coinneach?" said the younger man, ruefully. "Aw, Dyeea, I was never in a prison."
"The scringe-net!—a prison!" said Coinneach with contempt. "How little you know about such things! Do they put the dukes and the lords in prison that come round the coast in their big yachts? and in nearly every one of the yachts you will see a scringe-net hung out to dry, and no one concealing it. Do you think I have no eyes, Calum? When the Consuelo came round to Camus Bheag, and the master was sending to us for his other clothes before he went away to the south, did I not see them taking down a scringe-net from the boom? It is very frightened you are, Calum, whether it is putting a few kegs into a cave, or putting a scringe-net round a shore. Now if there was something really to frighten you—like the card-playing the young man saw——
"What was that, Coinneach?" said Calum quickly.
Conneach paused for a second or two, and his face became grave and thoughtful.
"That was enough to frighten anyone," he continued presently—in this mysterious chillness, while he kept his eyes watching the vague, dark plain that lay between him and the distant lights of the village. "And if I tell you the story, Calum, it is to show you there are many things we do not understand, and that it is wise not to speak too confidently, in case someone might overhear—someone that we cannot see. For sometimes they show themselves; and at other times they are not visible; but they may be there. Now I must tell you it happened in a great castle in the north; I am not remembering the name of it; maybe it was up in Caithness; I am not remembering that; but the story is well known, and I was hearing that someone was putting it in a book as well. Now I must tell you that the owner of the castle is the head of the clan, and of a very old and great family; and it is the custom, whenever he goes away from home, that one of the other gentlemen of the clan goes to the castle to keep watch. It is not needful in these days, as you can guess for yourself; but it is a compliment to the head of the clan, and an old custom; and maybe it is kept up to this present time—though I am not swearing that to you, Calum. What I am telling you took place a good many years ago; that is what I have heard; maybe sixty years, maybe fifty years, maybe a hundred years; I am not swearing to that. But the chief had to go away from home; and according to the custom, one of the gentlemen went to keep watch; and he took with him a young country lad, one of his own servants. Now I must tell you there was a fire put in the great hall of the castle; for it was in the winter time; and they had to sit up all night, the one keeping the other awake—for no one likes to be left alone in a strange place like that, in the night-time, and not knowing what things have been experienced by others."
"You are not needing to tell me that, Coinneach," the other assented.
"Very well. But as I was saying, the master he sate close to the fire in the great hall; and the young man he remained some distance away, by one of the windows; and there was no speaking between them. So one hour after another hour went by; and there was nothing happening; and it was not until the dead of the night, or towards the morning, that the young man noticed that his master had fallen asleep. He did not like that, I can tell you, Calum; for if you are left alone, the evil beings may appear and come upon you; and there is no question about it. Very well. The young man he thought he would go over to the fire and waken his master; but what do you think of this now, Calum, that when he tried to rise from his seat he could not do that—something was holding him back—he tried seven times over and seven times more, as I have heard, for he was trembling with the fear of being held. And then—what do you think of this, Calum?—and it is the truth I am telling you—he saw what few men have ever seen, and what few would ever wish to see: the folding-doors at the end of the hall were opened wide; and there were two footmen bringing in lights; and then there was a procession of ladies and gentlemen all dressed in a way that was strange to him; and they came into the hall so that you could not hear a sound. They took no notice of him or his master; and he could see everything they were doing, for all that his eyes were starting out of his head with fright; and I tell you he was so terrified he could not cry out to wake his master. But he was watching—oh, yes, he was watching with all his eyes, you may be sure of that; and he saw the footmen bring forward the tables; and those people in the strange clothes sate down and began to play at cards; and they were talking to each other—but never any sound of their talking. He could see their lips moving; but there was no sound. What do you think of that now, Calum?—was it not a dreadful thing for a young man to see?—even if they were not doing him any harm, or even knowing he was there? There's many a one would have sprung up and shrieked out; but as I tell you, there was no strength in his bones and he could not move; and his master was fast asleep; and all those people—the gentlemen with their small swords by their side, and the ladies in their silks—they were playing away at the cards, and talking to each other across the table, and not a sound to be heard. He watched and watched—aw, God, I suppose he was more dead than alive with trembling, and not being able to call on his master—until the windows began to grow grey with the morning light; and then he saw that the people were sometimes looking at the windows, and sometimes at each other, and they were talking less. Then they rose; and he could not see the candles any more because of the light in the hall; and they were going away in that noiseless manner, when one of them happened to spy the young man; and he came along and looked at him. He looked at him for a moment—and seemed to breathe on him—so that it was like a cold air touching him—and the young man knew that the hand of death had been put upon him. There was no sound; the strange person only looked; and the young man felt the cold air on his forehead, so that he was for sinking to the floor; for he thought that death was on him already, and that he must go with them wherever they were going. Calum, I have told you what I felt when I was coming back from Ru Grobhar, and when the Woman came behind me; it was like that with the young man, as I have heard. And then all of a sudden a cock crew outside; and his master woke up and looked round; and there was no one in the hall but their two selves."
"Did he cry out then?—did he tell his master what he had seen?" Calum asked, in a low voice.
"He was not caring much to tell any one," Coinneach replied. "It was what he felt within him that concerned him; and he knew that the touch of death had been put upon him. Oh, yes, he told the story, though they found him so weak that he could not say much; and they put him to bed—but he was shivering all the time; and he had no heart for living left in him. He was not caring to speak much about it. When they asked him what the people were like, he said the gentlemen had velvet coats, and white hair tied with black ribbons behind; and the ladies were rich in their dresses; but he could not say what language they were speaking, for he could see their lips moving, but there was no sound. He was not caring to speak much about it. The life seemed to have been taken out of his body; he said he would never rise again from his bed. He said more than once, 'It was that one that breathed on me; he wanted me to go with them to be one of the servants; and if the cock had not crowed I would have gone with them. But now I am going.' And he got weaker and weaker, until about the end of the third day; and then it was all over with the poor lad; and there was no struggle—he knew that the death-touch had been put upon his heart."