Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Still shouting to them across the stream, she stepped out firmly over the loose stones and met them on a high arched stone bridge, bestowing on each a hearty shake of the hand, and on Hardy a hearty thump on the shoulders, accompanied by the compliment—

“You’ve a right honest face, my lad.”

She then spoke with respectful interest of the family at Glennaclach.

“There’s no race like the Stewarts, meet them when and where you will,” added she.

Passing by several out-buildings, from which all the dogs rushed forth again, she led the way to the principal entrance of what was once a Highland gentleman’s mansion, gloomy and desolate as it now looked.

“My daughters are all married and away, and none of the lads has brought home a bride to take their place,” she said, rather sadly, and then bursting into a loud laugh, she continued—“But I am more than wife to all of them; look here,” and opening a large chest, she drew forth pieces of cloth and linen of all descriptions. “Spun it all with these hands, and there’s plenty of work in them yet; and see there,” she said, triumphantly pointing to dozens of woollen hose which hung in the wide chimney of the kitchen, to which she now led the way.

Then remembering that her guests must be tired and hungry, she placed upon the table oat-cake, milk, and whisky in abundance, heartily inviting them to partake of them.

The task which Bayntun had undertaken was longer than he had anticipated. While engaged upon it, his mind recurred more than once to the hints he had heard of the place he was now in. Donald’s apparently prophetic announcement of the sorrow which had befallen the family they had intended to visit had also taken a strange hold upon his fancy. Moreover he was tired and hungry, and whatever ascetics may say to the contrary, the mind cannot work so healthfully in conjunction with a feeble body, as with one in such comfortable condition that none of the reasoning faculties are needed to master its sufferings. In fact, he was neither more nor less than nervous. The spot in which he was left was calculated to increase these feelings, so totally lonely and silent, except the sad music of the breeze in the fir-trees, and the stream gurgling and rushing down the rocks. Just below him—for, although far beneath the level of the top of the waterfall, he was some feet above its base—was a smooth grassy nook, protected from the water by a wall of black rock, in which was a shallow cave overhung by a weeping birch.

Bayntun had noticed this when he first began his sketch, but as his sight grew rather dazzled from watching the constant play of the water, and the sun sank behind the towering mountain, he lost sight of it altogether. As he concluded his work and prepared to follow his friends, his steps were arrested by a harsh chuckle unlike any human voice, but which seemed equally unlike the sound of bird or beast. It proceeded from the cave in the grassy nook, and so excited Bayntun’s curiosity that he could not refrain from investigating its origin. With some difficulty he lowered himself down the face of the rock by means of the large ferns and bushes, and as he neared the cave the sound became louder and harsher, and expressive of terror. Just as he reached the spot and extended his hand to hold back the branches which overhung it, there was a shriek, and a violent rustle from within; and a form sprang out, passed him, and climbing the rock with the agility of a monkey, by clutching the boughs with its long lean arms and hands, fled away, continuing its wild chuckle.