Dugald made some remark in Gaelic, with a mischievous glance towards Bayntun, but was sternly checked by his mother. Nevertheless, Bayntun perceived it, and determined more resolutely than ever not to divulge the strange sights and fancies which had haunted him.
Night had fairly closed in, and the reflection of the lights in the room mingled on the window-panes with the other objects outside, just lighted by a crescent moon, when, as Bayntun glanced towards the window, he perceived close to it the face of the hideous goblin which had haunted him in the day, and at the same moment came that fearful chuckle.
“Poor Marie Vhan,” said Mrs Cameron, rising and going to the door; “where has the wild creature been straying?”
“Marie has been naughty to-day,” said Dugald, speaking in English from fear of another rebuke from his mother: “she has been tossing and tearing the fleeces which were left to dry upon the whins.”
“Poor body,” rejoined Mrs Cameron. “It is a poor daft lassie. Her father is one of our shepherds, and it is a sad trouble to a poor man to have a feckless child that can do naught for herself, so she bides with me when she likes, and I give her food and shelter; but she will not stay long in any place.”
As she spoke, one of the servant girls opened another door, and began scolding the child in no gentle terms for the mischief she had done, which was serious in its way, for the fleeces had been prepared for spinning in long loose bands, and were required for her mistress’s immediate use. Instantly the wild creature fled chuckling into the wood, and up the dark dreary glen.
“It is an evil deed you have done, Lizzie, to drive the poor body from the door with your angry tongue,” said the mistress, as she resumed her place at the wheel.
Lizzie was out of hearing, and could not have understood had she been in the room, but the expression of disapprobation relieved Mrs Cameron’s indignant feelings.
Bayntun’s cheek glowed in the firelight at the solution of the terrific goblin dance which had so shaken his nerves. Fortified by a good sapper, and cheered by the sound of many voices, he now felt himself proof against bogies of all kinds, and at an early hour the party dispersed for the night. The home-made tallow candle which lighted Edmund’s spacious and gloomy apartment rendered the outlines of the dark, heavy furniture more massive and unshapely than they really were. It had been the state-room of the mansion, and was now let to a doctor, who, though possessed of considerable skill, had so lost his reputation by his intemperate habits, that he was driven to conceal his disgrace in this unfrequented glen, where his services were valued and repaid, and his failings easily overlooked. In a large closet adjoining were kept the phials and jars containing his supplies of drugs, etc, and from this closet was a narrow staircase, with a door by which the Doctor could come in and go out without disturbing the family.
“It was in this room that the Campbells cried the coronach over their dead, and here the jury sat to try poor Stewart, and the dead man’s plaid was hung in that closet, and by that staircase they brought Stewart in—the false-hearted murderers!” exclaimed Dugald Cameron; and having courteously begged the guest to ask for anything that was wanting for his comfort and repose, he left him to rest.