Completely yet healthfully fatigued, Edmund soon fell asleep. How long he slept, or whether he was still dreaming, he knew not, but distinct to his vision appeared the figure of a man leaning against the doorway of the closet adjoining his bedroom, from which shone a quivering spectral light. His plaid hung heavily, as if steeped in moisture, round his tall gaunt form. His bonnet was pressed down upon his brows, and under its shade his face looked pale and distorted by pain or sorrow, as he stood motionless, gazing intently upon the sleeper.
“This is a dream. The mysterious figure in the wood is haunting my memory. I will not give way to these fancies,” said Bayntun, mentally. “It is a very uncomfortable dream, too,” continued he, as the figure, still keeping its glazy eyes fixed upon his face, moved slowly towards him. The old floor creaked under his steps. “Dreams are often suggested by some real sound associating itself with the previous train of our thoughts. If I could but rouse myself, this phantom would be dissipated.” Yet his eyes felt perfectly wide open, and there was none of the painful sense of oppression on the eyelids and restraint upon the tongue which usually attends an unpleasant dream. Nearer and nearer came that pale, haggard face, till the sound of his breathing became audible. “That is myself breathing quick, and no wonder,” thought he. “Edmund Bayntun, why don’t you rouse yourself? What a fool you are!” and uttering the last sentence with the full strength of his voice, Edmund started up, and at the same moment the spectre staggered back, exclaiming—
“Ay, sirs! That is not a civil way to speak to a gentleman, more especially finding himself turned out of his own bed when he comes home to it, wet and tired.”
More and more perplexed, Bayntun stammered out, “Really, sir, I beg your pardon, but I thought—I took you—that is to say, I fancied that I was dreaming, and I don’t feel quite sure whether I am awake now.”
“Waking or dreaming, my man, you should always use civil language. When I saw you lying so comfortably in my bed, I was just thinking I would leave you there, and go down myself to the kitchen fire; but really, your uncivil speech!—Ha! ha! it is a good joke, too, to be mistaken for a dream. So, good night to you, young man, and I will not disturb you again.”
The next morning the Doctor was found fast asleep in the kitchen. His young patient at the house of Glennaclach not needing his assistance so much as another sick person in the Glen, he had left him early in the evening, and preferred coming home to Glen Bogie rather than returning late at night to disturb the household of Mr Stewart. Early in the day the young laird arrived, with a pressing invitation to the four English strangers to come and stay at his house. They willingly accepted it, and whether they enjoyed the visit is a question to be best answered by those who have found themselves the guests of a Highland family, amongst their own beautiful glens, and mountains, and woods, and waterfalls, after passing months and years in cities, and amidst “the hum, the buzz, the crush of men.”
Bayntun spent much time after this in the society of his friend Hardy, and, yielding to his advice and example, adopted a more stirring, healthful, vigorous course of thought and life, and his favourite motto was—
“Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate.”