Part 56 (2/2)
they a' gaspit at ance.
”Noo she was never a favourite wi' ony ane o' her ain fowk, but still they couldna hear sic a cry frae her ohn run to the yell.”
”They fand him pacin' up and doon the ha', an' luikin' like a deid man in a rage o' fear. But when they telled him, he only leuch at them, an' ca'd them ill names, an' said he had na hard a cheep.
Sae they tuik naething by that, an' gaed back trimlin'.
”Twa o' them, a man an' a maid to haud hert in ane anither, gaed up to the door o' the transe (pa.s.sage) 'at led to the king's room; but for a while they hard naething. Syne cam the soon' o' moanin'
an' greitin' an' prayin'.
”The neist meenute they war back again amo' the lave, luikin' like twa corps. They had opent the door o' the transe to hearken closer, an' what sud they see there but the fiery een an' the white teeth o' the prence's horse, lyin' athort the door o' the king's room, wi' 's hied atween 's fore feet, an keepin' watch like a tyke (dog)!
”Er' lang they bethoucht themsels, an twa o' them set oot an aff thegither for the priory--that's whaur yer ain hoose o' Lossie noo stan's, my lord, to fess a priest. It wad be a guid twa hoor or they wan back, an' a' that time, ilka noo an' than, the moaning an' the beggin' an' the cryin' wad come again. An' the warder upo' the heich tooer declared 'at ever sin' midnicht the prence's menyie, the haill twal o' them, was careerin' aboot the castel, noon'
an noon', wi' the een o' their beasts lowin', and their heids oot, an' their manes up, an their tails fleein' ahint them. He aye lost sicht o' them whan they wan to the edge o' the scaur, but roon'
they aye cam again upo' the ither side, as gien there had been a ro'd whaur there wasna even a ledge.
”The moment the priest's horse set fut upo' the drawbrig, the puir leddy gae anither ougsome cry, a hantle waur nor the first, an'
up gat a suddent roar an' a blast o' win' that maist cairried the castel there aff o' the cliff intill the watter, an' syne cam a flash o' blue licht an' a rum'lin'. Efter that, a' was quaiet: it was a' ower afore the priest wan athort the coortyaird an' up the stair. For he crossed himsel' an' gaed straucht for the bridal chaumer. By this time the yerl had come up, an' followed cooerin'
ahin' the priest.
”Never a horse was i' the transe; an' the priest, first layin' the cross 'at hang frae 's belt agane the door o' the chaumer, flang 't open wi'oot ony ceremony, for ye 'll alloo there was room for nane.
”An' what think ye was the first thing the yerl saw?--A great hole i' the wa' o' the room, an' the starry pleuch luikin' in at it, an' the sea lyin' far doon afore him--as quaiet as the bride upo' the bed--but a hantle bonnier to luik at; for ilka steek that had been on her was brunt aff, an' the bonny body o' her lyin' a'
runklet, an' as black 's a coal frae heid to fut; an' the reek 'at rase frae 't was heedeous. I needna say the bridegroom wasna there.
Some fowk thoucht it a guid sign that he hadna cairried the body wi' him; but maybe he was ower suddent scared by the fut o' the priest's horse upo' the drawbrig, an' dauredna bide his oncome.
Sae the fower fut stane--wa' had to flee afore him, for a throu gang to the Prence o' the Pooer o' the Air. An' yon's the verra hole to this day, 'at ye was sae near ower weel acquaint wi' yersel', my leddy. For the yerl left the castel, and never a Colonsay has made his abode there sin' syne. But some say 'at the rizzon the castel cam to be desert.i.t a'thegither was, that as aften as they biggit up the hole, it fell oot again as sure 's the day o' the year cam roon' whan it first happened. They say, that at twal o'clock that same nicht, the door o' that room aye gaed tu, an' that naebody daur touch 't, for the heat o' the han'le o' 't; an' syne cam the skreighin' an' the moanin', an' the fearsome skelloch at the last, an' a rum'le like thun'er, an' i' the mornin' there was the wa' oot!
The hole's bigger noo, for a' the decay o' the castel has taen to slidin' oot at it, an' doobtless it'll spread an' spread till the haill structur vainishes; at least sae they say, my lord; but I wad hae a try at the haudin' o' 't thegither for a' that. I dinna see 'at the deil sud hae 't a' his ain gait, as gien we war a' fleyt at him. Fowk hae threepit upo' me that there i' the gloamin' they hae seen an' awsome face luikin' in upo' them throu' that slap i'
the wa'; but I never believed it was onything but their ain fancy, though for a' 'at I ken, it may ha' been something no canny. Still, I say, wha 's feart? The Ill Man has no pooer 'cep ower his ain kin. We 're tellt to resist him an' he'll flee frae 's.”
”A good story, and well told,” said the marquis kindly. ”Don't you think so, Florimel?”
”Yes, papa,” Lady Florimel answered; ”only he kept us waiting too long for the end of it.”
”Some fowk, my leddy,” said Malcolm, ”wad aye be at the hin'er en'
o' a'thing. But for mysel', the mair pleased I was to be gaein'
ony gait, the mair I wad spin oot the ro'd till 't.”
”How much of the story may be your own invention now?” said the marquis.
”Ow, nae that muckle, my lord; jist a feow extras an' partic'lars 'at micht weel hae been, wi' an adjective, or an adverb, or sic like, here an' there. I made ae mistak' though; gien 't was you hole yonner, they bude till hae gane doon an' no up the stair to their chaumer.”
His lords.h.i.+p laughed, and, again commending the tale, rose: it was time to re-embark--an operation less arduous than before, for in the present state of the tide it was easy to bring the cutter so close to a low rock that even Lady Florimel could step on board.
As they had now to beat to windward, Malcolm kept the tiller in his own hand. But indeed, Lady Florimel did not want to steer; she was so much occupied with her thoughts that her hands must remain idle.
Partly to turn them away from the more terrible portion of her adventure, she began to reflect upon her interview with Mrs Catanach --if interview it could be called, where she had seen no one. At first she was sorry that she had not told her father of it, and had the ruin searched; but when she thought of the communication the woman had made to her, she came to the conclusion that it was, for various reasons--not to mention the probability that he would have set it all down to the workings of an unavoidably excited nervous condition--better that she should mention it to no one but Duncan MacPhail.
When they arrived at the harbour quay, they found the carriage waiting, but neither the marquis nor Lady Florimel thought of Malcolm's foot, and he was left to limp painfully home. As he pa.s.sed Mrs Catanach's cottage, he looked up: there were the blinds still drawn down; the door was shut, and the place was silent as the grave. By the time he reached Lossie House, his foot was very much swollen. When Mrs Courthope saw it, she sent him to bed at once, and applied a poultice.
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