"My lord! my lord!" he stammered as he
closed the door behind him.
"Well? What the devil's the matter now? Whose cow's dead?"
"Your lordship didn't hear it, then?" faltered the butler.
"You've been drinking, Bings," said the marquis, lifting his seventh
glass of port.
"_I_ didn't say I heard it, my lord."
"Heard what, in the name of Beelzebub?"
"The ghost, my lord."
"The what?" shouted the marquis.
"That's what they call it, my lord. It's all along of having that
wizard's chamber in the house, my lord."
"You're a set of fools," said the marquis--"the whole kit of you!"
"That's what I say, my lord. I don't know what to do with them,
stericking and screaming. Mrs. Courthope is trying her best with them,
but it's my belief she's about as bad herself."
The marquis finished his glass of wine, poured out and drank another,
then walked to the door. When the butler opened it a strange sight
met his eyes. All the servants in the house, men and women, Duncan and
Malcolm alone excepted, had crowded after the butler, every one afraid
of being left behind; and there gleamed the crowd of ghastly faces
in the light of the great hall-fire. Demon stood in front, his mane
bristling and his eyes flaming. Such was the silence that the marquis
heard the low howl of the waking wind, and the snow like the patting
of soft hands against the windows. He stood for a moment, more than
half enjoying their terror, when from somewhere in the building a
far-off shriek, shrill and piercing, rang in every ear.
Pages:
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154