all, a back like a board, and an e'e like lightning. And he's nane the
waur o' ha'in' a great interest in Mungo Byde's storie."

"Decidedly a diplomatist!" said Count Victor, laughing. "I always loved
an enthusiast; go on--go on, good Mungo. And so he is my nocturnal owl,
my flautist of the bower, my Orpheus of the mountains. Does the gifted
Annapla also connive, and are hers the window signals?"

"Annapla kens naething o' that--"

"The--what do you call it?--the Second Sight appears to have its
limitations."

"At least if it does she's nane the less willin' to be an unconscious
aid, and put a flag at the window at the biddin' o' Olivia to keep the
witches awa'. The same flag that keeps aff a witch may easily fetch a
bogle. There's but ae time noo and then when it's safe for the lad to
venture frae the mainland, and for that there maun be a signal o' some
kind, otherwise, if I ken his spirit, he wad never be aff this rock. I'm
tellin' ye a' that by Mistress Olivia's command, and noo ye're in the
plot like the lave of us."

Mungo heaved a deep breath as if relieved of a burden.

"Still--still," said Count Victor, "one hesitates to mention it to so
excellent a custodian of the family reputation--still there are other
things to me somewhat--somewhat crepuscular."

His deprecatory smile and the gesture of his hands and shoulders
conveyed his meaning.

"Ye're thinkin' o' the Baron in tartan," said Mungo, bluntly. He smiled
oddly. "That's the funniest bit of all. If ye're here a while langer
that'll be plain to ye too. Between the darkest secrets and oor
understanding o' them there's whiles but a rag, and that minds me that
Mistress Olivia was behin' the arras tapestry chitterin' wi' fright when
ye broke in by her window. Sirs! sirs! what times we're ha'in; there's
ploy in the warld yet, and me unable--tuts! I'm no' that auld either.
And faith here's himsel'."

Mungo punctiliously saluted his master as that gentleman emerged beneath
the frowning doorway and joined Count Victor in the dejected garden,
lifted the faggot of firewood he had laid at his feet during his talk
with the visitor, and sought his kitchen.

In Doom's aspect there was restraint: Count Victor shared the feeling,
for now he realised that, in some respects, at all events, he had been
doing an injustice to his host.

"I find, M. le Count," said Doom, after some trivial introductories,
"that you cannot be accommodated in the inn down by for some da