t noon he pronounced life extinct. Mrs. Bower
watched, or "waked" the corpse. I left her with it about midnight, as I
told you; about four in the morning she aroused me with the news that the
body had vanished. What I did after that you know. Now you had better
hear the story from herself.'

Logan rang a handbell, there were no other bells in the keep, and asked
the old serving-man, when he came, to send in Mrs. Bower.

She entered, a very aged woman, dressed in deep mourning. She was tall,
her hair of an absolutely pure white, her aquiline face was drawn, her
cheeks hollow, her mouth almost toothless. She made a deep courtesy,
repeating it when Logan introduced 'my friend, Mr. Merton.'

'Mrs. Bower,' Logan said, 'Mr. Merton is my oldest friend, and the
marquis saw him in London, and consulted him on private business a few
days ago. He wishes to hear you tell what you saw the night before
last.'

'Maybe, as the gentleman is English, he'll hardly understand me, my lord.
I have a landward tongue,' said Mrs. Bower.

'I can interpret if Mr. Merton is puzzled, Mrs. Bower, but I think he
will understand better if we go to the laird's chamber.'

Logan took two lighted candles, handing two to Merton, and the old woman
led them upstairs to a room which occupied the whole front of the ancient
'peel,' or square tower, round which the rest of the house was built. The
room was nearly bare of furniture, except for an old chair or two, a
bureau, and a great old bed of state, facing the narrow deep window, and
standing on a kind of dais, or platform of three steps. The heavy old
green curtains were drawn all round it. Mrs. Bower opened them at the
front and sides. At the back against the wall the curtains, embroidered
with the arms of Restalrig, remained closed.

'I sat here all the night,' said Mrs. Bower, 'watching the corp that my
hands had streikit. The candles were burning a' about him, the saut lay
on his breast, only aefold o' linen covered him. My back was to the
window, my face to his feet. I was crooning the auld dirgie; if it does
nae guid, it does nae harm.' She recited in a monotone:

'When thou frae here away art past--
Every nicht and all--
To Whinny-muir thou comest at last,
And Christ receive thy saul.

'If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon--
Every nicht and all--
Sit thee down and put them on,
And Christ receive thy saul

'Alas, he never gave nane, puir m