also acquired a quantity. Only a year
ago he told me that he had had an application from a well-known
historical writer for access to them, as he was about to write a book
upon the family."

"Then you know Sir Henry well?"

"Very well indeed. I'm often his guest, and frequently shoot over the
place."

"I've heard that Lady Heyburn is a very pretty woman," remarked the
other, glancing at his friend with a peculiar look.

"Some declare her to be beautiful; but to myself, I confess, she's not
very attractive."

"There are stories about her, eh?" Hamilton said.

"As there are about every good-looking woman. Beauty cannot escape
unjust criticism or the scars of lying tongues."

"People pity Sir Henry, I've heard."

"They, of course, sympathise with him, poor old gentleman, because he's
blind. His is, indeed, a terrible affliction. Only fancy the change from
a brilliant Parliamentary career to idleness, darkness, and knitting."

"I suppose he's very wealthy?"

"He must be. The price he paid for Glencardine was a very heavy one;
and, besides that, he has two other places, as well as a house in Park
Street and a villa at San Remo."

"Cotton, or steel, or soap, or some other domestic necessity, I
suppose?"

Murie shrugged his shoulders. "Nobody knows," he answered. "The source
of Sir Henry's vast wealth is a profound mystery."

His friend smiled, but said nothing. Walter Murie had risen to obtain
matches, therefore he did not notice the curious expression upon his
friend's face, a look which betrayed that he knew more than he intended
to tell.

"Those noises heard in the castle puzzle me," he remarked after a few
moments.

"At Glencardine they are known as the Whispers," Murie remarked.

"By Jove! I'd like to hear them."

"I don't think there'd be much chance of that, old chap," laughed the
other. "They're only heard by those doomed to an early death."

"I may be. Who knows?" he asked gloomily.

"Well, if I were you I wouldn't anticipate catastrophe."

"No," said his friend in a more serious tone, "I've already heard those
at Hetzendorf, and--well, I confess they've aroused in my mind some very
uncanny apprehensions."

"But did you really hear them? Are you sure they were not imagination?
In the night sounds always become both magnified and distorted."

"Yes, I'm certain of what I heard. I was careful to convince myself that
it was not imagination, but actual reality."

Walter Murie smiled dubious