“From the first line of the prophecy.”
“Repeat it again.”
“The lord quha wad sup on 3 thowmes o’ cauld airn,” said Mrs Courthope with emphasis, adding, “The three she always said was a figure 3.”
“That implies it was written somewhere!”
“She said it was legible on the door in her day—as if burnt with a red-hot iron.”
“And what does the line mean?”
“Eppie said it meant that the lord of the place who opened that door, would die by a sword-wound. Three inches of cold iron, it means, my lord.”
The marquis grew thoughtful; his brother had died in a sword duel. For a few moments he was silent.
“Tell me the whole story,” he said at length.
Mrs Courthope again reflected, and began. I will tell the story, however, in my own words, reminding my reader that if he regards it as an unwelcome interruption, he can easily enough avoid this bend of the river of my narrative by taking a short cut across to the next chapter.