“No, my lord.”
“And you got a fright?”
“Ken ye wha’s that, in there, my lord?”
“You booby! It’s nothing but a dummy—with springs, and—and —all damned tom-foolery!”
While he spoke his mouth twitched oddly, but instead of his bursting into the laugh of enjoyment natural to him at the discomfiture of another, his mouth kept on twitching and his eyes staring.
“Ye maun hae seen him yersel’ ower my shouther, my lord,” hinted Malcolm.
“I saw your face, and that was enough to——” But the marquis did not finish the sentence.
“Weel, ’cep it was the oonnaiteral luik o’ the thing—no human, an’ yet sae dooms like it—I can not account for the grue or the trimmle ’at cam ower me, my lord. I never fan’ onything like it i’ my life afore. An’ even noo ’at I unnerstan’ what it is, I kenna what wad gar me luik the boody (bogie) i’ the face again.”
“Go in at once,” said the marquis fiercely.
Malcolm looked him full in the eyes.