“Gang yer wa’s than, an’ dinna haud the deid waitin’,” said Malcolm, with a shudder.
The boy cast a look of dismay behind him, and galloped off.
The snow still fell, and the night was dark. Malcolm spent nearly two hours on the way, and met the boy returning, who told him that Mrs Catanach was not to be found.
His road lay down the glen, past Duncan’s cottage, at whose door he dismounted, but he did not find him. Taking the bridle on his arm he walked by his horse the rest of the way. It was about nine o’clock, and the night very dark. As he neared the house, he heard Duncan’s voice.
“Malcolm, my son! Will it pe your own self?” it said.
“It wull that, daddy,” answered Malcolm.
The piper was sitting on a fallen tree, with the snow settling softly upon him.
“But it’s ower cauld for ye to be sittin’ there i’ the snaw, an’ the mirk tu!” added Malcolm.
“Ta tarkness will not be ketting to ta inside of her,” returned the seer. “Ah, my poy! where ta light kets in, ta tarkness will pe ketting in too. Tis now, your whole pody will pe full of tarkness, as ta Piple will say, and Tuncan’s pody—tat will pe full of ta light.” Then with suddenly changed tone he said—“Listen, Malcolm, my son! she’ll pe fery uneasy till you’ll wass pe come home.”
“What’s the maitter noo, daddy?” returned Malcolm. “Onything wrang aboot the hoose?”