Count Bunker Part 14
"A wee tastie more, my lord?" Mr. Gallosh suggested, in a voice whose vibrations he made an effort to conceal.
"Jost a vee," said his lordship, hardly more firmly.
With a dismal disregard for their suspense the minutes dragged infinitely slowly. The flask was finished; the candle guttered and flickered ominously; the very shadows grew restless.
"There's a lot of secret doors and such like in this part of the house--let's hope there'll be nothing coming through one of them," said Mr. Gallosh in a breaking voice.
The Baron muttered an inaudible reply, and then with a start their shoulders b.u.mped together.
"d.a.m.n it, what's yon!" whispered Mr. Gallosh.
"Ze pipes! Gallosh, how beastly he does play!"
In point of fact the air seemed to consist of only one wailing note.
"Bong!"--they heard the first stroke of midnight on the big clock on the Castle Tower; and so unfortunately had Count Bunker timed the candle that on the instant its flame expired.
"Vithdraw ze curtains!" gasped the Baron.
"I canna, my lord! Oh, I canna!" wailed Mr. Gallosh, breaking out into his broadest native Scotch.
This time the Baron made no movement, and in the palpitating silence the two sat through one long dark minute after another, till some ten of them had pa.s.sed.
"I shall stand it no more!" muttered the Baron. "Ve vill creep for ze door."
"My lord, my lord! For maircy's sake gie's a hold of you!" stammered Mr.
Gallosh, falling on his hands and knees and feeling for the skirt of his lordship's kilt.
But their flight was arrested by a portent so remarkable that had there been only a single witness one would suppose it to be a figment of his imagination. Fortunately, however, both the Baron and Mr. Gallosh can corroborate each detail. About the middle, apparently, of the wall opposite, an oblong of light appeared in the thickest of the gloom.
"Mein Gott!" cried the Baron.
"It's filled wi' reek!" gasped Mr. Gallosh.
And indeed the s.p.a.ce seemed filled with a slowly rising cloud of pungent blue smoke. Then their horrified eyes beheld the figure of an undoubted Being hazily outlined behind the cloud, and at the same time the piper, as if sympathetically aware of the crisis, burst into his most dreadful discords. A yell rang through the gloom, followed by the sounds of a heavy body alternately scuffling across the floor and falling prostrate over unseen furniture. The Baron felt for his host, and realized that this was the escaping Gallosh.
"Tulliwuddle! Speak!" a hollow voice muttered out of the smoke.
The Baron has never ceased to exult over the hardihood he displayed in this unnerving crisis. Rising to his feet and drawing his claymore, he actually managed to stammer out--
"Who--who are you?"
The Being (he could now perceive dimly that it was clad in tartan) answered in the same deep, measured voice--
"Your senses to confound and fuddle, Behold the Wraith of Tulliwuddle!"
This was sufficiently terrifying, one would think, to excuse the Baron for following the example of his host. But, though he found afterwards that he must have perspired freely, he courageously stood his ground.
"Vy have you gomed here?" he demanded in a voice nearly as hollow as the Wraith.
As solemnly as before the spirit replied--
"From Pit that's bottomless and dark-- Methinks I hear it shrieking--Hark!"
(The Baron certainly did hear a tumult that might well be termed infernal; though whether it emanated from Mr. Gallosh, fiends, or the piper, he could not at the moment feel certain.)
"I came o'er many leagues of heather To carry back the answer whether The n.o.ble chieftain of my clan Conducts him like a gentleman."
After this warning, to put the third question required an effort of the most supreme resolution. The Baron was equal to it, however.
"Vat instroction do you give me?" he managed to utter.
In the gravest accents the Wraith chanted--
"Hang ever kilt above the knee, With Usquebaugh be not too free, When toasts and sic'like games be mooted See that your dram be well diluted; And oh, if you'd escape from Hades, Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!"
The spirit vanished as magically as he had appeared, and with this solemn warning ringing in his ears, the Baron found himself in inky darkness again. This time he did not hesitate to grope madly for the door, but hardly had he reached it, when, with a fresh sensation of horror, he stumbled upon a writhing form that seemed to be pawing the panels. He was, fortunately; as quickly rea.s.sured by hearing the voice of Mr. Gallosh exclaim in terrified accents--
"I canna find the haundle! Oh, Gosh, where's the haundle?"
Being the less frenzied of the two, the Baron did succeed in finding the handle, and with a gasp of relief burst into the lighted anteroom. The piper had already departed, and evidently in haste, since he had left some portion of a bottle of whisky unfinished. This fortunate circ.u.mstance enabled them to recover something of their color, though, even when he felt his blood warming again, Mr. Gallosh could scarcely speak coherently of his terrible ordeal.
"What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!" he murmured. "Oh, my lord, let's get out of this!"
He was making for the door when the Baron seized his arm.
"Vait!" he cried. "Ze danger is past! Ach, vas I not brave? Did you not hear me speak to him? You can bear vitness how brave I vas, eh?"
"I'll not swear I heard just exactly what pa.s.sed, my lord. Man, I'll own I was awful feared!"
"Tuts! tuts!" said the Baron kindly. "Ve vill say nozing about zat. You stood vell by me, I shall say. And you vill tell zem I did speak mit courage to ze ghost."
"I will that!" said Mr. Gallosh.
By the time they reached the drawing-room he had so far recovered his equanimity as to prove a very creditable witness, and between them they gave such an account of their adventure as satisfied even the excited expectations of their friends; though the Baron thought it both prudent and more becoming his dignity to leave considerable mystery attaching to the precise revelations of his ancestral spirit.
"Bot vere is Bonker?" he asked, suddenly noticing the absence of his friend.
A moment later the Count entered and listened with the greatest interest to a second (and even more graphic) account of the adventure. More intimate particulars still were confided to him when they had retired to their own room, and he appeared as surprised and impressed as any wraith-seer could desire. As they parted for the night, the Baron started and sniffed at him.
"Vat a strange smell you have!" he exclaimed.
"Peat smoke, probably. This fire wouldn't draw."
"Strange!" mused the Baron. "I did smell a leetle smell of zat before to-night."