to his guest.

She replied rapidly in Gaelic.

"For luck," said the Baron dubiously when he had listened to a long
guttural explanation that was of course unintelligible to the Frenchman.
"That's a new freit. To keep away the witches. Now, who gave ye a notion
like that?" he went on, maintaining his English.

Another rapid explanation followed, one that seemed to satisfy the
Baron, for when it was finished he gave her permission to go.

"It's as I thought," he explained to Count Victor. "The old body has
been troubled with moths and birds beating themselves against her window
at night when the light was in it: what must she be doing but taking it
for some more sinister visitation, and the green kerchief is supposed to
keep them away."

"I should have fancied it might have been a permanency in that case,"
suggested Count Victor, "unless, indeed, your Highland ghosts have a
special preference for Mondays and Wednesdays."

"Permanency!" repeated the Baron, thoughtfully. "H'm!" The suggestion
had obviously struck him as reasonable, but he baulked at any debate on
it.

"There was also the matter of the horseman," went on Count Victor
blandly, pointing his moustache.

"Horseman?" queried the Baron.

"A horseman _sans doute_. I noticed most of your people here ride with
a preposterously short stirrup; this one rode like a gentleman cavalier.
He stopped opposite the castle this forenoon and waved his compliments
to the responsive maid."

The effect upon the Baron was amazing. He grew livid with some feeling
repressed. It was only for a moment; the next he was for changing the
conversation, but Count Victor had still his quiver to empty.

"Touching flageolets?" said he, but there his arrow missed.

Doom only laughed.

"For that," said he, "you must trouble Annapla or Mungo. They have a
story that the same's to be heard every night of storm, but my bed's at
the other side of the house and I never heard it;" and he brought
the conversation back to the Macfarlanes, so that Count Victor had to
relinquish his inquisition.

"The doings of to-night," said he, "make it clear I must rid you of
my presence _tout a l'heure_. I think I shall transfer me to the town
to-morrow."

"You can't, man," protested Doom, though, it almost seemed, with some
reluctance. "There could be no worse time for venturing there. In the
first place, the Macfarlanes' affair is causing a stir; then I've had
no chance of speaking to Petullo abo