REVEALS SOMETHING TO HAMILTON

Edgar Hamilton sat with his eyes fixed upon the dingy, inartistic, smoke-begrimed windows of the chambers opposite.  The man before him was acquainted with Gabrielle Heyburn!  For over a year he had not been in London.  He recollected the last occasion—­recollected it, alas! only too well.  His thin countenance wore a puzzled, anxious expression, the expression of a man face to face with a great difficulty.

“Tell me, Walter,” he said at last, “what kind of place is Glencardine Castle?  What kind of man is Sir Henry Heyburn?”

“Glencardine is one of the most beautiful estates in Scotland.  It lies between Perth and Stirling.  The ruins of the ancient castle, where the great Marquis of Glencardine, who was such a figure in Scottish history, was born, stands perched up above a deep, delightful glen; and some little distance off stands the modern house, built in great part from the ruins of the stronghold.”

“And there are noises heard there the same as at Hetzendorf, you say?”

“Well, the countryfolk believe that, on certain nights, there can be heard in the castle courtyard distinct whispering—­the counsel of the devil himself to certain conspirators who took the life of the notorious Cardinal Setoun.”

“Has any one actually heard them?”

“They say so—­or, at any rate, several persons after declaring that they had heard them have died quite suddenly.”

Hamilton pursed his lips.  “Well,” he exclaimed, “that’s really most remarkable!  Practically, the same legend is current in South Hungary regarding Hetzendorf.  Strange—­very strange!”

“Very,” remarked the heir to the great estate of Connachan.  “But, after all, cannot one very often trace the same legend through the folklore of various countries?  I remember I once attended a lecture upon that very interesting subject.”

“Oh, of course.  Many ancient legends have sprung from the same germ, so that often we have practically the same fairy-story all over Europe.  But this, it seems to me, is no fairy story.”

“Well,” laughed Murie, “the history of Glencardine Castle and the historic family is so full of stirring episodes that I really don’t wonder that the ruins are believed to be the abode of something supernatural.  My father possesses some of the family papers, while Sir Henry, when he bought Glencardine, also acquired a quantity.  Only a year ago he told me that he had had an application from a well-known historical writer for access to them, as he was about to write a book upon the family.”

“Then you know Sir Henry well?”

“Very well indeed.  I’m often his guest, and frequently shoot over the place.”

“I’ve heard that Lady Heyburn is a very pretty woman,” remarked the other, glancing at his friend with a peculiar look.

“Some declare her to be beautiful; but to myself, I confess, she’s not very attractive.”