“That’s sae.  There’s bin ithers wha acted as eavesdroppers, an’ they a’ deed very sune aifterwards.  There was Jean Kirkwood an’ Geordie Menteith.  The latter was a young keeper I had here aboot a year syne.  He cam’ tae me ae mornin’ an’ said that while lyin’ up for poachers the nicht afore, he distinc’ly h’ard the Whispers.  Kennin’ what folk say aboot the owerhearin’ o’ them bein’ fatal, I lauched at ‘im an’ told ’im no’ to tak’ ony tent o’ auld wives’ gossip.  But, miss, sure enough, within a week he got blood-pizinin’, an’, though they took ’im to the hospital in Perth, he deed.”

“Then popular superstition points to the fact that anyone who accidentally acts as eavesdropper is doomed to death, eh?  A very nice outlook for me!” she remarked.

“Oh, Miss Gabrielle!” exclaimed the man, greatly concerned, “dinna treat the maitter lichtly, I beg o’ ye.  I did, wi’ puir Menteith, an’ he deed juist like the ithers.”

“But what does it all mean?” asked the daughter of the house in a calm, matter-of-fact voice.  She knew well that Stewart was just as superstitious as any of his class, for some of the stories he had told her had been most fearful and wonderful elaborations of historical fact.

“It means, I’m fear’d, miss,” he replied, “that the Whispers which come frae naewhere are fore-warnin’s o’ daith.”

CHAPTER XII

EXPLAINS SOME CURIOUS FACTS

Gabrielle was silent for a moment.  No doubt Stewart meant what he said; he was not endeavouring to alarm her unduly, but thoroughly believed in supernatural agencies.  “I suppose you’ve already examined the ruins thoroughly, eh?” she asked at last.

“Examined them?” echoed the gray-bearded man.  “I should think sae, aifter forty-odd years here.  Why, as a laddie I used to play there ilka day, an’ ha’e been in ilka neuk an’ cranny.”

“Nevertheless, come up now with me,” she said.  “I want to explain to you exactly where and how I heard the voices.”

“The Whispers are an uncanny thing,” said the keeper, with his broad accent.  “I dinna like them, miss; I dinna like tae hear what ye tell me ava.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Stewart,” she laughed.  “I’m not afraid of any omen.  I only mean to fathom the mystery, and I want your assistance in doing so.  But, of course, you’ll say no word to a soul.  Remember that.”

“If it be yer wush, Miss Gabrielle, I’ll say naething,” he promised.  And together they descended the steep grass-slope and overgrown foundations of the castle until they stood in the old courtyard, close to the ancient justice-tree, the exact spot where the girl had stood on the previous night.

“I could hear plainly as I stood just here,” she said.  “The sound of voices seemed to come from that wall there”; and she pointed to the gray flint wall, half-overgrown with ivy, about six yards away.