But she would not hear of it.  She meant to solve the mystery herself.  If her father learnt of the affair, and of the ill-omen connected with it, the matter would surely cause him great uneasiness.  Why should he be worried on her account?  No, she would never allow it, and told Stewart plainly of her disapproval of such a course.

“But, tell me,” she asked at last, as returning to the courtyard, they stood together at the spot where she had stood in that moonlit hour and heard with her own ears those weird, mysterious voices coming from nowhere—­“tell me, Stewart, is there any legend connected with the Whispers?  Have you ever heard any story concerning their origin?”

“Of coorse, miss.  Through all Perthshire it’s weel kent,” replied the man slowly, not, it seemed, without considerable reluctance.  “What is h’ard by those doomed tae daith is the conspiracy o’ Charles Lord Glencardine an’ the Earl o’ Kintyre for the murder o’ the infamous Cardinal Setoun o’ St. Andrews, wha, as I dare say ye ken fra history, miss, was assassinated here, on this very spot whaur we stan’.  The Earl o’ Kintyre, thegither wi’ Lord Glencardine, his dochter Mary, an’ ane o’ the M’Intyres o’ Talnetry, an’ Wemyss o’ Strathblane, were a year later tried by a commission issued under the name o’ Mary Queen o’ Scots; but sae popular was the murder o’ the Cardinal that the accused were acquitted.”

“Yes,” exclaimed the girl, “I remember reading something about it in Scottish history.  And the Whispers are, I suppose, said to be the ghostly conspirators in conclave.”

“That’s what folk say, miss.  They div say as weel that Auld Nick himsel’ was present, an’ gied the decision that the Cardinal, wha was to be askit ower frae Stirlin’, should dee.  It is his evil counsel that is h’ard by those whom death will quickly overtake.”

“Really, Stewart,” she laughed, “you make me feel quite uncomfortable.”

“But, miss, Sir Henry already kens a’ aboot the Whispers,” said the man.  “I h’ard him tellin’ a young gentleman wha cam’ doon last shootin’ season a guid dale aboot it.  They veesited the auld castle thegither, an’ I happened tae be hereaboots.”

This caused the girl to resolve to learn from her father what she could.  He was an antiquary, and had the history of Glencardine at his finger-ends.

So presently she strolled back to Stewart’s cottage, and after receiving from the faithful servant urgent injunctions to “have a care” of herself, she walked on to the tennis-lawn, where, shaded by the high trees, Lady Heyburn, in white serge, and three of her male guests were playing.

“Father,” she said that same evening, when they had settled down to commence work upon those ever-arriving documents from Paris, “what was the cause of Glencardine becoming a ruin?”