wild and appalling expression.  The stranger spoke none, however, during the whole night; but continued, from time to time, rocking to and fro in the manner already described.  Neither could she be prevailed upon to partake of any refreshment, although repeatedly pressed to do so.  All invitations of this kind she declined, with a wave of the hand, or a melancholy, yet determined inclination of the head.  In words she made no reply.

The singular conduct of this woman threw a damp over all who were present.  They felt chilled, they knew not how; and were sensible of the influence of an indefinable terror, for which they could not account.  For once, therefore, the feeling of comfort and security, of which all were conscious who were seated around M’Pherson’s cheerful and hospitable hearth, was banished, and a scene of awe and dread supplied its place.

No one could conjecture who this strange personage was, whence she had come, nor whither she was going; nor were there any means of acquiring this information, as it was a rule of the house—­one of M’Pherson’s special points of etiquette—­that no stranger should ever be questioned on such subjects.  All being allowed to depart as they came, without question or inquiry, there was never anything more known at Morvane, regarding any stranger who visited it, than what he himself chose to communicate.

Under the painful feelings already described, the inmates of M’Pherson’s house found, with more than usual satisfaction, the hour for retiring to rest arrive.  The general attention being called to this circumstance by the hostess, everyone hastened to his appointed dormitory, with an alacrity which but too plainly showed how glad they were to escape from the presence of the mysterious stranger who, however, also retired to bed with the rest.  The place appointed for her to sleep in, was the loft of an outbuilding, as there was no room for her accommodation within the house itself; all the spare beds being occupied.

We have already said that M’Pherson was from home on the evening of which we are speaking, attending a market at some distance.  He, however, returned shortly after midnight.  On arriving at his own house, he was much surprised, and not a little alarmed, to perceive a window in one of the outhouses blazing with light (it was that in which the stranger slept), while all around and within the house was as silent as the tomb.  Afraid that some accident from fire had taken place, he rode up to the building, and standing up in his stirrups—­which brought his head on a level with the window—­looked in, when a sight presented itself that made even the stout heart of M’Pherson beat with unusual violence.