Abel slapped his thigh.  “Ay, lass, and another county, if ye go to that.”  And his countenance brightened suddenly.

“And as for me,” continued Janet, “I’m Cairnhope; but my mother came from Morpeth, a widdy:  and she lies within a hundred yards of where I sit a talking to thee.  There’s none of my kin laid in old Cairnhope churchyard.  Warning’s not for thee, nor me, nor yet for our Jock.  Eh, lad, it will be for Squire Raby.  His father lies up there, and so do all his folk.  Put on thy hat this minute, and I’ll hood myself, and we’ll go up to Raby Hall, and tell Squire.”

Abel objected to that, and intimated that his own fireside was particularly inviting to a man who had seen diabolical fires that came and went, and shone through the very stones and mortar of a dead church.

“Nay, but,” said Janet, “they sort o’ warnings are not to be slighted neither.  We must put it off on to Squire, or I shall sleep none this night.”

They went up, hand in hand, and often looked askant upon the road.

When they got to the Hall, they asked to see Mr. Raby.  After some demur they were admitted to his presence, and found him alone, so far as they could judge by the naked eye; but, as they arrived there charged to the muzzle with superstition, the room presented to their minds some appearances at variance with this seeming solitude.  Several plates were set as if for guests, and the table groaned, and the huge sideboard blazed, with old silver.  The Squire himself was in full costume, and on his bosom gleamed two orders bestowed upon his ancestors by James III. and Charles III.  In other respects he was rather innocuous, being confined to his chair by an attack of gout, and in the act of sipping the superannuated compound that had given it him—­port.  Nevertheless, his light hair, dark eyebrows, and black eyes, awed them, and co-operated with his brilliant costume and the other signs of company, to make them wish themselves at the top of Cairnhope Peak.  However, they were in for it, and told their tale, but in tremulous tones and a low deprecating voice, so that if the room should happen to be infested with invisible grandees from the other world, their attention might not be roused unnecessarily.

Mr. Raby listened with admirable gravity; then fixed his eyes on the pair, in silence; and then said in a tone so solemn it was almost sepulchral, “This very day, nearly a century and a half ago, Sir Richard Raby was beheaded for being true to his rightful king—­”

“Eh, dear poor gentleman! so now a walks.”  It was Janet who edged in this—­

“And,” continued the gentleman, loftily ignoring the comment, “they say that on this night such of the Rabys as died Catholics hold high mass in the church, and the ladies walk three times round the churchyard; twice with their veils down, once with bare faces, and great eyes that glitter like stars.”

“I wouldn’t like to see the jades,” quavered Abel:  “their ladyships I mean, axing their pardon.”