mouth, and making the most hideous
grimaces at me, so that it was clear that
she was not quite in her right senses at the
moment. She disappeared suddenly."

"Did you ever see any indication of a
tendency to such a malady in her
ladyship?" I asked.

"No. I cannot say I ever did," he
replied.

"Was no doctor sent for?"

"Yes, the country apothecary came
once."

"And what did he say? Did you speak
to him?"

"Yes. I saw him in the hall as he was
stepping into his buggy. I asked how he
found her ladyship. He said she was
much prostrated by the violence of the
attack, but he seemed a puzzle-headed
fellow. No doubt he was awed by the
honour of being sent for to the castle; for
I could not get much out of him. He
seemed dazed; but muttered something
about change being good for her
ladyship."

"And who attended her during these
attacks?" I inquired.

"No one but his lordship and the maid
Elspie. My lord told me that his wife was
very violent; but he would not suffer any
of the men to be sent for, to hold her. He
and Elspie, who is a very powerful woman,
managed her between them. He said that
he had found it necessary to tie her hands.
I do not envy him his journey. They left
in the family coach an hour after our departure,
and were to travel night and day to
Leith, where they took ship for
Holland."

He then went on to say that the young
heir-at-law had returned to London much
depressed with his visit, and that the necessary
formalities having now been gone
through (which I understand to mean that
the secret of the haunted room had been
duly communicated to him), Mr. Dunblane
would in all probability never see the castle
again during my lord's lifetime.

I seldom saw Pilson for some time after
this conversation; when I did, he told me
what little he knew of the Dunblanes; but
months often elapsed without his having
any direct communication with my lord,
and even then the letters he received were
mere bald statements and inquiries, exclusively
upon matters of business. These,
however, were sufficient to show that his
mind had not given way; they were lucid
and perspicuous in every detail. There
was never any mention of her ladyship, for
the obvious reason, as it transpired after a
while, that she and my lord were separated.
He was travelling now in Italy, now in
Hungary, now in the East, while she
remained—no one knew exactly where—in
Switzerland. At the end of the third year
he returned to Dunblane, and shut himself
up there, refusing to see any of the neighbours
who called. In reply to every inquiry
for her ladyship (more especially
those which a distant cousin, her only
relation, made about this time), he stated that
her ladyship's health obliged her to remain
on the Continent; her mind had been
much weakened by continued epileptic
attacks, and she was unequal to
correspondence. He stated, further, that she was
under excellent medical care, and that
though, by reason of the excitement under
which she sometimes laboured, it was not
deemed advisable that he should visit her
often, he made a point of doing so once a
year. This statement seems to have been
considered satisfactory. Lady Dunblane's
friends—and she had very few—were not
suspicious, and the world at large troubled
itself but little with the domestic concerns
of a couple who had lived in isolated grandeur,
with rare exceptions, since his lordship's
accession to the title. Pilson went
twice to the castle, during that year, and,
as far as I know, he was the only guest.
He gave a gloomy picture of the solitary
man shut up in that big place. We both
avoided all mention of her ladyship's name;
but I now know that he was no easier than
I was on that head.

It was towards the close of 1808 that he
called on me one morning, at an unusually
early hour. His face, his whole manner,
betokened that my grave, quiet friend was
unusually perturbed. He looked round
the room—this very room where we are
sitting—drew his chair close to mine, and
said in a whisper:

"Carthews, I have come to you in a very
distressing emergency. I hardly know
whether I am justified in taking this step,
but I do know that I can depend on you,
and you may materially help me in a most
painful and difficult situation."

Without more ado, he then proceeded to
say that a young Frenchmen, who gave his
name as Jean Marcel, had called upon him
the previous night, stating that he had
lately come from Geneva, where he was in
a wine merchant's office, and had been sent
on business to Aberdeen. He was the
bearer of a small crumpled note, addressed
in nearly illegible characters, to M. Pilson,