“I daren’t open it. It’s never opened, I tell you. It’s against the rules of the house. Come to my room, and I’ll tell you the story about it.” “Weel, ye’ll lat me see intill the neist--winna ye? There’s nae law agane openin’ hit--is there?” said Malcolm, approaching the door next to the one in dispute. “Certainly not; but I’m pretty sure, once you’ve heard the story I have to tell, you won’t choose to sleep in this part of the house.” “Lat’s luik, ony gait.” So saying, Malcolm took upon himself to try the handle of the door. It was not locked: he peeped in, then entered. It was a small room, low-ceiled, with a deep dormer-window in the high pediment of a roof, and a turret-recess on each side of the window. It seemed very light after the passage, and looked down upon the burn. It was comfortably furnished, and the curtains of its tent-bed were chequered in squares of blue and white. “This is the verra place for me, mem,” said Malcolm, reissuing;-- “that is,” he added, “gien ye dinna think it’s ower gran’ for the likes o’ me ’at’s no been used to onything half sae guid.” “You’re quite welcome to it,” said Mrs Courthope, all but confident he would not care to occupy it after hearing the tale of Lord Gernon. She had not moved from the end of the passage while Malcolm was in the room--somewhat hurriedly she now led the way to her own. It seemed half a mile off to the wondering Malcolm, as he followed her down winding stairs, along endless passages, and round innumerable corners. Arrived at last, she made him sit down, and gave him a glass of home-made wine to drink, while she told him the story much as she had already told it to the marquis, adding a hope to the effect that, if ever the marquis should express a wish to pry into the secret of the chamber, Malcolm would not encourage him in a fancy, the indulgence of which was certainly useless, and might be dangerous. “_Me!_” exclaimed Malcolm with surprise. “--As gien he wad heed a word _I_ said!” “Very little sometimes will turn a man either in one direction or the other,” said Mrs Courthope. “But surely, mem, ye dinna believe in sic fule auld warld stories as that! It’s weel eneuch for a tale, but to think o’ a body turnin’ ae fit oot o’ ’s gait for ’t, blecks (_nonplusses_) me.” “I don’t say I believe it,” returned Mrs Courthope, a little pettishly; “but there’s no good in mere foolhardiness.” “Ye dinna surely think, mem, ’at God wad lat onything depen’ upo’ whether a man opent a door in ’s ain hoose or no! It’s agane a’ rizzon!” persisted Malcolm. “There might be reasons we couldn’t understand,” she replied. “To do what we are warned against from any quarter, without good reason, must be foolhardy at best.” “Weel, mem, I maun hae the room neist the auld warlock’s, ony gait, for in that I’m gauin’ to sleep, an’ in nae ither in a’ this muckle hoose.” Mrs Courthope rose, full of uneasiness, and walked up and down the room.