"Over I rowed," he continued, "and the whole clachan watched me go. I rowed out over the silvery loch under a rising moon, and there was no whisper of what was to come, not even the soft music that the banshee..." "What was that?" gasped one of the soldiers in a trembling voice. They all turned about and listened. "I thought I heard a tune far away," he whispered, shaking with fright. "Tuts," said the officer, but none too happily, "it was nothing. But the tune that the banshee plays is a queer twisted tune, and once ye hear it there's no getting away--what was that? I'll swear I heard something." This from the little officer himself set all aquiver with agitation. Some one tried to throw some more wood on the fire and found there was none, while the two nearest to the open space in the wall drew so close to their comrades that they were hunched up together like cattle in a drove. Rob crouched under the shadow of the wall overcome with a kindred fear. Forgotten was Muckle John--forgotten was his impending fate--there only remained the dreaded banshee and the far away haunting echo of a tune, and the strangeness of the place they were in. "Come, come," said the officer with some attempt at soothing them, "it's queer the way the courage goes in these forlorn places. As I was saying I lay watching the great tombstone that the moonlight rested upon, when I heard a bit ripple of music that fairly made the flesh creep on my bones and my hair stand up quite crisp and prickling. And will ye believe me the stone of the tomb began to rise..." "Listen!" screamed Rob. His shrill warning acted on them like an electric shock. They scrambled to their feet in a perfect paroxysm of terror. And then far away like a ghostly measure sounded a lilting, ghastly melody. Ghastly it sounded in that dim place with only the sullen red light upon the broken, haunted walls--ghastly just because it was a trifling mocking catch of tune played in a grim and heartless manner. But more was to come. "Let us get out of here," groaned one of the Englishmen in a hoarse voice, but he spoke too late. For before their starting eyes the top of the massive tomb began to lift--lift--lift, and the tune to grow clearer coming ever nearer like a man marching slowly into their midst. Then there was such a scene as that lonely moor had never seen before and will never see again. For with one united howl of terror they rushed together for the door. And first of them all was the little officer. Into the silent night they tore, tripping, falling, never daring to look back, but set on reaching Fort Augustus in the swiftest possible manner. Only once did the little officer pause, having fallen head-first into a bog, and as he scrambled out he heard (or says he heard) the thing at his very heels floating ten feet from the ground and playing as it came.