‘There’s a man downstairs,’ sobbed the maid, who had talked herself into a notion that Macquean was a poacher trying to effect an entrance into the house. ‘A man, is there? I wish there were more, and then we should not have a parcel of whingeing[1] women to serve us! I wish I could put you all away, and get a few decent lads in instead. Take her away, Cecilia, I tell you!’ [1] Whining. When the door was shut behind the servant, and Lady Eliza had directed her niece to have the stablemen sent with all despatch to the dovecot, she drew a heavy plaid shawl from the cupboard and went downstairs to sift the matter. Her wig was replaced and she had turned her skirt up under the plaid. Macquean was still below. Having delivered himself of his news, he had no wish to be sent out again. He did not know where the servants’ hall might be, or he would have betaken himself there, and the maid had fled to her own attic and locked herself in securely. ‘Have you got a lantern?’ said Lady Eliza over the banisters. ‘I am going out, and you can light me.’ ‘Na,’ said Macquean, staring. Without further comment she went out of the house, beckoning him to follow. She crossed the yard and opened the stable-door, to find Cecilia, a cloak over her shoulders, caressing the nose of the bay mare. Seeing the maid’s distracted state of mind, she had roused the men herself. A small lantern stood on the corn-bin. The mare whinnied softly, but Lady Eliza took no notice of her. ‘Here, my dear; give the lantern to Macquean,’ she exclaimed. ‘I am going to see what is ado in the field.’ ‘It gives little light,’ said Cecilia. ‘The men have taken the others with them.’ ‘Ye’d best bide whaur ye are,’ said Macquean suddenly. ‘It’s terrible dark.’ Lady Eliza did not hear him. She had gone into the harness-room, and the two women were searching every corner for another lantern. Finding the search fruitless, they went into the coach-house. There was no vestige of such a thing, but, in a corner, stood a couple of rough torches which had been used by the guizards[2] at Hogmanay. [2] Masqueraders who, in Scotland, go from house to house at Hogmanay, or the last day of the year. When Macquean, compelled by Lady Eliza, had lit one, she ordered him to precede her, and they left the stable, Cecilia following. The arms of the trees stood out like black rafters as they went under them, the torchlight throwing them out theatrically, as though they made a background to some weird stage scene. Occasionally, when Macquean lowered the light, their figures went by in a fantastic procession on the trunks of the limes and ashes. The darkness overhead seemed measureless. The fallen twigs cracked at their tread, and beech-nuts underfoot made dry patches on the damp moss among the roots. As they emerged from the trees and looked down the slope, they saw the stablemen’s lanterns and heard the voices of men.