Cosmo did not feel quite satisfied with the explanation, but he made no objection to it. “I maun alloo, hooever,” the old woman went on, “’at ance ye get a haud o’ _them_, they tak a grip o’ _you_, an’ hae a queer w’y o’ hauntin’ ye like, as they did the man himsel’, sae ’at ye canna get rid o’ them. It comes only at noos an’ thans, but whan the fit’s upo’ me, I canna get them oot o’ my heid. The verse gangs on tum’lin’ ower an’ ower intil ’t, till I’m jist scunnert wi’ ’t. Awa’ it wanna gang, maybe for a haill day, an’ syne it mayna come again for months.” True enough, the rime was already running about in Cosmo’s head like a mouse, and he fell asleep with it ringing in the ears of his mind. Before he woke again, which was in the broad daylight, he had a curious dream. He dreamed that he was out in the moonlight. It was a summer night--late. But there was something very strange about the night: right up in the top of it was the moon, looking down as if she knew all about it, and something was going to happen. He did not like the look of her--he had never seen her look like that before! and he went home just to get away from her. As he was going up the stairs to his chamber, something moved him--he could not tell what--to stop at the door of the drawing-room, and go in. It was flooded with moonlight, but he did not mind that, so long as he could keep out of her sight. Still it had a strange, eerie look, with its various pieces of furniture casting different shadows from those that by rights belonged to them. He gazed at this thing and that, as if he had never seen it before. The place seemed to cast a spell over him, so that he could not leave it. He seated himself on the ancient brocaded couch, and sat staring, with a sense, which by degrees grew dreadful, that he was where he would not be, and that if he did not get up and go, something would happen. But he could not rise--not that he felt any physical impediment, but that he could not make a resolve strong enough--like one in irksome company, who wants to leave, but waits in vain a fit opportunity. Delay grew to agony, but still he sat.