As the laird said, everyone did. A pail of hot water was soon brought, the fire was soon lighted, and the lady soon returned more warmly clad. He made Grizzie put the pail on a chair by the bed-side, and they got his feet in without raising him, or taking him out of the blankets. Before long he gave a deep sigh, and presently showed other signs of revival. When at length he opened his eyes, he stared around him wildly, and for a moment it seemed to all of them he had lost his reason. But the laird said he might not yet have got over the drink he had taken, and if he could be got to sleep, he would probably wake better. They therefore removed some more of his clothes, laid him down again, and made him as comfortable as they could, with hot bottles about him. The laird said he would sit with him, and call Lady Joan if needful. To judge by her behaviour, he conjectured such a catastrophe was not altogether strange to her. She went away readily, more like one relieved than anxious. But there had arisen in the mind of the laird a fear: might not Cosmo unwittingly have had some share in the frightful event? When first he entered the room, there was Cosmo, dressed, and with a light in his hand: the seeming phosphorescence in the snow must have been one of his _ploys_, and might not that have been the source of the shock to the dazed brain of the drinker? His lordship was breathing more softly and regularly, though every now and then half waking with a cry--a dreadful thing to hear from a sleeping _old man_. They drew their chairs close to the fire and to each other, and Cosmo, as was usual with him, laid his hand on his father’s knee. “Did you observe that peculiar appearance in the snow-heap, on the other side of the court, Cosmo?” asked the laird. “Yes, papa,” replied the boy: “I made it myself.” And therewith he told him all about it. “You’re not vexed with me, are you, papa?” he added, seeing the laird look grave. “No, my son,” answered his father; “I am only uneasy lest that should have had anything to do with this sad affair.” “How could that be, papa?” asked Cosmo. “He may have looked out of the window and seen it, and, in the half-foolish state he was in, taken it for something supernatural.” “But why should that have done him any harm?” “It may have terrified him.” “Why should it terrify him?” said Cosmo. “There may be things we know nothing of,” replied his father, “to answer that question. I cannot help feeling rather uneasy about it.” “Did _you_ see anything frightful about my man of light, papa?” inquired Cosmo. “No,” answered his father, thoughtfully; “but the thing, you see, was in the shape of a man--a man lying at full length as if he were dead, and indeed in his grave: he might take it for his wraith--an omen of his coming end.” “But he is an Englishman, papa, and the English don’t believe in the second sight.” “That does make it less likely.--Few lowlanders do.” “Do you believe in it, papa?”