errand. "It's no for naething that him wha owns it wunna gang within a
Scotch mile o't."

"Well, Seth, there is some one who has no fears about going into it,"
said I, pointing to the great, white building which flickered up in
front of us through the gloom.

The light which I had observed from the sea was moving backwards and
forward past the lower floor windows, the shutters of which had been
removed. I could now see that a second fainter light followed a few
paces behind the other. Evidently two individuals, the one with a lamp
and the other with a candle or rushlight, were making a careful
examination of tile building.

"Let ilka man blaw his ain parritch," said Seth Jamieson doggedly,
coming to a dead stop. "What is it tae us if a wraith or a bogle minds
tae tak' a fancy tae Cloomber? It's no canny tae meddle wi' such
things."

"Why, man," I cried, "you don't suppose a wraith came here in a gig?
What are those lights away yonder by the avenue gates?"

"The lamps o' a gig, sure enough!" exclaimed my companion in a less
lugubrious voice. "Let's steer for it, Master West, and speer where she
hails frae."

By this time night had closed in save for a single long, narrow slit in
the westward. Stumbling across the moor together, we made our way into
the Wigtown Road, at the point where the high stone pillars mark the
entrance to the Cloomber avenue. A tall dog-cart stood in front of the