The guard would not let him
have one of the coach lamps, but gave him a small lantern of his
own. When he returned with it, he found Ericson and Miss St. John
talking together.
Ericson led the way, and the others followed.
'Whaur are ye gaein', gentlemen?' asked the guard, as they passed
the coach.
'To the auld hoose,' answered Robert.
'Ye canna do better. I maun bide wi' the coch till the lave gang
back to Drumheid wi' the horses, on' fess anither pole. Faith,
it'll be weel into the mornin' or we win oot o' this. Tak care hoo
ye gang. There's holes i' the auld hoose, I doobt.'
'We'll tak gude care, ye may be sure, Hector,' said Robert, as they
left the bridge.
The house to which Ericson was leading them was in the midst of a
field. There was just light enough to show a huge mass standing in
the dark, without a tree or shelter of any sort. When they reached
it, all that Miss St. John could distinguish was a wide broken stair
leading up to the door, with glimpses of a large, plain, ugly,
square front. The stones of the stair sloped and hung in several
directions; but it was plain to a glance that the place was
dilapidated through extraordinary neglect, rather than by the usual
wear of time. In fact, it belonged only to the beginning of the
preceding century, somewhere in Queen Anne's time. There was a
heavy door to it, but fortunately for Miss St. John, who would not
quite have relished getting in at the window of which Ericson had
spoken, it stood a little ajar.
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