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Updated: June 8, 2025
"It's no' exactly a note," said he, contracting his brows above the document. Not for the first time Annapla regretted her inability to read, as she craned over his shoulder to see what evidently created much astonishment in her future lord. "Weel, that bates a'!" he cried when he had finished, and he turned, visibly flushing, even through his apple-red complexion, to see Annapla at his shoulder.
"Decidedly a diplomatist!" said Count Victor, laughing. "I always loved an enthusiast; go on go on, good Mungo. And so he is my nocturnal owl, my flautist of the bower, my Orpheus of the mountains. Does the gifted Annapla also connive, and are hers the window signals?" "Annapla kens naething o' that " "The what do you call it? the Second Sight appears to have its limitations."
"Mungo, Mungo!" he cried into the darkness, and the servant appeared with the gaudy nightcap of his slumber already on. "Tell Annapla to come here," said the Baron. The servant hesitated, his lip trembled upon some objection that he did not, however, express, and he went on his errand. In a little the woman entered.
If she should hear!" he stammered: he stopped, then smiled awkwardly. "Have ye any dread of an Evil Eye?" said he. "I have no dread of the devil himself, who is something more tangible," replied Count Victor. "You do not suggest that malevolent influence in Mistress Annapla, do you?" "We are very civil to her in these parts," said Doom, "and I'm not keen to put her powers to the test.
He longed for some relief from the air of mystery and dread that hung about the place. A laugh would have been a revelation, a strain of song a miracle of healing. And all at once he reflected upon the Annapla as yet unseen. "These might be her quarters," he reflected, finding a solace in the thought. The chill was at once less apparent, a pleasant glow of companionship came over him.
A storm of passion swept through him; he felt himself that contemptible thing, a man of the world betrayed by a wickedness that ought to be transparent. They were in the plot then, master and man, perhaps even but no, that was a thought to quell on the moment of its waking; she at least was innocent of all these machinations, and upstairs now, she shared, without a doubt, the alarms of Annapla.
At first he thought he was at length to see the mysterious Annapla, but the masculine nature of the footfall told him he was in error. "M. le Baron," he concluded, "and home before me by another route," and he stepped closely into the right side of the wall to give passage. But the darkness made identity impossible, and he waited the recognition of himself. It never came.
"Her leddyship wodnae hae ye playin' there lang your lane a saison syne, but thae days is done wi'; there's nae lugs for a tirlin' at the winnock whaur there's nae love at least wi' Mistress Leevie." Annapla heard the music with a superstitious terror; her eyes threatened to leap out of her head, and she clutched the arm of her adorer.
Annapla, who was assumed to be true tutelary genius of these things, but in fact was beholden to the martial mannikin of Fife for inspiration and aid with the simplest of ragouts, though he would have died sooner than be suspected of the unsoldierly art of cookery, Annapla was in one of her trances.
And then he smiled at his own alarm at a trick of the wind through some of La-mond's ill-patched walls, and found his consolation in the sense of companionship confirmed by sight of a thin line of light below a door mid-way up the curious passage. "Annapla, for a louis!" he thought cheerfully.
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