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Updated: June 8, 2025
Annapla seemed to find the dialect of Fife most pleasing and melodious. She listened to his monologue with approving smiles, and sitting on a stool, cowered within the arch, warming her hands at the apology for a flame. "Wha the deevil could hae tauld her it was the lad himsel' was here that nicht wi' his desperate chiels frae the barracks?
The servant's steps declined along the corridor and down the stair, with a woman's to keep them company and a woman's sobs, all of which convinced the Count that his acquaintance with Annapla was not desired by the residents of Doom.
A pleasant interlude of weather, and yet Mungo was in what he called, himself, a tirravee. He was honestly becoming impatient with this undeparting foreigner, mainly because Annapla was day by day the more insistent that he had not come wading into Doom without boots entirely in vain, and that her prediction was to be fulfilled. "See!
'Oh. said he, 'ye're a' tarred wi' the ae stick: if ye connive at his comin' here without my kennin', I'll gie him death wi' his boots on! It was in the Gaelic this, ye maun ken; Annapla gied me't efter.
And he patched together in his mind Mungo's laughter with the Baron's history as briefly known to him, and the inexplicable signal and alarm of the night. "Your Mademoiselle Annapla seems to be an entrancing vocalist," said he airily, feeling his way to a revelation. The Baron, in his abstraction, scarcely half comprehended.
He began at the beginning again, caught the meaning of a sentence, sat bolt upright in the chair where Annapla had found him lolling, and finished with eagerness and astonishment. Where had she got this? She hesitated to tell him that it had been pilfered from the owner's pocket, and intimated that she had picked it up outside. "Good woman," said he in Gaelic, "you have picked up a fortune.
But it was in a tone of more respect he shouted up the stair some words of assurance. Yet there was no abatement of the cries, and Montaiglon, less to do him justice to serve his curiosity as to Annapla than from a natural instinct to help a distressed woman, put a foot on the stair to mount. "Na, na! ye mauna leave me here!" cried Mungo, plucking at his sleeve.
Before he could comment upon so unexpected and surprising a phenomenon, Mungo had dropped his gutting-knife and made with suspicious rapidity for the entrance of the castle, without a word of explanation or leave-taking. "I become decidedly interested in Annapla," said Montaiglon to himself, witnessing this odd retreat, "and my host gives me no opportunity of paying my homages. Malediction!
It was carefully placed by a woman's hands the woman herself unseen. The incident recalled an old exploit of his own in Marney, and a flood of humorous memories of amorous intrigue. "Mademoiselle Annapla," said he whimsically, "has a lover, and here's his signal. The Baron's daughter? The Baron's niece? The Baron's ward? Or merely the Baron's domestic?
I thocht the Coont looked gey like a galo-shan in't, but I maun be the bonny doo mysel'. And I'm no that wee neither, for it's ticht aboot the back." Annapla thought her diminutive admirer adorable; she stood raptly gazing on him, with her dish-clout dripping on the floor. "I wonder if there's no' a note or twa o' the New Bank i' the pouches," said Mungo, and began to search.
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