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Updated: June 7, 2025
The clergyman of the parish in which Cockhoolet was situated, and at whose church the Ormistons attended, was an old man comparatively, whose sermons were old-fashioned, and not given forth with the fire of youth: he was not one you would have expected to be very popular, especially with the young; yet various young men from considerable distances were attracted to his church, and, generally speaking, they settled themselves in pews opposite the gallery in front of which sat Mr.
Lady Arthur thought it was going to be a bright winter day, and at breakfast she proposed a drive to Cockhoolet Castle, an old place within driving distance to which she paid periodical visits: they would take luncheon on the battlements and see all over the country, which must be looking grand in its bridal attire. John was called in and asked if he did not think it was going to be a fine day.
In days of old it fed the moat, traces of which are to be seen round the castle still, although it has long since been filled up and covered, like the park of which it forms part, with rich natural pasture, soft, thick and velvety. In short, Cockhoolet had everything that a castle ought to have, and wanted nothing that a castle ought not to want, not even a ghost.
It is a saying that an Englishman's house is his castle, but the phrase is understood to be figurative: Mr. Ormiston's house was his castle without a figure. Cockhoolet Castle is very old, at least one part of it is, having been built probably about the year 1400.
And my birthdays come so swiftly That I meet them grudgingly: Would it be so were I longing For the life that is to be? Nay: the soul, though ever reaching For that which is out of sight, Yet soars with reluctant motion, Since there is no backward flight. Cockhoolet was the name of the place: it was a farm of which the Ormistons were and had been tenants for several generations.
"I came from London I have only been a week home from Australia and I am on my way to Eildon. But here we are." And the hospitable doors of Cockhoolet were thrown wide, sending out a glow of light to welcome the belated travelers. Mrs. Ormiston and her daughter, Mrs.
It was not the ghost of Mary Stuart: that would have been too shocking a ghost without a head, or having a head and a broad vivid ray of red encircling its neck. Such a ghost would have made every one who saw it lose his senses. Cockhoolet Castle had a ghost: so much was certain, but hitherto no one had ever either seen or heard it. How, then, was it certain? Why ask a question like that?
But there was no opening whatever for such a position: she took the mysterious affair into her own hands and pooh-poohed it entirely. They were accustomed to early hours at Cockhoolet, but when the time came for going to bed the girls declared they were too frightened to go up stairs alone.
Ormiston's son-in-law, started to bring up the last of them just as I started for you." "Well, I must say I have enjoyed it," Lady Arthur said, "but how are we to get home to-night?" "You'll not get home to-night: you'll have to stay at Cockhoolet, and be glad if you can get home to-morrow." "And where have you come from, and where are you going to?" she asked.
Or he may have been despatched upon royal errands through the subterranean passage which is said to exist all the way between Cockhoolet Castle and Edinburgh the private telegraph of those days, when wires in the air or under the sea by which to send messages would have cost the inventors their lives as guilty of witchcraft.
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