Uncle Abner
"Aye, mon! What ha the dove to save it?"
"The vulture, it may be," said my uncle.
"The Red Eagle, and the foul vulture!" cried the old man. "Noo, mon, it is the bird of death!"
"A bird of death, but not a bird of prey." Then he got up.
"You may have a familiar spirit, MacPherson," he said coldly, "for all I know. Perhaps they live on after the Witch of Endor. It is a world of mystery. But I should not come to you to get up Samuel, and I see now why the Lord stamped out your practice. It was because you misled his people. If there is a vulture in this business, MacPherson, it is no symbol of your bridegroom. And now, will you take me in to Campbell?"
The old man flung the door open, and Abner went out into the hall. As he crossed the sill, a girl, listening at the door, fled past him. She had been crouched down against it.
She was half-dressed, all in white, as though escaped for a moment out of the hands of tiring women. But she had the chalk face of a ghost, and eyes wide with fear.
My uncle went on as though he had passed nothing, and the old Scotchman before him only wagged his head, with the whispered comment, "It wa be gran', a wee drop, the night."
They came into a big room of the house with candles on a table, and a fire of chestnut logs. A
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