Whilst the manifestations lasted, neither Mrs. Gibbons nor her cousin
spoke; but the latter, as soon as the sounds had ceased, dragged Mrs.
Gibbons away, and, in a voice shaking with terror, cried: "Quick,
quick--don't, for Heaven's sake, look round--worse has yet to come."
And, pulling Mrs. Gibbons along in breathless haste, she
unceremoniously hustled her out of the Tower.
"That was no barrel!" Mrs. Gibbons's cousin subsequently remarked by
way of explanation. "I saw it--I have seen it before. Don't ask me to
describe it. I dare not--I dare not even think of it. Whenever it
appears, a certain thing happens shortly afterwards. Don't, don't on
any account say a word about it to any one here." And Mrs. Gibbons, my
mother told me, came away from Glamis a thousand times more curious
than she was when she went.
* * * * *
The last story I have to relate is one I heard many years ago, when I
was staying near Balmoral. A gentleman named Vance, with strong
antiquarian tastes, was staying at an inn near the Strathmore estate,
and, roaming abroad one afternoon, in a fit of absent-mindedness
entered the castle grounds. It so happened--fortunately for him--that
the family were away, and he encountered no one more formidable than a
man he took to be a gardener, an uncouth-looking fellow, with a huge
head covered with a mass of red hair, hawk-like features, and high
cheek-bones, high even for a Scot. Struck with the appearance of the
individual, Mr.
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