"
At the opposite side of the room lay a corresponding heap,
differing not a little, however, in appearance and suggestion. As
far as visible form and material could make it one, it was a grave
--rather a short one, but abundantly long for the laird. It was
in reality a heap of mould, about a foot and a half high, covered
with the most delicate grass, and bespangled with daisies.
"Laird!" said Phemy, half reproachfully, as she stood gazing at
the marvel, "ye hae been oot at nicht!"
"Aye--a' nicht whiles, whan naebody was aboot 'cep' the win'."
He pronounced the word with a long drawn imitative sough--"an'
the cloods an' the splash o' the watter."
Pining under the closer imprisonment in his garret, which the
discovery of his subterranean refuge had brought upon him, the
laird would often have made his escape at night but for the fear
of disturbing the Mairs; and now that there was no one to disturb,
the temptation to spend his nights in the open air was the more
irresistible that he had conceived the notion of enticing nature
herself into his very chamber. Abroad then he had gone, as soon
as the first midnight closed around his new dwelling, and in the
fields had with careful discrimination begun to collect the mould
for his mound, a handful here and a handful there. This took him
several nights, and when it was finished, he was yet more choice
in his selection of turf, taking it from the natural grass growing
along the roads and on the earthen dykes, or walls, the outer
sides of which feed the portionless cows of that country.
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