Mr Soutar came.
"Fetch Morrison," said the marquis, "and go to bed."
The wind howled terribly as Malcolm ascended the stairs and half
felt his way, for he had no candle, through the long passages leading
to his room. As he entered the last, a huge vague form came down
upon him, like a deeper darkness through the dark. Instinctively
he stepped aside. It passed noiselessly, with a long stride, and
not even a rustle of its garments--at least Malcolm heard nothing
but the roar of the wind. He turned and followed it. On and on
it went, down the stair through a corridor, down the great stone
turnpike stair, and through passage after passage. When it came into
the more frequented and half lighted thoroughfares of the house,
it showed as a large figure in a long cloak, indistinct in outline.
It turned a corner close by the marquis's room. But when Malcolm,
close at its heels, turned also, he saw nothing but a vacant lobby,
the doors around which were all shut. One after another he quickly
opened them, all except the marquis's, but nothing was to be seen.
The conclusion was that it had entered the marquis's room. He must
not disturb the conclave in the sick chamber with what might be
but "a false creation, proceeding from the heat oppressed brain,"
and turned back to his own room, where he threw himself on his bed
and fell asleep.
About twelve Mrs Courthope called him: his master was worse, and
wanted to see him.
The midnight was still, for the dark and wind had ceased.
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