He shut himself up in the turret-room out there and never left it except at night, when his one walk was on the east terrace, over this very room.
"One night they missed the sound of his footsteps, and next morning he was found dead in his little chamber--dead of a broken heart.

And they say that if ever again a coward should be the laird of Singleton, that that old man will walk out there where he walked four centuries ago." A dead silence followed the close of this story, and all eyes, by a sort of common instinct, were turned towards the head of the table.

At that moment, apparently from the terrace outside, came a sound of footsteps; and as they listened, every cheek grew suddenly pale, and a shudder crept round the assembly.

The silence, however, was broken by a laugh from the young laird himself, who had been the only unmoved hearer of this last mysterious sound.
"Why, there is my poor dog, Jupiter, out there! I had quite forgotten him.

Let him in, some one!" No one stirred.