That one matter which his daughter knew above all others caused him the most serious thought and apprehension--a fear which had become doubly increased since she had referred to the curious and apparently inexplicable phenomenon.

He, a refined, educated man of brilliant attainments, scouted the idea of any supernatural agency.

To those who had made mention of the Whispers--among them his friend Murie, the Laird of Connachan; Lord Strathavon, from whom he had purchased the estate; and several of the neighbouring landowners--he had always expressed a hope that one day he might be fortunate enough to hear the whispered counsel of the Evil One, and so decide for himself its true cause.

He pretended always to treat the affair with humorous incredulity, yet at heart he was sorely troubled.
If his young wife's remarkable friendship with the man Flockart often caused him bitter thoughts, then the mysterious Whispers and the fatality so strangely connected with them were equally a source of constant inquietude.
A few days later Flockart, with clever cunning, seemed to alter his ingenious tactics completely, for suddenly he had commenced to bestir himself in Sir Henry's interests.

One morning after breakfast, taking the Baronet by the arm, he led him for a stroll along the drive, down to the lodge-gates, and back, for the purpose, as he explained, of speaking with him in confidence.
At first the blind man was full of curiosity as to the reason of this unusual action, as those deprived of sight usually are.
"I know, Sir Henry," Flockart said presently, and not without hesitation, "that certain ill-disposed people have endeavoured to place an entirely wrong construction upon your wife's friendship towards me.
For that reason I have decided to leave Glencardine, both for her sake and for yours." "But, my dear fellow," exclaimed the blind man, "why do you suggest such a thing ?" "Because your wife's enemies have their mouths full of scandalous lies," he replied.