But the chilliness of the room (they had no fire, and it was a misty night with a moaning wind), the inordinate quantity of odd-looking shadows, and the profound silence, were immediately destructive to buoyancy and ultimately trying to scepticism.
"I wish ze piper vould play," whispered the Baron.
"Mebbe he'll begin nearer the time," his companion suggested.
The Baron shivered.

For the first time he had been persuaded to wear the full panoply of a Highland chief, and though he had exhibited himself to the ladies with much pride, and even in the course of dinner had promised Eva Gallosh that he would never again don anything less romantic, he now began to think that a travelling-rug of the Tulliwuddle tartan would prove a useful addition to the outfit on the occasion of a midnight vigil.

Also the stern prohibition against talking aloud (corroborated by the piper with many guttural warnings) grew more and more irksome as the night advanced.
"It's an awesome place," whispered Mr.Gallosh.
"I hardly thought it would have been as lonesome-like." There was a tremor in his voice that irritated the Baron.
"Pooh!" he answered, "it is jost vun old piece of hombog! I do not believe in soch things myself." "Neither do I, my lord; oh, neither do I; but--would you fancy a dram ?" "Not for me, I zank you," said his lordship stiffly.
Blessing the foresight of Mr.Rentoul, his host unscrewed his flask and had a generous swig.

As he was screwing on the top again, the Baron, in a less haughty voice, whispered, "Perhaps jost vun leetle taste." They felt now for a few minutes more aggressively disposed.
"Ve need not have ze curtain shut," said the Baron.

"Soppose you do draw him ?" Through the gloom Mr.Gallosh took one or two faltering steps.
"Man, it's awful hard to see one's way," he said nervously.
The Baron took the candle, and with a martial stride escorted him to the window.