The Baron was equal to it, however.
"Vat instroction do you give me ?" he managed to utter.
In the gravest accents the Wraith chanted-- "Hang ever kilt above the knee, With Usquebaugh be not too free, When toasts and sic'like games be mooted See that your dram be well diluted; And oh, if you'd escape from Hades, Lord Tulliwuddle, 'ware the ladies!" The spirit vanished as magically as he had appeared, and with this solemn warning ringing in his ears, the Baron found himself in inky darkness again.

This time he did not hesitate to grope madly for the door, but hardly had he reached it, when, with a fresh sensation of horror, he stumbled upon a writhing form that seemed to be pawing the panels.

He was, fortunately; as quickly reassured by hearing the voice of Mr.Gallosh exclaim in terrified accents-- "I canna find the haundle! Oh, Gosh, where's the haundle ?" Being the less frenzied of the two, the Baron did succeed in finding the handle, and with a gasp of relief burst into the lighted anteroom.

The piper had already departed, and evidently in haste, since he had left some portion of a bottle of whisky unfinished.

This fortunate circumstance enabled them to recover something of their color, though, even when he felt his blood warming again, Mr.Gallosh could scarcely speak coherently of his terrible ordeal.
"What an awfu' night! what an awfu' night!" he murmured.