“Nae a bit sooner than I 'd like,” said Sandy. “The salvages, as they ca' them, hae neither baillies nor policemen, they hae nae cranks about lawyers and 'tornies; a grip o' a man's hair and a sharp knife is even as mickle a reason as a hempen cord and a gallows tree! Ech, it warms my bluid again to see you stridin' up and doon,—if you had but a smudge o' yellow ochre, or a bit o' red round your eyes, ye 'd look awful well.”
“What are you staring at?” said Daly, as Sandy opened a door stealthily, and gazed down the passage towards the kitchen.
“I 'm thinking that as there is naebody in the house but the twa lasses, maybe your honor would try a war-cry,—ye ken ye could do it bra'ly once.”
“I may need the craft soon again,” said Daly, thoughtfully.
“Mercy upon us! here 's the leddies!” cried Sandy. But before Daly could disencumber himself of his weapons and costume, Helen entered the hall.
If Lady Eleanor started at the strange apparition before her, and involuntarily turned her eye towards the canoe, to see that its occupant was still there, it is not much to be wondered at, so strongly did the real and the counterfeit man resemble each other. The first surprise over, he was welcomed with sincere pleasure. All the eccentricities of character which in former days were commented on so sharply were forgotten, or their memory replaced by the proofs of his ardent devotion.
“How well you are looking!” was his first exclamation, as he gazed at Lady Eleanor and Helen alternately, with that steady stare which is one of the prerogatives of age towards beauty.
“There is no such tonic as necessity,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling, “and it would seem as if health were too jealous to visit us when we have every other blessing.”