“Aye, get out on the floor, Souter,” said Gilbert, pulling him out of his chair.
“Nay, nay, lad,” expostulated Souter fretfully, “I be too old to fling the toe noo.”
“Go alang wi’ ye, mon,” retorted Mrs. Burns encouragingly; “a Scotsman, and a Highlander besides, is ne’er too old to——”
“To learn,” interrupted Gilbert brightly, swinging the old man to the middle of the floor. “Let her go.”
“I havena danced for years,” said Souter apologetically. Carefully knocking the ashes out of his pipe he deposited it in the pocket of his capacious waistcoat and proceeded to divest himself of his coat. “Ye ken I was the champion dancer of my clan, Clan McDougal, when I was a young lad,” he announced boastingly. “An’ mony a time I have cheered an’ amused the lads, while tentin’ on the fields of Culloden, before the big battle. An’ that reminds me o’ a guid——”
“Never mind the story,” said Gilbert impatiently. “Gie us a dance.”
After a few preliminary movements Souter caught the swinging measure of the dance, and once started he limbered up surprisingly. On he danced nimbly, and untiringly, soon ably proving to his delighted audience that he had not forgotten his old-time accomplishment. “I’ll show these Lowlanders what a Highlander can do,” thought the old man proudly. Panting with excitement and eagerness he failed to hear the metallic patter of horses’ hoofs drawing near the cottage. Nearer and nearer they came unheeded by all save one.
From his seat by the fireplace, where he sat in melancholy silence, Robert heard the sound, but gave it no heed. Suddenly it ceased. He raised his head to listen. Someone had surely stopped at the gate, he thought, straining his ears eagerly, but the noise of the fiddle and the dancing drowned all sound from without. He glanced quickly at the smiling faces of the others as they good-naturally watched the dancer. “I must hae been mistaken,” he muttered uneasily. Suddenly he leaned forward, grasping his chair hard; surely he had heard his name faintly called. He listened intently. Yes, there it was again; this time the voice was nearer. A woman’s voice, too. What could it mean? He rose to his feet, his heart thumping fiercely, his muscles alert and tense, his eyes fixed on the door, his mind filled with gloomy presentiment.
At that moment an imperative knock sounded loudly through the room, and almost at the same time the door flew open violently, and Jean Armour impetuously dashed in. Closing the door quickly behind her she leaned back against it, pale and exhausted. Her riding habit of green and gold was splashed and discolored with mud. The large hat with its gleaming white plume hung limply over her shoulder, while her black disheveled hair streamed over her face and down her back in bewildering confusion. She had evidently ridden fast and furious, for she stood there with her eyes closed, her hand on her heart, gasping for breath.
Quickly Mrs. Burns led the exhausted girl to a seat. In a few moments she raised her drooping head and with wild frightened eyes searched the room till her gaze fell on Robert, who was leaning white and speechless against the fireplace, a great fear in his heart.