“Who the de’il can it be, at this unlawful hour o’ the night? Gae see, Jenny, woman. And if it’s ony vagrants bang the door in their faces. I’se no be troubled wi’ ony more callers the night!” cried the old man, impatiently.
Before he had well done grumbling, the old woman had gone to the door and opened it, letting in a furious blast of wind and rain.
“Gude guide us!” she exclaimed, starting back, aghast, at what she saw without.
“What the de’il is it then, gude wife?” nervously demanded Andy, starting up and seizing his old musket from its hooks above the chimney-piece. Andy was thinking only of thieves, as is usual with many who have little to lose.
“Pit up your gun, gude man, it’s no what ye think,” said Jenny, once more approaching the door to peep out at the wretch that stood dripping and shivering outside.
“For the love of Heaven, let me in a little while. I will not stay many minutes,” pleaded a plaintive voice from the darkness.
“Who is it?” inquired Andy, coming cautiously forward in his stocking feet.
“It’s some poor lassie, as far as I can make out. Come in wi’ ye then,” said Jenny, stretching the door wide open, though the wind and the rain rushed in, flooding the floor where they stood.
“Ay, come in, and ye maun, and dinna stand there like a lunatic keeping the door open and letting in the weather,” growled Andy, as he toddled back to his comfortable chair and dropped into it.
Before he had half uttered his churlish invitation, the stranger had entered, and now stood in the room, with the rain running from her dark raiment, while Jenny shut and bolted the door.