“No; the morning would be too late for my purpose. It is of the utmost importance that I should reach the Hall to-night!” said the horseman, beginning to grow restive under the influence of some hidden anxiety that he could not entirely conceal.
“Is it an affair of ‘life and death?’” inquired Andy, with a touch of sarcasm in his tone, as he repeated the words that had been used by the unhappy girl who had preceded this stranger on this road.
“More—much more than life and death is involved,” muttered the traveller, in a voice vibrating with the agitation that he could no longer control.
“Hark to him again, Jenny!” grinned the old man. “Just the way the ither one talked. The de’il maun be holding a levee at the Hall!”
“I beg you will not detain me; pray put me on my road,” impatiently urged the stranger.
“Oh, ay! ye see the road before ye. Ye’ll just face it and follow your nose, and it will lead to the old Hall. Ye canna miss it. It stands off about a quarter mile from the road, on the right. There’s woods before it, and the Porcupine Mountains behind it. It will be the first grand like mansion ye’ll come to, and the only one, an’ ye were to ride a hunder miles in that direction.”
“Thanks,” said the stranger, lifting his cap and remounting his horse.
“And oh, kind gentleman,” said Jenny, coming forward, “an’ ye should meet wi’ a poor daft lassie who gaed before on the same road, ye’ll no let her perish for the want of a helping hand. For the love of the Lord, ye’ll get her under shelter or bring her back here.”
“‘A poor daft lassie,’” repeated the stranger, bewildered by the woman’s words and manner.
“Ay, sir; a poor bit child wha canna guide hersel’ to ony gude end.”