"A horse," said Strange, "who knows it may be Muckle John himself."
"No," corrected Castleleathers composedly, "no, I think not. I think—in fact I am sure—it is my wife."
"Your wife!" cried Rob, who had worked the gag out at last, and who had been apparently overlooked in the discussion.
Castleleathers switched about.
"Bless us," he said, "I had clean forgotten ye, Rob, you were so quiet. What's amiss with you?"
"I am bound hand and foot."
"Mercy me," said Castleleathers, "but you have a queer way with you, Captain Strange. There ye are, Rob," and he set him free, "and now what's there so wonderful in my having a wife? She's your ain aunt Macpherson. It's my nephew ye are, Rob, and if I ever hear of this Jacobite business again I'll skelp ye mair than she ever did, poor woman."
It was indeed Miss Macpherson (or rather Mrs. James Fraser of Castleleathers), and at the sight of her Strange bowed very coldly, remembering the escape from Fort Augustus, and calling his men disappeared towards Edinburgh.
"Sit ye doon a moment," said Castleleathers, "though it's a dreary enough place for family reunions."
But Rob only stared out to sea where the moon was pouring a broad pathway of silver upon the quivering water.