“I’m jist gaein’ to mak’ ye a cup o’ tay, Mr. Sutherlan’. It’s the handiest thing, ye ken. An’ I doot ye’re muckle in want o’ something. Wad ye no tak’ a drappy oot o’ the bottle, i’ the mane time?”
“No, thank you,” said Hugh, who longed to be alone, for his heart was cold as ice; “I would rather wait for the tea; but I should be glad to have a good wash, after my journey.”
“Come yer wa’s, than, ben the hoose. I’ll jist gang an’ get a drappy o’ het water in a decanter. Bide ye still by the fire.”
Hugh stood, and gazed into the peat-fire. But he saw nothing in it. A light step passed him several times, but he did not heed it. The loveliest eyes looked earnestly towards him as they passed, but his were not lifted to meet their gaze.
“Noo, Maister Sutherlan’, come this way.”
Hugh was left alone at length, in the room where David had slept, where David had used to pray. He fell on his knees, and rose comforted by the will of God. A few things of Margaret’s were about the room. The dress he had seen her in at Mrs. Elton’s, was hanging by the bed. He kissed the folds of the garment, and said: “God’s will be done.” He had just finished a hasty ablution when Janet called him.
“Come awa’, Maister Sutherlan’; come ben to yer ain chaumer,” said she, leading the way to the room she still called the study. Margaret was there. The room was just as he had left it. A bright fire was on the hearth. Tea was on the table, with eggs, and oatcakes, and flour-scons in abundance; for Janet had the best she could get for Margaret, who was only her guest for a little while. But Hugh could not eat. Janet looked distressed, and Margaret glanced at him uneasily.
“Do eat something, Mr. Sutherland,” said Margaret.
Hugh looked at her involuntarily. She did not understand his look, and it alarmed her. His countenance was changed.
“What is the matter, dear—Hugh?” she said, rising, and laying her hand on his shoulder.