'Ay, it's me, and Mr. Ericson. We'll tak care o' ye, mem.'
'But surely we shall get home!'
Robert had heard the crack of the breaking pole.
''Deed, I doobt no.'
'What are we to do, then?'
'Come into the lythe (shelter) o' the bank here, oot o' the gait o' thae brutes o' horses,' said Robert, taking off his horse-cloth and wrapping her in it.
The storm hissed and smote all around them. She took Robert's arm. Followed by Ericson, they left the coach and the struggling horses, and withdrew to a bank that overhung the road. As soon as they were out of the wind, Robert, who had made up his mind, said,
'We canna be mony yairds frae the auld hoose o' Bogbonnie. We micht win throu the nicht there weel eneuch. I'll speir at the gaird, the minute the horses are clear. We war 'maist ower the brig, I heard the coachman say.'
'I know quite well where the old house is,' said Ericson. 'I went in the last time I walked this way.'
'Was the door open?' asked Robert.