“To be sure, lassie; and wadna I ha’e done the same if ye’d gone the same gait?”
“Oh yes—no,—I don’t know,” said Jane; “but I don’t like it, and I want you to follow them.”
“Me? Follow? What, go after Sir Mooray and my lady?” exclaimed McCray. “Hoot, lassie, and have ye gone daft?”
“Daft! no!” cried Jane, angrily. “You must—indeed, you must go after them. He came to me quite angry when he found that her ladyship had gone out, and asked me where I thought she’d be; and I told him, like the fool that I was; and I don’t like things—I don’t, indeed; and I’m afraid there’s mischief on the way.”
“My dear bairn,” said the thoughtful Scot, “I’m afraid ye’ve been letting your fancy run away with ye full galop. Once you women get an idea into your poor little heads ye go racing after it full tear. Now, let me ask ye what is there strange in my lady going out to pick specimens, as she’s done hundreds o’ times before? and, now that they’re making it up, for Sir Mooray to go after her?”
“Nothing—nothing,” said Jane, earnestly, “if it were all genuine; but, Alexander—dear Alexander, there’s Judas kisses as well as true ones, and I know he did not mean what you saw. I’m troubled about it all, and I come to you for help: don’t fail me, please, now this first time.”
“Nay, nay,” cried the Scot, eagerly. “I’ll not fail thee, lassie. But what am I to do? Where am I to go?”
“Follow them and watch them, never leaving them for an instant, and always being ready to give help.”
“Yes, yes; I’ll do it, lassie.”
“I knew you would,” cried Jane, pressing his great hand between both of hers; “and now run—run all the way, for he went to his room after he left me, and came out pushing a pistol into his pocket. And, oh! Alexander, if you love me, make haste, for I’m sure that there’s something wrong!”