“Yes—yes! Where are they?” exclaimed an eager female voice. “Pray get out, McCray, and see.”
“Dinna fash yersel’, lassie,” said the first speaker. “There’s naebodie hurt, I ken. But where’s Sir Mooray, my lad?”
“Walked on,” said the post-boy.
“You are, then, that gentleman’s servant?” exclaimed Brace Norton, now eagerly joining in the conversation.
“And wha may ye be that ask sic a question?”
“Only a traveller on the road,” said Brace, smiling, as he glanced at the comely, pleasant-faced female who had just stepped out of the fly; “but your master and the young lady have just walked on. You have arrived in capital time, for I fear that she is much shaken. It was a very rude fall.”
“Gudeness save us, Jenny! jump in again, and let’s drive on. I’m verra grateful for your information, sir, and I thank ye.”
“Pray make haste, McCray!” cried the pleasant-faced dame, smoothing back the grey-streaked bands of hair from her forehead.
And the next minute, with the satisfaction of knowing that he had sent help where it was needed, Brace Norton was standing alone in the road.
He was very thoughtful and serious as he stood there, once more trying to bring back something of the old history from the past days of his parents’ life; but he soon gave it up as an impossible task, and one most unsuited for his present place of study. So, assisting the injured post-boy to mount, upon his reiterated assurance that he could easily reach home alone, Brace once more stepped up to his own conveyance, and, very thoughtful and dreamy, slowly continued his journey.