“’Deed and you did weel,” said McCray; “but I must stay here and face him, sir, for he’ll be over directly with my laird, there, like twa roarin and rampagin’ lions.”
In effect, five minutes after, there was again the sound of rapid wheels, followed directly after by Sir Murray Gernon’s voice in the hall.
“How dared you to bring her here?” he exclaimed, in a hoarse, harsh voice, to his old retainer, who met him boldly on the step.
“’Deed, Sir Mooray, so as to save the dear bairn’s life, and not have to face ye wi’ a cauld dead bodie. It was a case of seconds, Sir Mooray, and I ken ye wadna ha’e likit for me to bring the puir laddie wha savit her from drownin’ to the Castle.”
“And who saved her?” exclaimed Sir Murray.
“Hoot! Sir Mooray, naebodie else but the douce sailor laddie ye passed camin’ hame, when the chaise was broke up.”
A bitter epithet was hissed from Sir Murray Gernon’s lips, as he listened to this announcement; for to his excited imagination it seemed as if Fate were struggling against him and striving to bring together two who, could he contrive it, should be through life as far removed, to all intents and purposes, one from the other, as the two poles.
Sir Murray ascended to the bed-room, and then descended to pace impatiently up and down, frowning and angry, till, after seeing his patient sink into a quiet slumber, Dr Challen gave a sigh of satisfaction, and then joined the baronet.
“What?” exclaimed the doctor, after listening to Sir Murray’s first remark.
“She must be taken home directly,” said Sir Murray.