All in vain.
When they reached Widow McGregor’s cottage all was darkness and silence within.
They knocked nevertheless, knocked again and again, and at last had the satisfaction of hearing a match lighted, then a light shone through the door seams, and a voice—a somewhat timorous and quavering one—demanded:
“Wha’s there at this untimeous hoor o’ nicht?”
“It’s me, Mrs McGregor; me, Laird Milvaine. Don’t be alarmed.”
The bolt flew back, and master and man entered.
Of course the lost ones were not there, and the widow shook and trembled with fear when she heard the story.
She had only to say that the cleerach, who was a kind of forest ranger or keeper, had seen both the lost ones that afternoon gathering wild flowers.
“We’ll go to his house at once.”
It was only two miles farther on.