She is by my side now, and looking down at my manuscript.
'Yes,' she says many times—nodding assent to every sentence, and ever turning back the pages for reference—'yes, and now you come near the last events of this story of the M'Crimmans of Coila. Come out to the castle roof, and breathe the evening air, and I will talk.'
We sit there nearly an hour. Aunt's memory is better even than mine, and I listen to her without ever once opening my lips. Then I lead her back to the tower, and point smilingly to the harp.
She has gone at last, and I resume my story.
We, Moncrieff and I, saw no signs of Indians during our long ride that day. We had gone on this journey with 251 our lives in our hands. The very daringness and dash of it was probably our salvation. The enemy were about—they might be here, there, anywhere. Every bush might conceal a foe, but they certainly made no appearance.
All was the same apparently about our estancias; but I wondered a little that my brothers had not come out to meet me as usual, and that faithful, though plain-faced Yambo looked at me strangely, and I thought pityingly, as he took my mule to lead away to the compound.
I went straight away through our gardens, and entered the drawing-room by the verandah window.
I paused a moment, holding the casement in my hand. Coming straight out of the glare of the evening sunset, the room appeared somewhat dark, but I noticed Dugald sitting at the table with his face bent down over his hand, and Donald lying on the couch.
'Dugald!'