“The owls were hooting in Logie Wood. They seemed to call me,” said Causleen, aloof and cold.
“Pack o’ nonsense. Why couldn’t you let the hullets get on with their decent hunting? It was the dratted voles and rats they were crying for. And now you’ll want supper, on top of my hard day’s work.”
“I—I could not eat, Rebecca. So you’re spared that trouble.”
Rebecca, noting the girl’s sudden pallor, was grimmer than before.
“Spared more from your pack o’ nonsense, am I? I’ll see to that. It’s a good, square meal you need, my lass.”
Causleen faced her with a dignity so aloof that it daunted even tough Rebecca. “I eat as little as may be of your Master’s food.”
With that she was gone up the windy stairway, like a Highland storm across her own far moors; and presently Hardcastle came in, dour and stubborn.
“William brought you the hare?” he asked, finding Rebecca still in the hall, chewing the cud of her defeat at Causleen’s hands.
“Aye, and more. He prayed me draw you back from going to Broken Firs to-morrow.”
“What of that? William’s wits were never strong.”