The elderly woman appeared, and curtseyed deeply twice in a graceful and old-fashioned manner. Her once black hair was now seamed with white; but her eyes were dark and sparkling; her cheeks were yet tinged with red, and her rows of teeth were firm and white as ever, for the visitor was Madelon Galbraith, now in her sixtieth year, and with the assured confidence of a Highland woman she announced herself by name.
'I read in the papers,' said she, 'that the grandson of Lord Fettercairn had shot some beautiful eaglets at the ruins of Finella's castle. The grandson, thought I—that maun be the bairn I nursed, as I nursed his mother before him, and so I'm come a the way frae Ross-shire to see him, your leddyship.'
'I have heard of you, Madelon, and that you were in early life nurse to—to my younger son's wife,' said Lady Fettercairn, with a freezing stare and slight inclination of her haughty head; but she added, 'be seated.'
'Yes—I was nurse to Captain MacIan's daughter Flora,' said Madelon, her eyes becoming moist; 'the Captain saved my husband's life in the Persian war, but was killed himself next day.'
'What have we to do with this?' said Shafto, who felt himself growing pale.
'Nothing, of course,' replied Madelon sadly.
'Then what do you want?'
'What I have said. I heard that the son of Major Melfort—or MacIan as he called himself in the past time—was here at Craigengowan, and I made sae bold as to ca' and see him—the bairn I hae suckled.'
'If you nursed my grandson, as you say,' said Lady Fettercairn, 'do you not recognise him? Stand forward, Shafto.'
'Shafto—is this Mr. Shafto!' exclaimed Madelon.