'Glen Ora,' said my mother, interrupting me, and half springing from her chair, irate at his nonchalance.
'Aw—odd—very, Mr. Glen Ora; you'll look aftaw the ladies, whom we shall leave here in your chawge.'
'I am master here, at least,' said I, haughtily; 'Snaggs, hand chairs—see to the ladies, while I go to the Craig-na-tuirc, to search for Sir Horace.'
'Oh thank you—bless you!' exclaimed Miss Everingham, grasping my arm; 'all my trust is in you, Allan.'
'Lanterns—eh, aw-aw, you'll require—'
'The moon is up, and we require no other light,' said I, cutting short this mouthing drawler; 'come, Callum Mac Ian,' I added, as that personage, whose solitary hut the alarm had reached, appeared among us; 'old Sir Horace has fallen over the Craig-na-tuirc, or lost his way on the hills—let us seek him.'
Though weak and tottering, my mother had propped herself upon her cane, and risen to her full height, which was tall and commanding, to welcome those agitated and unceremonious visitors.
'Mr. Snaggs,' said she, pointing to the door, with the air of a Siddons, 'you may retire.'
Snaggs bowed with a malevolent smile, and withdrew.
'Ladies, be seated—gentlemen, assist the ladies to seats—thank you; be composed, Miss Everingham, and be assured that we will leave nothing undone to discover your father, who must have lost his way on the mountains. They were not made for Lowland legs to climb,' she added, with a cold smile.