"Oh, well, you see the master is a quiet gentleman, and never does make much ado," replied Ellis, rather crestfallen that she had nothing sensational to narrate from that quarter. "But he said we would be sure to find you at that old woman what's-her-name's cottage, where you're so fond of going to; and you see we didn't. Really, missie, it's too bad! I'm near wore off my feet between the fear and the draggin' after you. I only hope you won't be let go out at the door again without Miss Prosser—that's all I've got to say."
Blanche hoped it was, but she feared not. She had a painful consciousness that she was jacketless, and felt certain that, sooner or later, that fact would be discovered and inquired into.
Meanwhile, Morag joined them, not having been able to get a word with Kirsty, though she could hear her voice mingle soothingly with the eager, gasping tones of the dying woman, who appeared to have a great deal to say to this long-sought friend. Morag seemed to feel more relief than alarm at the sight of Ellis in possession of her little charge. But when she discovered her father's tall form leaning against one of her pillars of fir, she started, and looked nervously towards the tent. The keeper accosted her rather sternly, saying, "I wonder at ye, Morag. I thocht ye had mair wit—takin' up wi' a set o' tinkers, and bidin' oot so lang, forby."
Morag did not venture to explain the cause of their delay, nor did she mention that Kirsty Macpherson was so near at hand. She observed that, though her father seemed quite willing now that she should go to see the old woman, yet he evidently wished to avoid meeting her; and Morag felt sure that to disclose the fact that Kirsty was one of the alleged tinkers within the tartan folds, would not help to smooth matters.
"Missie! wherever is your jacket?—well, I never!" screamed the maid, with uplifted hands, when, for the first time, she observed the absence of that garment.
"My jacket? Oh, never mind, Ellis; it isn't cold," replied Blanche, looking rather uneasy, but attempting to assume a careless tone.
"Never mind! Did I ever know the like? Where's your jacket, missie? I insist on knowing!" screeched the excited Ellis. "Stolen by them vagrants you've been a-takin' up with, I'll be bound," and the maid looked at the keeper, as if she thought he ought to take immediate steps towards the recovery of the stolen property.
Morag glanced anxiously at Blanche. She did not know what had become of the missing jacket, and she began to wonder whether it could have been dropped in their flight from the supposed dangerous gypsy. She was about to suggest that she might go to look for it, when the indignant Ellis continued—
"Well, keeper, what is to be done? You see Miss Blanche doesn't even deny that they've stolen her jacket—her beautiful ermine one, too. I gave it her on because she sneezed this morning. Pity there isn't a policeman to set at them," snorted Ellis, in great wrath, as she glanced at the keeper, who stood stolid and immovable, looking at Blanche.
The little lady began to feel at bay, and, being again challenged by her maid to tell what had become of the missing garment, she planted herself against a fir-tree, and flinging back her curls, she folded her arms, saying in a dramatic tone—