Without any more ado, he deposited the bag at her side and opened it. And, astonishing to relate, the black bag was fitted with a number of little bottles, one of which he extracted, with a glass.
"Is it medicine?" she asked wonderingly.
"Medicine?" he echoed; "nae, it's nae medicine; it's 'Four Diamonds S.O.P.' I'm gi'en ye. It's a braw sample o' Pilcher's S.O.P., ma lassie; nothin' finer in the trade, on the honour o' Macpheerson! Noo ye drink that doon; it's speerit, an' it'll dae ye guid."
She took his advice, gulping the spirit while he watched her approvingly. Its strength diffused itself through her in ripples of heat, raising her courage, and yet, oddly enough, making her want to cry.
Mr. Macpherson contemplated the little bottle solemnly, shaking his head at it with something that sounded like a sigh.
"An' whaur may ye be goin'?" he queried, replacing the cork.
"I am going to town," she answered. "I was walking home, only the storm——"
"Tae toon? Will ye no' ha'e a lift along o' me an' the lad? I'll drive ye intae toon."
"Have you to go there?" she asked, over-joyed.
"There'd be th' de'il tae pay if I stayed awa'. Ay, I ha'e tae gang there, and as fast as the mare can trot. Will ye let me help ye in?"