She was evidently vexed and troubled, for she rose up and sat down, and glanced sidewise at him in silence for a while. Then she said:
“I daursay ye’re thinkin’ me a queer-like crater. I’m auld, and I’m crooket, and whiles my head’s no richt, and there are folk that dinna like to anger me, for fear that I micht wish an ill wish on them. I read my Bible, and say my prayers like ither folk. But I’m no sayin’ that I haena seen uncanny things happen to folk that hae gaen against me. There’s Brownrig himsel’ for instance.
“I’m no’ sayin’ to ye to do the lass nae ill. Ye seem a decent man, and hae nae cause to mean her ill. But never ye name her name. That’s gude advice—though I havena ta’en it mysel’. Gude-day to ye. And haste ye awa’. Dinna let Brownrig’s evil een licht on ye, or he’ll hae out o’ ye a’ ye ken and mair, ere ye can turn roond. Gude-day to ye.”
“Gude-day to you,” said Saunners, rising. He watched her till she passed round the hill, and then he went away.
But the repentant wee wifie did not lose sight of him till he had gone many miles on his homeward way. She followed him in the distance, and only turned back when she caught sight of Brownrig on his black horse, with his face turned toward his home.
Though Saunners would not have owned that the woman’s words had hastened his departure, he lost no time in setting out. It was not impossible that, should Brownrig fall in with him later, he might seek to find out whether he had ever seen or heard of Allison Bain, since that seemed to be his way with strangers. That he should wile out of him any information that he chose to keep to himself, Saunners thought little likely. But he might ask a direct question; and the old man told himself he could hold up his face and lie to no man, even to save Allison Bain.
So he hastened away, and the weariness of his homeward road was doubtless beguiled by the thoughts which he had about the story he had heard, and about his duty concerning it. His wisdom would be to forget it altogether, he told himself. But he could not do so. He came to the manse that night with the intention of telling Allison all he had heard, and of getting the truth from her. But when he saw her sitting there so safe, and out of harm’s way, he could not do it.
And yet he could not put it altogether out of his thoughts. He would not harm a hair of the lassie’s head. A good woman she must be, for she had been doing her duty in the manse for nearly a year now, and never a word to be spoken against her. And who knew to what straits she might be driven if she were obliged to go away and seek another shelter? There were few chances that she would find another home like the manse. No, he would utter not another word to startle her, or to try to win her secret.
“But there is John Beaton to be considered. I would fain hae a word wi’ John. He’s a lad that maybe thinks ower-weel o’ himself, and carries his head ower-high. But the root o’ the matter’s in him. Yes, I hae little doubt o’ that. And if I’m nae sair mista’en there’s a rough bittie o’ road before him. But he is in gude hands, and he’ll win through. I’ll speak to him, and I’ll tak’ him at unawares. I’ll ken by the first look o’ his face whether his heart is set on her or no.”