“Tam’s a’ richt. Tell your mother I’ll be round to see her.”
There was no time for more. The folk pressed forward, and all noticed that the mate’s face was graver that it ought to have been. There was something wrong.
“Is Mrs Horne here? Or my mother?” asked the mate. “Is that you, Robbie Saugster? Run to my mother’s house and say I bade her go to Mrs Horne’s, and bide till I come there.”
Robbie was off like a shot. “Is it ill news?”
“If it’s ill news, the laddie should speak in and tell auld Miss Jean.”
“Miss Jean is unco frail.”
“Miss Jean is ower at Saughleas.”
“And is it Captain Horne? And when did it happen?”
“Puir woman! Her turn has come at last!” Many voices took up the “ill news,” telling it gravely till it went through the throng. Even those who had got their own safe home again, spoke their welcome gravely, thinking of her who had to hear heavy tidings.