"It's himsel', I doot," he remarked to Jock at last. "D'ye ken him?"
"Aye, aye," said Jock dispassionately. "I ken him fine. I see him in the toon last market-day. It's himsel', sure enough!"
"Eh! Puir body!" exclaimed old Davie. "And mayhe the creetur wes on his wye t' oor still."
"Nae doot o' thot," remarked Peter, while Jock wisely nodded assent.
"No' but what he'd find it gey hard to come up wi't in the sna' and a'!" added the latter, in a tone of unrestrained congratulation.
They spoke in half-whispers, and never ceased their charitable ministrations the while. Not a word passed on the subject again, for in a few minutes the stranger had gained consciousness. He looked in a puzzled way from one face to another, not realizing for the moment where he was. Davie was the first to speak.
"The storm's bin ower muckle for ye, sir, I'm thinkin'," he said kindly. "It's weel ye chanced to find y'r wye t' oor wee hoosachie. It's nae muckle to be prood on; but it's better ner bein' ootside in siclike weather, I doot!"
Bonar suddenly became aware of the identity of his hosts. He had no doubt that this was Davie Forbes, whom he had come to spy upon and denounce! But he was no coward, and quickly reassured himself that duty alone had led him. Still, he was indebted to his enemies!
"I'm greatly obliged to you, indeed," he said with genuine gratitude.
"I probably owe my life to the good luck that led me to your door."
"Na, na, mon," replied Davie. "Ye've naething to thank us for. But ye'll need a bit supper!" he added, as Bonar rose to his feet and seemed about to prepare for departure. (He felt rather unsteady on his legs, but go he must, as he assured himself resolutely.)