“And what way should you be thinking that?” I asked, beginning to feel more anxious about my position.
“Oh, jist a surmise o' my ain,” he answered. “Ye kent your way to the stable in the dark, and then—and then there's whiles a twang o' the Mearns in your speech.”
This was certainly coming too close! I hastened through my breakfast, paid my lawing, and ordered out my horse. That took so long that I surmised the man was wilfully detaining me. “This fellow has certainly some project to my detriment,” I told myself, and as speedily as I might got into the saddle. Then he said what left no doubt:
“They'll be gey glad to see ye at the Hazel Den, Mr. Greig.”
I felt a stound of anguish at the words that might in other circumstances have been true but now were so remote from it.
“You seem to have a very gleg eye in your head,” I said, “and to have a great interest in my own affairs.”
“No offence, Mr. Paul, no offence!” said he civilly, and indeed abashed. “There's a lassie in the kitchen that was ance your mither's servant and she kent your shoes.”
“I hope then you'll say nothing about my being here to any one—for the sake of the servant's old mistress—that was my mother.”
“That was your mither!” he repeated. “And what for no' yet? She'll be prood to see ye hame.”
“Is it well with them up there?” I eagerly asked.