“Why, Max, such a thing was never heard of before! If he had got a wife, now, I could have understood it, but a sister!”
“Well, whatever she is to him, she’s a civilised white woman, and that’s a sight worth seeing in those regions. I wonder what she’s like?” said I.
“Like himself, of course. Tall, raw-boned, square-shouldered, red-haired (you know he told us she was red-haired), square-jawed, Roman-nosed—a Macnab female could be nothing else.”
“Come,” said I, “don’t be impolite to Highland females, but go on with the letter.”
Lumley obeyed, but the letter contained little more of interest. We cared not for that, however. We had now a subject capable of keeping us in speculative talk for a week—the mere fact that there was actually a civilised woman—a lady perhaps—at all events a Macnab—within two hundred miles of us!
“No doubt she’s a rugged specimen of the sex,” said Lumley, as we sat beside the fire that night, “no other kind of white female would venture to face this wilderness for the sake of a brother; but she is a white woman, and she is only two hundred miles off—unless our friend is joking—and she’s Macnab’s sister—Jessie, if I remember rightly—
“‘Stalwart young Jessie,
The flower of—’”
“Come, Lumley, that will do—good-night!”