Cathy moved aside as if she had been stung.
Miss Faith hazarded the next question rather timidly: "Was he tall or short?"
"Neither the one nor the other."
Still further questioning elicited no remarkable items of information. He was not very stout, neither was he particularly thin; had a pleasant voice and manner; was somewhat sallow in complexion; and was becoming decidedly grey; did not wear spectacles, and had shrewd and rather humorous eyes.
"Where was he going to live?"
"Did not ask him; is at present putting up at the Deer-hound. Comes from Carlisle, so he says."
"From Carlisle?" in a faint voice from Miss Faith.
"Yes. His name is Stewart, Angus Stewart, or rather Dr. Stewart, as he is now. On the whole he is a gentlemanly sort of fellow, and likely to prove an acquisition to our little circle. I say, Cath, won't Mrs. Morris set her cap at him?"
"I think we had better walk on now," returned Cathy, abruptly, at the mention of the name. She had started violently, and had shot a quick, sidelong glance at Miss Faith. "Come, Miss Faith, we shall be late for tea."
"Yes; we shall be late," she returned, mechanically, putting a shaking hand on the girl's arm, as though to steady herself. There was not a tinge of color in Miss Faith's fair face; her breath came and went unevenly; she spoke in little gasps. "Are you sure that we heard right, Cathy? did your brother say his name was Stewart?"