“He is far too heavy for you, Mrs. St. Clair,” exclaimed Fergus, hastening to relieve her. “I know mothers’ arms are generally strong, but still this big fellow is no light weight. What are you going to do with yourself this afternoon? Aunt Jeanie always takes a nap in Uncle Donald’s room, but I suppose you have not come to the age for napping.”
“No,” returned Fay with a smile; “but Jean has finished her preparation for the strange gentleman, and she wants to take baby down to Logill; Mrs. Mackay has promised her some eggs. It will do the boy good, will it not, Mrs. Duncan?” turning to the old lady; “and as I have been working all the morning, and it is such a lovely afternoon, I think I will go down to the falls.”
“That is an excellent idea,” returned Fergus with alacrity before his aunt could answer. He had to put down the carver to rub his hands, he was so pleased with the way things were turning out—Mrs. St. Clair safely at the falls, where they knew exactly where to find her; Jean, with the boy and her basket of eggs comfortably occupied all the afternoon; and Aunt Jeanie obliged to stay with Uncle Donald. Why, he would have the coast clear and no mistake. Sir Hugh would have no difficulty in making his explanations with the Manse parlor empty of its womankind.
He had received a second telegram, and knew that the expected visitor might be looked for in an hour’s time; but it was long before that that he saw Jean with the boy in one arm, and the basket on the other, strike out bravely down the Innery Road, from which a cross lane led in the direction of the village where the accommodating Mrs. Mackay lived.
A few minutes later Mrs. St. Clair passed the parlor window. It was a lovely May day, and she wore a dainty spring dress—a creamy silky fabric—and a little brown velvet hat, which particularly suited her. As she saw Fergus, she looked up and smiled, and then called Nero to order as he scampered amongst the flower beds.
“Ay, my lady, I have my grip of you now,” he observed, with a gleam in his eyes, as he turned away.
About twenty minutes later he heard the click of the gate, and saw a tall, fair-bearded man, in a tweed traveling suit, walking up the steep little path, and casting anxious glances at the windows. Mrs. Duncan saw him too.
“Ay, but he is a goodly man,” she said, half aloud. “I like a man to walk as though all the world belongs to him;” and for the first time a doubt crossed her mind, whether Fay’s childishness may not have been to blame; for Hugh Redmond’s handsome face and frank, careless manner always found favor in women’s eyes.
Fergus felt himself impressed by Sir Hugh’s lordly bearing; he felt an awkward, raw-boned Scotchman beside this grand-looking aristocratic man. As he went out into the porch, Sir Hugh put out his hand, and said, in a quick, agitated voice, “Mr. Duncan, you have made me your debtor for life, but we will talk of that presently. Will you take me to my wife, please?”
“Certainly, but Mrs. St. Clair—Lady Redmond, I mean—has gone down to the Rowans—the falls over yonder; shall we walk there at once, or will you come in and rest a little?” moved by the pale harassed look of the face before him. “You have had a long journey, Sir Hugh, and perhaps you would like to get rid of the dust.”