"Help ye, lassie! That will surely Betsy Landsborough do. Have no fear of that. They shall never steer ye gin ye like it not. That dour man o' mine has his orders frae the chief, belike, and in the mean time ye'll hae to bide wi' us. But there shall none hurt or molest ye, while Betsy, the wife of Alister, can win at them wi' her ten finger-nails."
"You speak like a Lowland woman," said Kate, ten minutes afterwards, when they found themselves in the little cabin in the stern of the ship. Kate was an excellent sailor, so that the plunging of the Sea Unicorn did not seriously affect her. By-and-by the heaving moderated as the ship turned tail to the land and sped away before a strong southeasterly wind towards the shores of England. Owing to the heavy sea it had been found utterly impossible to get the long-boat on board, and Captain Smith had reluctantly sent it back, to be cared for in the little port of Lis till his return.
The cabin of the Sea Unicorn was a narrow place, but it was dainty enough in its appointments, and the two small white berths were covered with white linen of wonderful softness.
Now the bitterest and most immediate of Kate's anxiety was over. She knew that for the present at least she was a prisoner in the hands of kindly people, and with one of her own sex on board. So it seemed as if she could not let her companion out of her sight.
"You have not yet told me why you speak like a Lowland woman," Kate said again to her new friend.
Betsy Landsborough had not heard the first time, being busied with the arrangement of various articles of dress in a dark closet by the side of the cabin.
"'Deed aye," she answered, "and what for no? Would ye hae me speak like thae muckle ill-favored sons 'o the peat-creel because for my sins are o' the Highland Host carried me away frae bonny Colmonel in Carrick in the year '79. Ever since which sorrowful day I have been the wife o' Alister McAlister, the tacksman of the Isle Suliscanna, near half-road across the Atlantic."
"Is your husband on board?" asked Kate.
"Aye, that he is; ye'll hae maybe seen mair o' him than ye like. For it was him that gat the chief's orders to bring ye here wi' him. He wad no hae muckle to say till ye. He is none ower gleg with the tongue at the best o' times. It was a year and a half before he understood mair o' my talk than juist 'Come here!' 'Gang there!' 'Stand oot o' the road o' me, or else I'll ding the head aff ye!'"
Kate smiled a little at the friendly sounding and natural accent of the Ayrshire woman, and though her path was still as dark as night before her, and she knew not whither she was being taken, a load consciously lifted from about her heart as she listened.