Grannie dropped her needles and caught at her apron. “Dear heart alive, the child's herself again!” she said.
“Has anything happened?” said Kate. “What time is it?”
“Monday morning, bogh, thank the Lord for all His mercies!” cried Grannie.
The familiar voice came again. It came from the direction of the stairs. “Who's that?” said Kate, whispering fearfully.
“Pete himself, Kirry. Aw well! Aw dear!”
“Pete!” cried Kate in terror.
“Aw, no, woman, but a living man come back again. No fear of him, bogh! Not dead at all, but worth twenty dead men yet, and he brought you safe out of the storm.”
“The storm?”
“Yes, the storm, woman. There warn such a storm on the island I don't know the years. He found you in the tholthan up the glen. Lost your way in the wind, it's like, and no wonder. But let me call father. Father! father! Chut! the man's as deaf as little Tom Hommy. Father!” called Grannie, bustling about at the stair-head in a half-demented way.
There was some commotion below, and the voice on the stairs was saying, “This way? No, sir. That way, if you plaze.”