“Tamm! but she’ll rue tat wuss!” cried a hoarse voice, which came from the shadow beyond the circle of the revellers.
“Who spoke?” demanded the Pensassenach, in vain endeavouring to dart her eyes into the impenetrable darkness, by which the bright field of light was surrounded.
“Tamm her, but she’ll ken tat soon enough!” replied the same voice; but the Pensassenach could see nothing but a pair of eyes, that, for the fraction of an instant, caught a strong reflection of the red light from the bonfire, glared fearfully at her, and then were gone.
“Lord hae a care o’ huss! I wuss that I had had naething ado wi’ this matter,” exclaimed Mr. Dallas, very much fear-stricken.
“Seize that man, whoever he may be!” cried the Pensassenach. But he was nowhere to be found. All the feeble and unsteady attempts of the drunken people to catch him were thrown away. The Pensassenach was vexed and mortified. The voice was sterner than John Smith’s. But she could by no means banish the idea that it was his. She inquired and found that he was no where about the place, and she retired home to her chamber, filled with doubt regarding him, or rather more than half convinced that she nourished a traitor in her house.
Appearances on the following morning were by no means such as to overcome these suspicions.
“Is that you, Morag?” demanded the Pensassenach, as awakened at a later hour than usual by her maid, she started up from that profound sleep, which the extraordinary fatigue and excitement of the previous evening had thrown her into, and began to huddle on such parts of her clothes as lay nearest at hand.
“Aye, Memm, it’s me,” replied Morag, “Fat wull she be doin’ for mulks? Shon Smiss has driven awa a’ ta wholl kye lang or it was skreichs o’ tay.”
“What said you?” demanded the Pensassenach. “John Smith has driven away all our cows! Traitorous thief and robber that he is, I thought as much!”
“Toot na! Shon’s nae fiefs nor rubbers neither,” replied Morag, in anything but a pleased tone.