She was pointing out the place he wished to see when a step sounded outside, and a figure passed the window. Someone knocked with the head of a stick upon the door.
‘Yon’s the laird!’ exclaimed Granny, hurrying back into the kitchen.
Barclay’s heart was turned to water, for he knew that the old woman was quite likely to confront him with Speid, and demand in his name an answer to the questions he had been asking. He turned quickly from the door leading from scullery to yard, and lifted the latch softly. As he slipped out he passed Jimmy, who, with loud hissings, was grooming Rob Roy.
‘Tell your grandmother that I am in a hurry,’ he cried. ‘Tell her I am quite satisfied with the roof.’
‘Sit down, Whanland,’ said Granny, dusting the wooden armchair as though the contact of the lawyer’s body had made it unfit for Gilbert’s use; ‘yon man rinnin’ awa’s Mr. Barclay. Dinna tak’ tent o’ him, but bide ye here till a’ tell ye this.’
The sun was getting low and its slanting rays streamed into the room. As Gilbert sat down his outline was black against the window. The light was burning gold behind him, and Granny could not see his face, or she would have noticed that he looked harassed and tired.
It was pure loyalty which had made her repress Barclay, for curiosity was strong in her, and it had cost her something to forego the pleasure of extracting what knowledge she could. But though she had denied herself this, she meant to speak freely to Gilbert. The lawyer had escaped through her fingers and robbed her of further sport, but she was determined that Speid should know of his questions. She resented them as a great impertinence to him, and as an even greater one to herself. She was inclined to be suspicious of people in general, and everything connected with her landlord made her smell the battle afar off, like Job’s war-horse, and prepare to range herself on his side.
‘Laird, are ye to get married?’ said she, seating herself opposite to the young man.
‘Not that I am aware of,’ said Gilbert. ‘Why do you ask, Granny? Do you think I ought to?’
‘A’ couldna say as to that, but Mr. Barclay says ye should.’