"No, I did not," he made answer; and then he in his turn addressed the driver: "Did you, John?"
"No," said the driver, looking straight ahead of him, and with a curiously impassive expression of face—an expression of face that convinced Mr. Purdie, who was prone to suspicion, that the man had lied.
It was a kind of bewilderment to her, this taking possession: the going up the wide stone steps, the gazing round the lofty oak hall, the finding herself waited upon by those shy-eyed soft-spoken Highland maids. But when she was in the retirement of her own room, whither she had been accompanied by the faithful Kate, one thing stood out clear to her mind from amid all the long day's doings.
"Käthchen," said she—and she was pacing up and down the room—or going from window to window without looking out—as was some-times her habit when she was excited—"I mean to have my own way in this. It is not enough that the tax should be abolished—it is not enough. No doubt those poor people were saved from the risk of floods; but on the other hand the property was permanently improved; and it is monstrous that they should be expected to go on paying for ever. I tell you they have paid too much already; and I mean to see things made right. What do I care for Mr. Purdie, or the neighbouring landlords? If Mr. Purdie has any business to talk of when he comes along this evening—well, my little piece of business must take precedence. I am going to give Mr. Purdie the first of his instructions."
She paused for a second—and then she spoke with rather a proud and determined air: "Fifteen years of that tax to be remitted and returned!"
"Godiva!" said Käthchen, again; but there was not much sarcasm in her smiling eyes.
CHAPTER II.
YOUNG DONALD.
"And if I am not the laird," said Miss Stanley, as the three of them took their places at table—for Mr. Purdie had accepted an invitation, and had come along from the inn to dine with the two young ladies—"if I am not the laird, I want to know who is the laird: I mean, I want to know all about my rival. What was it the stubborn old crofter called him? Young Donald—Young Ross of Heimra—well, tell me all about him, Mr. Purdie!"
But to Mary's surprise, the Little Red Dwarf remained sternly mute. Yet there was no one in the room besides themselves except the maid who was waiting at table—a tall and good-looking Highland lass, whose pretty way of speech, and gentle manner, and shy eyes had already made a pleasant impression on her young mistress. All the same, the factor remained silent until the girl had gone.