But indeed the cottage was quite close by now; they made their way slowly; when they reached it, the door was open; and here was the young man, with his sailor's cap in his hand, giving a few further directions, in Gaelic, to an old woman and a young girl of thirteen or fourteen who appeared to be the sole occupants of the earthen-floored hut. There was a peat-fire burning, and a pannikin slung over it. The old woman went into the other apartment—the "ben" of the cottage—and returned with a black bottle, and some sugar; and presently she had brewed a most potent liquor which, in two tea-cups, she presented to the young ladies, and insisted on their swallowing. They were seated on a rude bench by the grateful warmth of the peat; they were made to finish this fiery draught; and here were oat-cakes and milk besides. Life seemed slowly to come back to them—to stir in their veins. But the young man who had guided them hither? Well, he had disappeared.
After some little time Käthchen happened to turn and look round.
"Where has the gentleman gone?" she asked.
It was the young girl with the jet-black hair and the wild, timid eyes who made answer.
"I was told to take the ladies to Lochgarra House," said she, in excellent English, and with a very pretty pronunciation.
"You? It is nearly dark!" Käthchen exclaimed. "Why did he leave us?"
But here Mary interposed in her mild, suave fashion; and she regarded the girl with kindly eyes.
"Yes, I am sure you will be able to show us the way very well," said she. "Only you must tell your mother—is she your mother?"
"My grandmother, lady," was the answer.
"Well, tell your grandmother that you must stay the night at Lochgarra House; you cannot come back here so late. We will send you along in the morning; or I will come with you myself."