And indeed it was. And not only that, but here was the gentle-spoken Barbara, profuse of compassion and pretty speeches; and she had brought with her an abundance of blankets—not shawls and wraps, or any feminine knickknackery—but substantial and capacious blankets, along with many smaller comforts and cordials. And when they had all four got into the shut landau (for the girls would not allow their young guide to go on the box) Mary said,—
"But who took the news to Lochgarra House, Barbara? Who told you to bring the carriage?"
"Oh, just the young master himself," said Barbara, with smiling eyes, as she was busy with her ministrations. And then she corrected herself. "It was just young Mr. Ross of Heimra. And did Miss Stanley not know who he was?"
But Miss Stanley had known very well. And Käthchen had guessed.
CHAPTER VI.
GILLEASBUIG MÒR.
Käthchen was standing at the window, looking out upon the wild and wayward sea, that was all brilliantly dappled with sun and cloud, while Mary was at her dressing-table, preparing to go down to breakfast. It was a blowy and blusterous morning, after the storm; but the welcome sunlight was abroad again; and the heavens shone serene and fair.
"Never no more," Käthchen was solemnly remarking, as she regarded the wide plain of hurrying waves and the white sea-birds that dipped and sailed and circled in the light, "never no more shall I have a word to say against smuggled brandy. By rights, Mary, you and I ought both to be in a raging fever this morning; and you look as well as ever you did in your life, and I have only a little bit of a headache. Nor against poaching: I have nothing to say against poaching—when it suddenly produces somebody to get you out of a hideous and horrible morass, worse than any quicksand that ever I heard of. Do you know, I hardly dared put my foot to the floor this morning: I was afraid that frightful sensation would come back, as if I were standing on nothing, and just about to sink. Wasn't it terrible? I know I shall dream about it to my dying day." And then she said: "I wonder what took young Ross of Heimra up to that out-of-the-way place? Not poaching; for he had neither rod nor gun."
"More likely selling brandy to that old woman," said Mary; and then she added, with a touch of scorn: "A pretty occupation for a Highland gentleman!"
"Well, Mary," said Käthchen, reflectively. "I confess that story does not sound to me true. I should like to have some proof before believing it. No doubt it is just possible he may have wanted to make up to these poor people for Mr. Purdie having banished the illicit stills; and perhaps he could not afford to get them spirits for nothing; and so he may charge them what he himself has paid. But it is not like what a Highland laird would do, however poor he might be—and in a kind of way he still stands in the position of laird towards these people. No, it does not sound probable; but anyhow I mean to find out—if we are going along to-day to thank the old woman for her kindness of last night. And whether it was poaching, or smuggling, or whatever it was, that took young Mr. Ross up to that hut, it was a very lucky thing for us: we should never have seen the morning if we had been left there."