But there was a more immediate danger to be considered. As the two girls had driven up they had heard a good deal of shrill calling from croft to croft and from house to house; and now there had assembled a crowd of women—a crowd hostile and menacing—that came swarming up, uttering all sorts of angry and reproachful cries. Each time that the sheriff's officer's assistants appeared at the door of the cottage there was another outburst of hooting and groaning; while here and there a bare-armed virago had furnished herself with an apron-full of rubbish—potato-peelings, cabbage-stalks, stale fish, and the like—and these unsavoury missiles began to hurtle through the air, though for the most part they were badly aimed. The sheriff's officer affected to pay no heed. He calmly watched the proceedings of his men; the rubbish flew past him unregarded; and the women had not yet taken to stones.
But Käthchen beheld this advancing crowd with undisguised alarm.
"Mary," she said, hurriedly, "don't you think we should go back to the waggonette? Those people think it is you who are setting the sheriff's officers on—they are hooting at us as well——"
There could be no doubt of the fact; and the infuriated women were drawing nearer and nearer; while, if their taunts and epithets were to her unintelligible, their wrathful glances and threatening gestures were unmistakeable. Mary Stanley found herself helpless. She could not explain to them. She had not the self-possession with which to address this exasperated mob, even if she knew the language in which alone it was possible to appeal to them. Nor dared she retreat, for would not that be simply inviting a general attack? So she was standing, irresolute and bewildered, when there was a new diversion of interest: the man Macdonald made his appearance. She looked at him; she hardly recognised him—so ashen-grey had his cheeks become with excitement and wrath. One trembling hand held a gun; the other he clenched and shook in the face of the officer as he went up to him.
"I—not owing any money!" said the Russian-looking crofter, and his features were working with passion, and his eyes were filled with a baleful light under his shaggy eyebrows. "No—no—God's curse to me if I pay money when I not owing any money! Go away, now—go away back to Dingwall—or it is murder there will be——"
Mary was very pale; but she went forward to him all the same.
"Put away that gun," she said, and she spoke with firmness, though her lips had lost their natural colour. "Put away that gun! These men are doing their duty—you have brought it on yourself."
He turned upon her savagely.
"You—it's not you—my laird—Ross of Heimra, he my laird—you come here, ay, to steal the land—and—and put me from my croft—ay—will you be putting me from my croft?"
In his fury he could find no more English; but he advanced towards her, his clenched fist raised; and here it was that Käthchen (though her heart was beating wildly) thrust herself forward between them.