“Cheviot knows me as well as you do, Nathan,” observed the earl, patting the dog's large head.
“Ay, he wad na ha' allowed any one but your lordship and my lady to come nigh the hut,” said the wood-cutter.
“You must find him a good companion in this solitary spot, Nathan,” remarked the countess.
“'Deed I do, my lady. I dunna know what I and my dame should do without Cheviot.”
“We have come to have a look at the hut, Nathan,” said the earl. “Show us inside it, will you?”
Just then a good-looking woman—not more than thirty-five—plainly, yet not unbecomingly dressed, came forth.
Without any hesitation or embarrassment, Dame Black-law at once ushered the noble pair into the cottage.
Necessarily it was very small, but it looked clean and tidy. It contained only a couple of rooms: in the largest, on which the door opened, the inmates had their meals; it was furnished with a chest of drawers, a small oak table, an arm-chair, a rush-bottomed chair, and a settee.
Besides these there was a clock, and in one corner was a cupboard containing pewter plates, three or four drinking-mugs, certain articles of crockery, and a brace of squat-looking Dutch bottles. Fixed against the wall on the side opposite the cupboard was a crucifix, for Nathan and his wife were Papists. On the hearth burnt a cheerful wood fire, and above it hung a large iron pot. Over the mantelpiece was placed a gun. The inner room, about half the size of the other, held the bed of the worthy couple, who had no family.
“What will you say, dame, when I tell you that I am coming to spend a few days with you?” remarked the earl.