hequers" hostler, in reply to questions put by Sir Murray
Gernon, who had drawn his hat down over his eyes, and turned up the
collar of his coat, as though to prevent his being recognised.

"What boy, sir? Can't say, sir. Looked like lad returning from harvest
work. Quite a stranger to these parts, sir."

Without another word, Sir Murray Gernon turned his horse's head, and
rode out of the yard, followed by McCray, who clung to him as if he had
been his shadow; but the horses were now tired, unused as they were to
much exertion, and it was getting close upon midnight when the baronet
and his servant rode into the stable-yard at Merland Castle.

Sir Murray asked no questions. It was plain enough, from the silence,
that there was no news; so throwing his bridle to a groom, his act was
closely imitated by McCray, who followed him into the library.

"I'm sorry for the puir body, wherever she is," muttered McCray; "but,
perhaps, after all, there's naething the matter. Onyhow, such a ride,
and such a wetting, desarves a drappie of toddy, and perhaps Sir Mooray
may ask me to take it. I'll follow him, anyhow, for how do I know
whether he's done wi' me?"

Book 1, Chapter XXXVI.

JANE DECLARES.

McCray stood watching his master with attentive eye, as, apparently
ignorant of his presence, the baronet--drenched as he was with rain and
perspiration--threw himself into a chair, and covered his face with his
hands.

The gardener stood on one leg, then on the other, then leaned on a
chair-back, putting himself into every posture that would give him a
little ease, for he was well-nigh exhausted. But no notice took Sir
Murray. He was apparently buried in himself; and, at last, unable to
draw his attention by coughing and shuffling about, Sandy McCray
prepared to speak.

"He's greeting aboot her, puir laddie," he muttered to himself; "but, a'
the same, he might ha' brought out the whuskee. We're mair free with
the wee drappie up north." Then, aloud: "Hoot, then, Sir Mooray, it's a
bad habit to sit in wet clouts. Hadna ye better tak' just a wet o' some
kind o' sperrits? I think a little whuskee wad do ye nae hairm."

"You here still?" exclaimed Sir Murray; and then, angrily, as a hand was
laid upon the handle of the door: "Who's that? I am engaged."

But the door opened, and, to Sandy McCray's astonishment, Jane crept in,
white as a sheet, as if from some great horror; but, all the same,
carrying tenderly, as she h