Ronald was enraged at the fellow’s pertinacity, but his fierce reply was interrupted by the soft voice of a female.
"Gude sake! surely I should ken his voice! O Jock! Jock! what hae ye been sayin’? It’s the young captain o’ Lochisla. It’s maister Ronald Stuart o’ the tower—Miss Alice’s Joe, come home frae the wars! Haud awa, ye muckle gowk Jock! Oh, I ken ye weel, sir; for many a blithe kiss ye’ve gi’en me to carry to Miss Alice."
In a twinkling the hall door was opened, and pretty Jessie Cavers, now Mrs. J. Nevermiss, stood palpitating and trembling, with her night-cap on and her feet unshod, by the side of her stout and buirdly helpmate, whose confusion and earnest apologies Ronald at once cut short, for he well knew that honest Jock had been labouring under a mistake, for the unpleasant effect of which he endeavoured to make amends by a hearty but respectful welcome. Ronald shook the snow-flakes from his dress, and from the ample plumage of his bonnet, as they lighted him through a cold but splendid lobby into the library, where a fire was hastily prepared by the nimble little hands of Jessie.
Ronald experienced another disappointment. Lord Lisle and the family were in Edinburgh, where they always spent the winter season. In his hurry to reach the North, he had quite forgotten that; but he was now informed that they were all "as weel as he could wuss them to be," and Jock, while he stood near the door twirling his bonnet, assured him with a sly look, that Miss Alice "was a bonnier and a grander young leddy noo, and had turned the heads o’ hauf the country side. Young Corrieoich, and many mair, were gone clean wud aboot her."
Old Mrs. Kantweel, the housekeeper, next appeared to bid him welcome.
"O sir!" said she, "ye seem sair distressed and unsettled. Ye’ll hae been up the glen, whar there are nane noo, alake! to greet ye at your homecomin’."
"Would to Heaven I had been shot at Waterloo, or any where else, rather than have lived till now!" exclaimed he bitterly, flinging away his bonnet and sword, and sinking into a chair. It stung him to the soul to be pitied by servants, however well and kindly they might mean.
"Dinna tak’ on sae deeply, sir," continued the matron; "it’s sair to bide, but—"