“There,” said he; “no more at present.  I will call up and see you to-morrow morning, as I go to the police office to identify the villain.  Meantime, take a dram, dear Peggy, and get home to bed.  The night is cold, and see that you wrap yourself well up to keep out the wind and in the spirit; it’s good whisky.”

Shortly afterwards she was on her way home, with more than blasted hopes of what she had travelled for.

His uncle the man he had robbed!  Even with all her forced composedness, this seemed too much—­ay, so much too much, that she was totally overpowered.  She paused to recover strength; and, looking forward, saw a thin flying shadow coming up to her, with a shriek of delight; and immediately she was hugged rapturously and kissed all over by little Jeannie, whose movements, as they ever were—­so agile, so quick, so Protean—­appeared to her, now that she was stolid with despair, as the postures and gestures of a creature appearing in a dream.

“Oh, I know all,” she cried; “don’t speak—­nay, wait now till I return.”

And the creature was off like a September meteor disappearing in the west, as if to make up again to the sun, far down away behind the hills from whence it had been struck off in the height of the day.

What can the strange creature mean?  But she had had experience of her, and knew the instinctive divination that got at objects and results where reason in full-grown man would syllogize into the darkness of despair.

Nor was it long before she is running back, leaping with all the abandon of a romp, crying—­

“I will save dear Charlie yet; for I love him as much as I hate that old curmudgeon.”

“What does the girl mean?  Whaur was you, bairn?” said her mother.

“Oh mother, how cold it is for you!  Wrap the cloak about you.”

“But what is it that you mean, Jeannie?”

“We shall be home by-and-by; come.”

And, putting an arm round her mother’s waist, she impelled her forward with the strength of her wythe of an arm.

“Come, come, there are ghosts about these woods;” and then she cowered, but still impelled.

Nor did the mother press the question she had already put twice; for, as we have said, she knew the nature of the girl, who ever took her own way, and had the art to make that way either filial obedience or loving conciliation.

“Oh, I’m so frightened for these ghosts!” she continued.  “You know there was a murder here once upon a time.  They’re so like myself—­wicked, and won’t answer when they’re spoken to, as I would not answer you, dear mother, just now; but wait till to-morrow, and you shall see that I am your own loving Jeannie.”

“Weel, weel, bairn, we will see.  But, oh, I’m muckle afraid; d’ye know, Jeannie, Charlie has been robbing!  And wha, think ye, was the man—­wha but—­”

“Hush, hush, mother, I know it all already; but let me beneath your cloak, I’m so frightened.”