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Updated: June 1, 2025
"This is my nevoy Dickson," said Mrs. Morran. "He's gaun to stretch his legs ayont the burn, and come back by the Ayr road. But I'll be blithe to tak' my tea wi' ye, Elspeth.... Now, Dickson, I'll expect ye hame on the chap o' seeven." He crossed the rising stream on a swaying plank and struck into the moorland, as Dougal had ordered, keeping the bald top of Grey Carrick before him.
But if ye're my nevoy ye'll hae to keep up my credit, for we're a bauld and siccar lot." Half an hour later there was a furious dissension when Dickson attempted to pay for the night's entertainment. Mrs. Morran would have none of it. "Ye're no' awa' yet," she said tartly, and the matter was complicated by Heritage's refusal to take part in the debate.
"I tell you, they're broke. Listen, it's horses. Ay, it's the police, but it was the Die-Hards that did the job.... Here! They mustn't escape. Have the police had the sense to send men to the Garplefoot?" Mrs. Morran, a figure like an ancient prophetess, with her tartan shawl lashing in the gale, clutched him by the shoulder. "Doun to the waterside and stop them. Ye'll no' be beat by wee laddies!
There were the lights of Dalquharter or rather a single light, for the inhabitants went early to bed. His intention was to seek quarters with Mrs. Morran, when his eye caught a gleam in a hollow of the moor a little to the east. He knew it for the camp-fire around which Dougal's warriors bivouacked.
Mrs. Morran looked once at Saskia, and then did a thing which she had not done since her girlhood. She curtseyed. "I'm proud to see ye here, Mem. Off wi' your things, and I'll get ye dry claes, Losh, ye're fair soppin' And your shoon! Ye maun change your feet.... Dickson! Awa' up to the loft, and dinna you stir till I give ye a cry. The leddies will change by the fire.
Morran," said Dickson impressively, "is whether you think there's anything in that boy's story?" "I think it's maist likely true. He's a terrible impident callant, but he's no' a leear." "Then you think that a gang of ruffians have got two lone women shut up in that house for their own purposes?" "I wadna wonder." "But it's ridiculous! This is a Christian and law-abiding country.
But with you, Mem, it would be a different matter. They wouldn't disbelieve you. So I want you to come with me, and to come at once, for God knows how soon our need will be sore. We'll leave your cousin with Mrs. Morran in the village, for bed's the place for her, and then you and me will be off on our business." The girl looked at Heritage, who nodded. "It's the only way," he said.
Her grave face wore the tenderness which comes from affectionate reminiscence. "There was never sic a laddie as young Maister Quentin. No' a week gaed by but he was in here, cryin', 'Phemie Morran, I've come till my tea! Fine he likit my treacle scones, puir man. There wasna ane in the countryside sae bauld a rider at the hunt, or sic a skeely fisher.
"We must create a diversion," he said. "I'm for the Tower, and you laddies must come with me. We'll maybe see a chance. Oh, but I wish I had my wee pistol." "If ye're gaun there, Dickson, I'm comin' wi' ye," Mrs Morran announced. Her words revealed to Dickson the preposterousness of the whole situation, and for all his anxiety he laughed.
Morran said, not unkindly, that he looked "like a wull-cat glowerin' through a whin buss." "How are you, Dougal?" Dickson asked genially. "Is the peace of nature smoothing out the creases in your poor little soul?" "What's that ye say?" "Oh, just what I heard a man say in Glasgow. How have you got on?" "No' so bad. Your telegram was sent this mornin'. Auld Bill took it in to Kirkmichael.
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