The only thing that
acknowledged and answered the clock was the red glow of the peats
on the hearth. To Cosmo, as he sat sunk in thought, the clock and
the fire seemed to be holding a silent talk. Presently came a great
and sudden blast of wind, which roused Cosmo, and made him bethink
himself that it was time to be going home. And for this there was
another reason besides the threatening storm: he had the night
before begun to read aloud one of Sir Walter's novels to the
assembled family, and Grizzie would be getting anxious for another
portion of it before she went to bed.
"I'm glaid to see ye sae muckle better, Grannie," he said. "I'll
say gude nicht noo, an' luik in again the morn."
"Weel, I'm obleeged to ye," replied the old woman. "There's been
but feow o' yer kin, be their fau'ts what they micht, wad forget
ony 'at luikit for a kin' word or a kin' deed!--Aggie, lass, ye'll
convoy him a bittock, willna ye?"
All the few in whom yet lingered any shadow of retainership towards
the fast-fading chieftainship of Glenwarlock, seemed to cherish the
notion that the heir of the house had to be tended and cared for
like a child--that was what they were in the world for. Doubtless a
pitying sense of the misfortunes of the family had much to do with
the feeling.
"There's nae occasion," and "I'll du that," said the two young
people in a breath.
Cosmo rose, and began to put on his plaid, crossing it over back
and chest to leave his arms free: that way the wind would get least
hold on him.
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