"Oh no--oh no!" exclaimed Sir Murray, impatiently. "But this place, Maudlaine--I should like it kept as it is: the timber, you know; and you would not drain the lake?"

"Oh no! of course not. But, I say, you know, I--a--a--a suppose it will be all right?"

"Right--all right?" said Sir Murray, whose face wore a cadaverous hue.

"What do you mean by all right?"

"Well, you know, I mean about Isa. I haven't said anything pointed to her yet, though we two have made it all right. She won't refuse me, eh?"

"Refuse? No: absurd!"

"Well, I don't know so much about that. I get thinking sometimes that she ain't so very far gone with me. Snubs me, you know,--turns huffy, and that sort of thing."

"My dear Maudlaine," said Sir Murray, with a sneering laugh, which there was no need of the other interpreting, "you are too timid--too diffident for a man of your years."

"Well, I don't know," said his lordship, "I don't think I am; but she's a style of woman I'm not used to. Don't seem dazzled, and all that sort of thing, you know. Some women would be ready to jump out of their skins to be a viscountess, and by-and-by an earl's wife; but she don't-- not a bit--not that sort of woman; and if I never said a word about it, I don't believe that she would, even if I went on visiting here for years."

"Most likely not," said Sir Murray, dryly; "but you see that it is as I say--you are too timid--too diffident."

"I say, though, you know," said his lordship, "was her mother that style of woman--quiet and fond of weed-hunting--botany, you know?"

"You will oblige me greatly by not referring to the late Lady Gernon,"

said Sir Murray, stiffly.

"Oh, beg pardon, you know. No offence meant."

"It is granted," said Sir Murray; and then, in a different tone: "There goes the dressing-bell."

The gentlemen strolled up in silence to the entrance, where the major-domo--Mr Alexander McCray--who seemed to rule supreme at Merland, now stood waiting the arrival of his master.

"I'm thinking, Sir Mooray," he said deferentially, "that ye'd like a pony-carriage sent to meet my young lady."

"What--has she not returned?" said Sir Murray, anxiously.

"Nay, Sir Mooray, not yet awhile, and I should hae sent wi'oot saying a word, but that I thocht my laird here would tell us which road she gaed."

"Towards the waste--the snipe ground, you know," said his lordship, on being appealed to.

"Send at once, McCray. No: go yourself," said Sir Murray.

"I'll go with him," said his lordship, who now seemed about wakening to the fact that he had grossly neglected his intended; and five minutes after the old Scot was driving briskly towards the village.

"Ye dinna ought to have left her, my laird," said McCray, st.u.r.dily.

"She's ower young to be left all alone."

"What? Were you speaking to me?" said his lordship, haughtily.

"Ay, that I was," said McCray. "Ye mauna mind me, my laird, for I'm a'most like her foster-fairther, and nursed her on my knee mony's the time."

His lordship did not condescend to answer, and the lanes were traversed at a good rattling pace; but though McCray pulled up from time to time to make inquiries, the only news he learned was that Miss Gernon had been seen to go towards the marsh, but not to return; while one cottager volunteered the information that young Squire Norton, the sailor, went that way too in the morning time, and that neither of them had been seen to come back.

This news had no effect upon Lord George Maudlaine, but a close observer would have seen that the wrinkles upon Alexander McCray's brow grew a little more deeply marked.

"He's a douce laddie," muttered McCray, as he drove on, "and warth a score sic birkies as this one; but it was ill-luck his meeting as they did that day, and it winna do--it winna do! We shall be having sair wark yet, I'm afraid. They're kittlecattle these womenkind, and I nearly suffered shipwreck with them mysel'."

"There's no one here," said his lordship, now condescending to speak, as they drove to where the road faded away into a faint track, which, in its turn, led to the pine-grove.

"We'll get doon and hopple the ponies, my laird, and walk on to the pine-wood. My young leddie may be in there."

"Confound his barbarous tongue! Why don't he speak English?" muttered the Viscount. "I don't understand one-half he says."

But McCray's acts were plain enough, even if his words were obscure; and, descending, he secured the ponies, and was about to start towards the wood, already looking black and gloomy, when one of Brace Norton's cries for help smote his ear.

"Gude save me! Hearken to that, noo!" cried McCray, excitedly.

"Only a marsh bird," said his lordship, contemptuously.

"Gude save us! Come alang; that's a soul in sair peril, my laird," And starting in the direction of the cry, as fast as the treacherous nature of the ground would allow, McCray soon came in sight of that which made him redouble his pace.

"Here! Help, here!" cried a voice from behind. "I'm sinking!" When, with a glance over his shoulder, McCray saw that his companion was already above his knees in a soft place.

"De'il help ye--ye ill-far'ed, handle-named loon!" muttered McCray, fiercely. "Why couldna ye walk like a Christian, and not get in that way? I've ither work in hand."

Then hastening on, he stepped from tuft to tuft, with an agility not to have been expected in a man of his years, till well within reach of words:

"Haud oup, then," he cried--"haud oup, my bra'e laddie, I'm with ye.

There!" he cried, as he threw himself at full length upon the yielding moss, and reached to where, ghastly of face, Brace still clung, and held up his charge--"there! I ha'e yer hand. Loose the rushes, and grip it weel--grip it weel."

"Her first--take her first," sobbed Brace, hoa.r.s.ely.

"That I will!" cried McCray, working himself forward. "Gude save us, though, it's sair wet work here, and I'm a deal heavier than I thocht.

Noo I ha'e her, and she's leet as swansdoon aifter a'. The puir bairn, I ha'e her safe, but she's half dead. Lie there, my pretty, while I pu'

out the laddie. Noo, my laddie; that's reet--that's reet; the ither hand. Noo again. Gude--gude! another pu'. Hech! laddie, mind, or I shall be in wi ye. Noo then, anither pu'! That's weel! I ha'e ye noo.

Puir lad, ye're cauld indeed, but ye're safe, and reet too, so lie there while I tak' the la.s.sie."

In effect, with the exertion of his great strength, McCray, broad-shouldered and iron muscled, had drawn both Isa and Brace from what had so nearly been a watery grave, but not without clanger to himself. Twice over the moss gave way with the stress placed upon it; but at last he had both lying safe beside him, and not before it was time, for Brace was completely exhausted.

"Let me carry her," said Brace, hoa.r.s.ely, as he staggered to his feet; but only to sink down again, his numbed limbs refusing their office.

"Ye're a bra'e laddie," said the Scot; "but your sperrit's stronger than your power. I'll carry the la.s.sie to the carriage, and be back for you in a minute."

"Never mind me," groaned Brace. "I'm only cold. For Heaven's sake drive off with her, for she is nearly dead with her long immersion."

But before Brace's words were well uttered, McCray was st.u.r.dily trudging over the sinking way with his dripping burden, which he placed in the pony-carriage, covered with a rug, and then returned to help the young man, who was crawling towards him.

"Bra'e laddie, ye air," muttered McCray. "Ye found and savit her, I ken, and noo, half dead yersel', ready to help, while that loon stands stoock there shouting for succour, and afraid to move. Here, hi! my laird, move yersel', man, and, Gude sake, get out of that!"

"Here, give me your hand, my good fellow," cried his lordship: "I'm in a dangerous spot."

McCray growled fiercely as he went first and helped Brace to the chaise.