"You are satisfied?"

"Satisfied! My dear sir, I am congratulating myself every hour upon my luck in being able to exchange my poor services for such comfortable quarters and excellent sport."

"Kenneth owes his life to you, and I shall never be sufficiently grateful."

"Well, he owes it to me because I was the nearest doctor. Any medical man would have done the same."

"You do not make enough of your skill."

"Nonsense, my dear sir! If you are satisfied, I am."

"And you feel sure that he is mending fast?"

"Oh yes, certain. The head trouble has pa.s.sed now. Poor lad! he must have had a terrible fall. I went with your forester yesterday, and he showed me the place. It's little short of a miracle that he escaped alive."

That night Max was in Kenneth's room, waiting for him to wake up before he said good-night, for the night was hot and the invalid had gone to sleep.

Max was half leaning out of the open window, gazing at the sea sparkling with light, so that it was hard to tell where the stars ended and the reflections began.

Max was thinking. He had had his regular letters from his father, one of which was in answer to an apologetic epistle on his stopping so long, and hoping that he might be allowed to stay till Kenneth was quite recovered.

Mr Blande's letter, from the old Inn of Court, told his son that he was not to think of returning, but to make himself at home at Dunroe, and do everything he could to become acquainted with the place and people, at the same time learning all he could about the fishing and shooting.

"Make yourself a country gentleman as fast as you can, and even if the Mackhais are a little stiff and distant with you, do not resent it or take any notice of the slight, but stay."

"That would be very unpleasant if they did behave slightingly," said Max to himself. "Oh, he's awake now."

He left the window and went back to Kenneth's bedside, but it was only to find that he had merely moved restlessly, and was still fast asleep.

Max did not go back, but stood there patiently watching the sleeping lad, till a faint sound made him start, and he stared at the window, feeling half paralysed, for dimly seen against the darkness there as a head visible. Then there was more rustling, and the chest appeared; a couple of arms were pa.s.sed in, and their owner began to draw himself up.

Burglars! an attack upon the place! What could it mean?

The intruder's face caught the light from the lamp, as he threw one leg over the window-sill, and sat there, as if hesitating about coming farther.

"Scoodrach!" cried Max. "How did you get up there?"

"She climbed up."

"But how dangerous! What made you do that?"

"She wanted to see ta young Chief, and they wadna let her come."

"How foolish of you! you might have slipped and fallen."

"They let you see her, and they tell her she shall na come. She will see ta young Mackhai."

He said this menacingly, as if Max were one of those who kept him away.

"But he is very ill."

"Scoodrach tid not make her ill."

"No, of course not; but go now, there's a good fellow. You'll see him as soon as he's better."

"She wants to see her the noo," growled the lad sullenly; "and she tries to keep her away."

"Nothing of the kind! Why, I tell you every morning how he is."

"Yes, but she wants to see hersel'. She's going to tie, and they wadna let her come oop."

"Kenneth is not going to die; he's much better."

"She wants to see for hersel'."

"Will you go down, then, as soon as you've seen?"

"She wants to know why Scoodrach canna stay, when a strange Southron stops always in ta place."

"I am a visitor here, and was asked to stay," said Max rather stiffly; but his words were not heard, for the young gillie had dropped into the room, and ran barelegged and barefoot over the carpet to the bedside, to bend down and gaze intently in Kenneth's face.

Just then a low cough was heard on the stair, and Scoodrach darted to the window, crept out, and disappeared, just as the door-handle faintly rattled.

Max went quickly to the window, but could only see something shadowy creeping downward, and he would have stopped gazing down at the climber, whose progress had a strange fascination for him, if the doctor's voice had not taken his attention.

"Perhaps you had better shut the window. Lovely night. Has he been sleeping quietly?"

"Yes."

"That's right. Going on capitally; but do you know what time it is?"

"Yes, nearly twelve. I was waiting for him to wake up and say good-night before I went."

"Then you'll have to wait till to-morrow morning, my dear sir, for he is in a deep, satisfying sleep, and I don't suppose he'll wake again.

Good-night."

He shook hands and left the room, when Max's first step was to run to the window, and open it gently, but there was not a sound to be heard but the lapping of the waves among the rocks below.

Time after time The Mackhai, whose manner seemed greatly softened to him, suggested to Max that he should go fishing, shooting, or try one of the ponies.

"The keeper will go with you," he said; "and you seem to be wasting so much time. Why, we are turning you into quite a hospital nurse."

"Oh no; I would rather not go without Kenneth," said Max hastily; and The Mackhai said no more, being in doubt in his own mind whether the refusal was from cowardice or from disinclination to leave the invalid, who grew more fretful and impatient every day that he approached convalescence.

"Why can't you go and fish, or shoot, or do something, Max? You haven't tried for the trout yet. How I do hate to see you sitting there gaping at a fellow!"

"Did I gape?"

"Yes; you're always gaping, or bothering me to take one of old Curzon's doses. I say!"