A snort came through the misty gloom. By this time it was very dark, and Randall could hear the voices as they approached. “What’s the woman greeting for? Her bairns?—her bairns? I would just like to ken what suld ail her bairns—little mischiefs! They’re warm at somebody’s ingle-neuk, Ise warrant. That wee Davie’s an imp o’ Satan; neither fricht nor bogles will harm him. Come this road, woman. What gart ye leave the lantern? If there werena better wits than yours”— Jenny’s voice was interrupted by a sudden footstep crushing the bramble branches on the side of the way, and by a sudden glow of light thrown full upon the dazzled eyes of little Jessie, who left Randall’s hand with a cry of joy—“Oh, it’s the leddy—we’re safe at hame.” The lantern flashed about through the darkness. Randall’s heart beat loudly. With a great start, he recognised the voice which gave kindly welcome to the strayed child, and he could distinguish the outline of her figure, as she shaded the lantern with her hand; then she raised it—he felt the light suddenly burst upon his face—another moment, and it was gone. Little Jessie flew back to him dismayed; voice and figure and light had disappeared as they came; one other step upon the brambles, and they were alone once more. He had no time to marvel or to follow, for now the mother and Jenny, suddenly drawing close to them, fell upon the lost children, with cries of mingled blame and joy. “It was the gentleman brought us hame.” “Thanks to the gentleman—would he no come in and rest?—he would be far out of his way—the guidman would take a lantern, and convoy him”—and a hundred other anxious volunteerings of gratitude poured upon Randall’s ears. “I must go on—I must go on!” He burst past them impatiently; he did not know where the house was, or if she had gone home; but Menie had seen him, and Menie he must see.