“Where her mother’s daughter might be in any caprice of spirit I would not like to guess,” said Miss Mary, dubious. “And I think, if I was the man, it would be the first thing I would be making sure about.” “What would she fly with me for if it was not for love?” he asked. “Ask a woman that,” she went on. “Only a woman, and only some kinds of women, could tell you that. For a hundred reasons good enough for herself, though not for responsibility.” He bit his lips in perplexity, feeling all at sea, the only thing clear to his mind being that Nan was alone on the moor, her morning fire sending a smoke to the sky, expectation bringing her now and then to the door to see if her ambassador was in view. For the sake of that sweet vision he was bound to put another question to Miss Mary--to ask her if the reference by her brother to Old Islay bore the import he had given it. He braced himself to it--a most unpleasant task. “It’s true,” she said. “Do you mean to tell me you did not know he was the man?” “I did not. And the money?” “Oh, the money!” said Miss Mary oddly, as if now a great deal was explained to her. “Did Nan hear anything of that?” “She knows everything--except the man’s name. She was too angry to hear that.” “Except the man’s name,” repeated Miss Mary. “She did not know it was Young Islay.” She turned as she spoke, and busied herself with a duster where there was no need for it. And when she showed him her face again, there were tears there, not for her own old trials, but for his. “You must go back there,” she said firmly, though her lips were trembling, “and you will tell Miss Nan that whatever Old Islay would do, his son would never put that affront on her. At the worst, the money was no more than a tocher with the lad; it was their start in Drimlee and Maam that are now together for the sake of an old vanity of the factors.... You must tell all that,” she went on, paying no heed to the perplexity in his face. “It would be unfair to do less, my dear; it will be wiser to do all. Then you will do the other thing--if need be--what you should have done first and foremost; youll find out if the girl is in earnest about yourself or only indulging a cantrip like her mother’s daughter. Ask her--ask her--oh! what need I be telling you? If you have not the words in your heart I need not be putting them in your mouth. Run away with you now!” and she pushed him to the door like a child that had been caressed and counselled. He was for going eagerly without a word more, but she cried him back. For a moment she clung to his arm as if she was reluctant to part with him. “Oh!” she cried, laughing, and yet with tears in her voice, “a bonny-like man to be asking her without having anything to offer.” He would have interrupted her, but she would not let him. “Go your ways,” she told him, “and bring her back with you if you can. Miss Mary has something in a stocking foot, and no long need for it.” CHAPTER XXXIII--THE PROMISE