“What is the matter?” he cried with alarm. He was evidently very unwilling to be detained. “Your father is expecting me, Miss Mary,” he said, “and I hope your sister----” “It is just about Kirsteen, Glendochart, that I wish to speak to you.” “What is it?” he said. “Is she ill?--has anything happened?” “There has just this happened,” said Mary. “I would not let ye have a trouble or a shock that I could spare you--Kirsteen has left her home.” “Left her home!” His ruddy colour disappeared in a moment; he threw himself off his horse. “What do you mean? I do not understand you!” he cried. “Glendochart,” said Mary seriously, “nobody has told me; but I don’t think you were meaning to make any secret of it, that it was after Kirsteen you were coming to our house.” The elderly lover coloured a little. “I would not hide it from you that that was my intention. It was her,” he said with a little apologetic wave of his hand, “that I saw first of the family, and upon her I fixed my fancy; not that all the daughters of Drumcarro were not worthy of every admiration.” “Oh, Glendochart, ye need not apologize. Fancy is free, as is well known. I saw it well from the first, for a sister’s eyne are quick to observe; but, if ye will believe me, the one that never noticed was just Kirsteen herself.” “Not possible!” said the wooer, with this time a little flush of offence. “But it is just very possible--her mind was not set on anything of the kind. And it was her opinion that just friendship and kindness--for all the family----” “Did she bid ye tell me this?” “No, no--she said nothing, poor thing. If she had but spoken either to me, that could have explained for her, or to you that would never have forced her----” “Forced her!” cried the old beau, who had always prided himself upon the fact that his was neither the form nor the eye, “Which youthful maidens wont to fly.” “Well, I know that!” said Mary with fervour; “and there are few that would have needed any fleeching, if I may say so. But I reckon that she just heard it from my father, very suddenly. My father is a dour man, Glendochart. Whatever ye may have to say he will never hear ye speak. He will listen to the boys--whiles--but to us never. Just you must do this, or you must do that, and not a word more.” “Drumcarro,” said Glendochart, now full of passion, “has done me a cruel wrong in putting my suit before any lady in such a way. Your sister was free to have taken it or left it, Miss Mary. Me press a proposition that was not acceptable!--not for all the world!” “I am well aware of that,” said Mary with feeling; “but my father is a dour man, and he would say, ‘Not a word! just take the offer and be thankful.’ And indeed,” said Mary diffidently, “in most cases there would be little difficulty, but Kirsteen is one that is very much set upon her own way.” “She had but to say so,” cried the offended suitor; “I promise she would have had no more trouble with me!”