‘And what for are ye no here--you that sent the Laird awa’?’ she cried. ‘Puir lad! He cam’ in-by to me, and says he, “Ye’ve been aye fine to me, Granny,” says he. And a’ just asket him, for a’ kenned him verra well, “Whaur is she?” says I. “It’s a’ done, Granny,” says he, “it’s a’ done!” An’ he sat down to the fire just wearied-like. “An’ are ye no to get her?” says I. “Na,” says he. “_Aweel, ye’ll get better_,” says I. A’ tell’t him that, Miss Raeburn--but he wadna believe it, puir lad.’ Cecilia had not spoken to one living creature who had met Gilbert Speid since they parted and her eyes filled with tears; she slid from her horse and stood weeping before the old woman. Her long self-control gave way, for the picture raised by Granny’s tongue unnerved her so completely that she seemed to be losing hold of everything but her own despair. She had not wept since the day she had heard the wild geese. ‘Ay! ye may greet,’ said the Queen of the Cadgers, ‘ye’ve plenty to greet for! Was there ever a lad like Whanland?’ Cecilia could not speak for sobs; when the barriers of such a nature as hers are broken down there is no power that can stay the flood. ‘He thocht the world o’ you,’ continued Granny, folding her arms; ‘there was naething braw eneuch for you wi’ him. There wasna mony that kent him as weel as a’ kent him. He didna say verra muckle, but it was sair to see him.’ ‘Granny! Granny! have pity!’ cried Cecilia, ‘I cannot bear this! Oh, you don’t understand! I love him with all my heart and I shall never see him again. You are so cruel, Granny Stirk--where are the reins? I am going now.’ Blind with her tears, she groped about in the horse’s mane. ‘What ailed ye to let him awa’ then?’ exclaimed the old woman, laying her hand on the bridle. ‘I could not help it. I cannot tell you, Granny, but I had to give him up. Don’t ask me--I was obliged to give him up though I loved him better than anything in the world. It was not my fault; he knew it. I am so miserable--so miserable!’ ‘An’ you that’s to be married to the Laird o’ Fullarton’s nephew!’ cried Granny Stirk. ‘I wish I were dead,’ sobbed Cecilia. Though Granny knew nothing of the tangle in which her companion was held, she knew something of life and she knew real trouble when she saw it. Her fierceness against her was turned into a dawning pity. How any woman could give up a man she loved was a mystery to her, and how any woman could give up the Laird of Whanland, incomprehensible. But the ways of the gentry were past finding out. ‘Come awa’ in,’ she said, as Cecilia dried her eyes, ‘and a’ll cry on Macquean to tak’ the horse. Jimmy’s at the stable an’ he’ll mind it; ’twas him brocht me here i’ the cairt.’ She took the rein from her and walked round the house, leading the animal. ‘Macquean, ye thrawn brute!’ she cried, as she went, ‘tak’ yon horse to Jimmy. He’ll no touch ye, man!’