‘I askit her that. “Granny,” says she, “a’ canna tell ye; a’ couldna help mysel’. There’s things a’ canna speak o’. A’ wish a’ was dead,” she says.--An’ there’s Whanland that doesna ken it!’ continued the old woman. ‘Sir, we’ll need to get him hame afore it’s ower late.’ Somerville was silent, feeling as though he were being invited to plunge into a torrent. He was certain that every word Granny said was true, for, though he had only seen Cecilia once since the news of her engagement was public, that once had been enough to show him that she was wretched. Some miserable tragedy was certainly brewing. ‘Suppose Mr. Speid has forgotten her?’ he hazarded. ‘_Him_ forget?’ cried Granny, rising with a movement which made her earrings swing. ‘By Jarvit, Captain, a’ didna think ye was sic a fule!’ ‘Perhaps I’m not,’ said he, rather nettled; ‘but what made you come to me?’ ‘Was a’ to gang to the Laird o’ Fullarton that’s uncle to yon red-faced loon? Was a’ to gang to yon tod Barclay that’s aye wi’ him an’ that doesna like the Laird--a’ ken fine he doesna. Was a’ to gang to they twa auld maidies i’ the Close that doesna understand naething? Not me!’ said Granny, tossing her earrings again. Captain Somerville put his hand on the back of his neck and ran it up over the top of his head till his nose got in the way; his hair looked like a field of oats after a rain-shower. Things did seem bad. ‘Ye’ll need to write him--that’s what ye’ll need to do. Tell him if he doesna come hame, it’ll be ower late,’ continued Granny. ‘But he may not want to come, Mrs. Stirk--he may have changed his mind. Remember, it is more than a year and a half since he left.’ ‘Have a’ no tell’t ye?’ cried she. ‘There’s naebody kens the Laird as a’ ken him. Gang yer ain gait, sir, but, when Whanland kens the truth, an’ when yon lassie’s awa’ wi’ the wrang lad, you an’ me’ll need to think shame o’ oursels!’ There was scarcely anyone who could more fitly appreciate the horror of Cecilia’s position than the sailor. Long years of a companionship, whose naked uncongenialness he had decently draped with loyalty, were behind him to give point to Granny’s words; also, he thought of her face as he had last seen it; and he had that highest and rarest courage, the courage that is not afraid of responsibility. The rock on which second-rate characters go to pieces had no terrors for him. The silence now was so deep that Mrs. Somerville, on the mat outside, began to fear a move and made as quiet a retreat as she could to the breakfast-room. She had heard enough to interest her considerably. Though the talk was resumed before she was out of earshot, she did not dare to return, for she saw, looking at the clock, that the maid might come up at any moment to clear the breakfast-table.