Gilbert stepped out into the middle of the way and held up his walking-stick. She swerved, stopped suddenly with her fore-feet well in front of her, and was going to turn when he sprang at the reins. As he grasped them she reared up, but only as a protest against interference, for she came down as quietly as if she had done nothing at which anyone could take offence. She had evidently fallen, for the bit was bent and all her side plastered with mud. He plucked a handful of grass and cleaned down the saddle before starting with her towards Garviekirk. There was no one to be seen, but there stood, in the distance, a roadside cottage whose inmates might, he thought, know something of the accident. He hurried forward. The cottage-door opened on the side-path, and, as he drew near, he saw the mare’s owner standing on the threshold, watching his approach. She had been original-looking on horseback and she was now a hundred times more so; for the traces of her fall were evident, and, on one side, she was coated with mud from head to heel. Her wig was askew, her arms akimbo, and her hat, which she held in her hand, was battered out of shape. She stood framed by the lintel, her feet set wide apart; as she contemplated Gilbert and the mare, she kept up a loud conversation with an unseen person inside the cottage. ‘Nonsense, woman!’ she was exclaiming as he stopped a few paces from her. ‘Come out and hold her while this gentleman helps me to mount. Sir, I am much obliged to you.’ As she spoke she walked round the animal in a critical search for damage. ‘She is quite sound, madam,’ said Gilbert. ‘I trotted her as I came to make sure of it. I hope you are not hurt yourself.’ ‘Thanky, no,’ she replied, rather absently. He laid the rein on the mare’s neck. The lady threw an impatient look at the house. ‘Am I to be kept waiting all day, Granny Stirk?’ she cried. There was a sound of pushing and scuffling, and an old woman carrying a clumsy wooden chair filled the doorway. She was short and thin, and had the remains of the most marked good looks. The lady broke into a torrent of speech. ‘What do I want with that? Do you suppose I have come to such a pass that I cannot mount my horse without four wooden legs to help me up? Put it down, you old fool, and come here as I bid you--do you hear?’ Granny Stirk advanced steadily with the chair in front of her. She might have looked as though protecting herself with it had her expression been less decided. ‘Put it down, I tell you. God bless me, am I a cripple? Leave her head, sir--she will stand--and do me the favour to mount me.’ Gilbert complied, and, putting his hand under the stranger’s splashed boot, tossed her easily into the saddle. She sat a moment gathering up the reins and settling her skirt; then, with a hurried word of thanks, she trotted off, standing up in her stirrup as she went to look over at the mare’s feet. Granny had put down her burden and was staring at Gilbert with great interest.