‘Dod! ye needna fash yersel’; a’ll do it canny-like. “Laird,” a’ll say, “Mr. Barclay would no have ye think it concairns him, but he’d like fine to ken if ye’re courtin’ Miss Raeburn. He came here speirin’ at me,” a’ll say----’ ‘You will say nothing of the sort,’ cried he. ‘Why I should even have mentioned it to you I cannot think.’ ‘A’ dinna understand that mysel’,’ replied Granny. All Barclay’s desire for discovery had flown before his keen anxiety to obliterate the matter from his companion’s mind. He cleared his throat noisily. ‘Let us get to business,’ he said. ‘What I came here for was not to talk; I have come to ask whether the repairs in the roof are satisfactory, and to see what has been done. I have had no time to do so before. My time is precious.’ ‘It’ll do weel eneuch. A’ let Whanland see it when he was in-by,’ replied she casually. ‘It’s my duty to give personal inspection to all repairs in tenants’ houses,’ said he, getting up. She rose also, and preceded him into the little scullery which opened off the back of the kitchen; it smelt violently of fish, for Jimmy’s working clothes hung on a peg by the door. Barclay’s nose wrinkled. She was pointing out the place he wished to see when a step sounded outside, and a figure passed the window. Someone knocked with the head of a stick upon the door. ‘Yon’s the laird!’ exclaimed Granny, hurrying back into the kitchen. Barclay’s heart was turned to water, for he knew that the old woman was quite likely to confront him with Speid, and demand in his name an answer to the questions he had been asking. He turned quickly from the door leading from scullery to yard, and lifted the latch softly. As he slipped out he passed Jimmy, who, with loud hissings, was grooming Rob Roy. ‘Tell your grandmother that I am in a hurry,’ he cried. ‘Tell her I am quite satisfied with the roof.’ ‘Sit down, Whanland,’ said Granny, dusting the wooden armchair as though the contact of the lawyer’s body had made it unfit for Gilbert’s use; ‘yon man rinnin’ awa’s Mr. Barclay. Dinna tak’ tent o’ him, but bide ye here till a’ tell ye this.’ The sun was getting low and its slanting rays streamed into the room. As Gilbert sat down his outline was black against the window. The light was burning gold behind him, and Granny could not see his face, or she would have noticed that he looked harassed and tired.