The world outside was full of warring winds and plashing rains, into which the yokels went at last reluctantly, and when they were gone I fell asleep, wakening once only for a moment when my wet clothes were being taken from the room. CHAPTER XLIV WHEREIN THE SHOES OF FORTUNE BRING ME HOME I came down from my cam-ceiled room to a breakfast by candle-light in a morning that was yet stormy. The landlord himself waited on me ['twas no other than Ralph Craig that's now retired at the Whinnell), and he had a score of apologies for his servant lass that had slept in too long, as he clumsily set a table with his own hand, bringing in its equipment in single pieces. There was a nervousness in his manner that escaped me for a little in the candle-light, but I saw it finally with some wonder, rueing I had agreed to have breakfast here at all, and had not taken my horse, now recovered of his lameness, and pushed on out of a neighbourhood where I had no right in common sense to be. If the meal was slow of coming it was hearty enough, though the host embarrassed me too much with his attentions. He was clearly interested in my personality. “It's not the first time ye've been in the 'Red Lion,'” said he with an assurance that made me stare. “And what way should you be thinking that?” I asked, beginning to feel more anxious about my position. “Oh, jist a surmise o' my ain,” he answered. “Ye kent your way to the stable in the dark, and then--and then there's whiles a twang o' the Mearns in your speech.” This was certainly coming too close! I hastened through my breakfast, paid my lawing, and ordered out my horse. That took so long that I surmised the man was wilfully detaining me. “This fellow has certainly some project to my detriment,” I told myself, and as speedily as I might got into the saddle. Then he said what left no doubt: “They'll be gey glad to see ye at the Hazel Den, Mr. Greig.” I felt a stound of anguish at the words that might in other circumstances have been true but now were so remote from it. “You seem to have a very gleg eye in your head,” I said, “and to have a great interest in my own affairs.” “No offence, Mr. Paul, no offence!” said he civilly, and indeed abashed. “There's a lassie in the kitchen that was ance your mither's servant and she kent your shoes.” “I hope then you'll say nothing about my being here to any one--for the sake of the servant's old mistress--that was my mother.” “That _was_ your mither!” he repeated. “And what for no' yet? She'll be prood to see ye hame.” “Is it well with them up there?” I eagerly asked.