It was excellent advice, if it could have been properly followed; but unluckily, just at the very moment when, with all her might and main, she twisted the head of the cob to the side of the road, there happened to be a deep ditch there. Over the whole thing went—Ronald and Mrs. Menzies being pitched clean into the hedge; mother Paterson, not hanging on so well, being actually deposited on the other side, but in a gradual fashion. Oddly enough, the cob, with one or two pawings of his forefeet, got on to the road again, and the trap righted itself; while a farm-lad who had been coming along ran to the beast’s head and held him. As it turned out, there was no harm done at all. But that, at first, was apparently not Kate Menzies’s impression. ’Ronald, Ronald,’ she cried, and she clung to him frantically, ’I’m dying—I’m dying—kiss me!’ He had got a grip of her, and was getting her on to her feet again. ’There’s nothing the matter wi’ ye, woman,’ he said, with unnecessary roughness. ’Ronald, Ronald—I’m hurt—I’m dying—kiss me!’ she cried, and she would have fallen away from him, but that he gathered her up, and set her upright on the road. ’There’s nothing the matter wi’ ye—what? tumbling into a hawthorn hedge?—pull yourself together, woman! It’s old mother Paterson that may have been hurt.’ He left her unceremoniously to get over to the other side of the hedge, and as he went off she darted a look of anger—of violent rage, even—towards him, which happily he did not see. Moreover, she had to calm herself; the farm lad was looking on. And when at length mother Paterson—who was merely terrified, and was quite uninjured—was hoisted over or through the hedge, and they all prepared to resume their seats in the trap, Kate Menzies was apparently quite collected and mistress of herself, though her face was somewhat pale, and her manner was distinctly reserved and cold. She gave the lad a couple of shillings; got up and took the reins; waited until the others were seated, and then drove away without a word. Mother Paterson was loud in her thankfulness over such a providential escape; she had only had her wrists scratched slightly. Ronald was sensible of her silence, though he could not well guess the cause of it. Perhaps the fright had sobered down her high spirits; at all events, she was now more circumspect with her driving; and, as her attention was so much devoted to the cob, it was not for him to interfere. As they drew near Glasgow, however, she relaxed the cold severity of her manner, and made a few observations; and when they came in sight of St. Rollox, she even condescended to ask him whether he would not go on with them to the tavern and have some supper with them as usual. ’I ought to go back to my work,’ said he, ’and that’s the truth. But it would be a glum ending for such an unusual holiday as this.’