CHAPTER XLIII.

Threads drawn together.

Winsome took her grandmother out one afternoon into the rich mellow August light, when the lower corn-fields were glimmering with misty green shot underneath with faintest blonde, and the sandy knowes were fast yellowing.  The blithe old lady was getting back some of her strength, and it seemed possible that once again she might be able to go round the house without even the assistance of an arm.

“And what is this I hear,” said Mistress Skirving, “that the daft young laird frae the Castle has rin’ aff wi’ that cottar’s lassie, Jess Kissock, an’ marriet her at Gretna Green.  It’s juist no possible.”

“But, grandma, it is quite true, for Jock Gordon brought the news.  He saw them postin’ back from Gretna wi’ four horses!”

“An’ what says his mither, the Lady Elizabeth?”

“They say that she’s delighted,” said Winsome.

“That’s a lee, at ony rate!” said the mistress of Craig Ronald, without a moment’s hesitation.  She knew the Lady Elizabeth,

“They say,” said Winsome, “that Jess can make them do all that she wants at the Castle.”

“Gin she gars them pit doon new carpets, she’ll do wonders,” said her grandmother, acidly.  She came of a good family, and did not like mesalliances, though she had been said to have made one herself.

But there was no misdoubting the fact that Jess had done her sick nursing well, and had possessed herself in honourable and lawful wedlock of the Honourable Agnew Greatorix—­and that too, apparently with the consent of the Lady Elizabeth.

“What took them to Gretna, then?” said Winsome’s grandmother.

“Well, grandmammy, you see, the Castle folk are Catholic, and would not have a minister; an’ Jess, though a queer Christian, as well as maybe to show her power and be romantic, would have no priest or minister either, but must go to Gretna.  So they’re back again, and Jock Gordon says that she’ll comb his hair.  He has to be in by seven o’clock now,” said Winsome, smiling.

“Wha’s ben wi’ yer grandfaither?” after a pause, Mistress Skirving asked irrelevantly.

“Only Mr. Welsh from the manse,” said Winsome.  “I suppose he came to see grandfather about the packet I took to the manse a month ago.  Grandmother, why does Mr. Welsh come so seldom to Craig Ronald?” she asked.

But her grandmother was shaking in a strange way.

“I have not heard any noise,” she said.  “You had better go in and see.”

Winsome stole to the door and looked within.  She saw the minister with his head on the swathed knees of her grandfather.  The old man had laid his hand upon the grey hair of the kneeling minister.  Awed and solemnised, Winsome drew back.

She told her grandmother what she had seen, and the old lady said nothing for the space of a quarter of an hour.  At the end of that time she said: