Suddenly there was a loud noise at the door.  It was not so much a knock as the fall of some heavy body against it.  Don’s startled bark roused all from their seats, and Peter made for the door at once, having first quieted the dog by the forcible argument of a well-directed kick.  “It’s a mon,” he cried in surprise as he opened the door, “faint wi’ the cauld!” And at once strong arms lifted the prostrate form out of the snow and bore it to the warm hearthside.

It was a man—­young and handsome.  He was well dressed, and his thick gloves, gaiters and strong boots, together with his warm clothing, showed him to be not altogether unprovided against the cold whose unusual potency had overcome him.  He had evidently tramped for some distance in deep snow, and gave proofs of more than one fall into the drifts.

The men busied themselves in efforts for his restoration.  Maggie Jean produced whiskey, which they administered in small doses; Jock and Peter drew off the man’s sodden boots and socks, and chafed his hands and feet in the warmth of the fire.  Old Davie stood regarding the stranger attentively during these proceedings.

“It’s himsel’, I doot,” he remarked to Jock at last.  “D’ye ken him?”

“Aye, aye,” said Jock dispassionately.  “I ken him fine.  I see him in the toon last market-day.  It’s himsel’, sure enough!”

“Eh!  Puir body!” exclaimed old Davie.  “And mayhe the creetur wes on his wye t’ oor still.”

“Nae doot o’ thot,” remarked Peter, while Jock wisely nodded assent.

“No’ but what he’d find it gey hard to come up wi’t in the sna’ and a’!” added the latter, in a tone of unrestrained congratulation.

They spoke in half-whispers, and never ceased their charitable ministrations the while.  Not a word passed on the subject again, for in a few minutes the stranger had gained consciousness.  He looked in a puzzled way from one face to another, not realizing for the moment where he was.  Davie was the first to speak.

“The storm’s bin ower muckle for ye, sir, I’m thinkin’,” he said kindly.  “It’s weel ye chanced to find y’r wye t’ oor wee hoosachie.  It’s nae muckle to be prood on; but it’s better ner bein’ ootside in siclike weather, I doot!”

Bonar suddenly became aware of the identity of his hosts.  He had no doubt that this was Davie Forbes, whom he had come to spy upon and denounce!  But he was no coward, and quickly reassured himself that duty alone had led him.  Still, he was indebted to his enemies!

“I’m greatly obliged to you, indeed,” he said with genuine gratitude.  “I probably owe my life to the good luck that led me to your door.”

“Na, na, mon,” replied Davie.  “Ye’ve naething to thank us for.  But ye’ll need a bit supper!” he added, as Bonar rose to his feet and seemed about to prepare for departure. (He felt rather unsteady on his legs, but go he must, as he assured himself resolutely.)