"Laird, laird! they've ta'en awa' Phemy, an' we dinna ken whaur to
luik for her," cried the poor father aloud.
Almost the same instant, and as if he had issued from the ground, the
laird stood before them. The men started back with astonishment--soon
changed into pity, for there was light enough to see how miserable the
poor fellow looked. Neither exposure nor privation had thus weighed
upon him: he was simply dying of fear. Having greeted Joseph with
embarrassment, he kept glancing doubtfully at Malcolm, as if ready
to run on his least movement. In few words Joseph explained their
quest--with trembling voice and tears that would not be denied
enforcing the tale. Ere he had done the laird's jaw had fallen and
further speech was impossible to him. But by gestures sad and plain
enough he indicated that he knew nothing of her, and had supposed her
safe at home with her parents. In vain they tried to persuade him
to go back with them, promising every protection: for sole answer he
shook his head mournfully.
There came a sudden gust of wind among the branches. Joseph, little
used to trees and their ways with the wind, turned toward the sound,
and Malcolm unconsciously followed his movement. When they turned
again the laird had vanished, and they took their way homeward in
sadness.
What passed next with the laird can be but conjectured. It came to be
well enough known afterward where he had been hiding; and had it not
been dusk as they came down the river-bank the two men might, looking
up to the bridge from below, have had it suggested to them.
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