He was about to ask him if he
would like a lift, when the figure rose, and cried joyfully,
"Jamie Doo!"
James Dow staggered back, and was nearly thrown down by the
slow-rolling wheel; for the voice was Alec Forbes's. He gasped for
breath, and felt as if he were recovering from a sudden stroke of
paralysis, during which everything about him had passed away and a new
order come in. All that he was capable of was to cry _wo!_ to his
horse.
There stood Alec, in rags, with a face thin but brown???-healthy, bold,
and firm. He looked ten years older standing there in the moonlight.
"The Lord preserve's!" cried Dow, and could say no more.
"He has preserved me, ye see, Jeamie. Hoo's my mother?"
"She's brawly, brawly, Mr Alec. The Lord preserve's! She's been
terrible aboot ye. Ye maunna gang in upo' her. It wad kill her."
"I hae a grainy sense left, Jeamie. But I'm awfu' tired. Ye maun jist
turn yer cairt and tak' me hame. I'll be worth a lade o' coal to my
mither ony gait. An' syne ye can brak it till her."
Without another word, Dow turned his horse, helped Alec into the cart,
covered him with his coat and some straw, and strode away beside, not
knowing whether he was walking in a dream, or in a real starry night.
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