"Good-morning, Mr. Fordyce!" said the doctor. "This is a bad business,
but it might have been worse! Not a soul injured but one!"

"Souls don't commonly get injured by accident!" returned the laird, with
a cold smile that was far from discourteous. "Stick to the body, doctor!
There you know something!"

"It's a truth, laird!" answered the doctor--but added to himself--"Well!
it's awful to hear the truth from some mouths!"

The laird spoke no word of objection or of welcome. They carried the
poor fellow into the house, following its mistress to a room, where,
with the help of her one domestic, and instructed by the doctor, she
soon had a bed prepared for him. Then away rode the doctor at full speed
to fetch the appliances necessary, leaving the laird standing by the
bed, with a look of mild dissatisfaction, but not a whisper of
opposition.

It was the guest-chamber to which George Crawford had been carried, a
room far more comfortable than a stranger might, from the aspect of the
house, have believed possible. Everything in it was old-fashioned, and,
having been dismantled, it was not in apple-pie order; but it was
rapidly and silently restored to its humble ideal; and when the doctor,
after an incredibly brief absence, returned with his assistant, he
seemed both surprised and pleased at the change.

"He must have some one to sit up with him, Miss Fordyce," he said, when
all was done.

"I will myself," she answered. "But you must give me exact directions,