MORAG _is restlessly moving backwards and forwards. The old woman
is seated on a low stool beside the peat fire in the centre of
the floor._
_The room is scantily furnished and the women are poorly clad.
MORAG is barefooted. At the back is the door that leads to the
outside. On the left of the door is a small window. On the right
side of the room there is a door that opens into a barn. MORAG
stands for a moment at the window, looking out._
MORAG. It is the wild night outside.
MARY STEWART. Is the snow still coming down?
MORAG. It is that, then--dancing and swirling with the wind too,
and never stopping at all. Aye, and so black I cannot see the
other side of the road.
MARY STEWART. That is good.
(MORAG _moves across the floor and stops irresolutely. She is
restless, expectant._)
MORAG. Will I be putting the light in the window?
MARY STEWART. Why should you be doing that? You have not heard
his call (_turns eagerly_), have you?
MORAG (_with sign of head_). No, but the light in the window would
show him all is well.
MARY STEWART. It would not, then! The light was to be put there
_after_ we had heard the signal.
MORAG. But on a night like this he may have been calling for long
and we never hear him.
MARY STEWART. Do not be so anxious, Morag. Keep to what he says.
Put more peat on the fire now and sit down.
MORAG (_with increasing excitement_). I canna, I canna! There is
that in me that tells me something is going to befall us this
night. Oh, that wind! Hear to it, sobbing round the house as if
it brought some poor lost soul up to the door, and we refusing it
shelter.
MARY STEWART. Do not be fretting yourself like that. Do as I bid
you. Put more peats to the fire.
MORAG (_at the wicker peat-basket_). Never since I.... What was
that?
(_Both listen for a moment._)
MARY STEWART. It was just the wind; it is rising more. A sore
night for them that are out in the heather.
(MORAG _puts peat on the fire without speaking._)
MARY STEWART. Did you notice were there many people going by
to-day?
MORAG. No. After daybreak the redcoats came by from Struan; and
there was no more till nine, when an old man like the Catechist
from Killichonan passed. At four o'clock, just when the dark was
falling, a horseman with a lad holding to the stirrup, and
running fast, went by towards Rannoch.
MARY STEWART. But no more redcoats?
MORAG (_shaking her head_). The road has been as quiet as the
hills, and they as quiet as the grave. Do you think will he come?
MARY STEWART. Is it you think I have the gift, girl, that you ask
me that? All I know is that it is five days since he was here for
meat and drink for himself and for the others--five days and five
nights, mind you; and little enough he took away; and those in
hiding no' used to such sore lying, I'll be thinking. He must try
to get through to-night. But that quietness, with no one to be
seen from daylight till dark, I do not like it, Morag. They must
know something. They must be watching.
(_A sound is heard by both women. They stand listening._)
MARY STEWART. Haste you with the light, Morag.
MORAG. But it came from the back of the house--from the hillside.
MARY STEWART. Do as I tell you. The other side may be watched.
(_A candle is lit and placed in the window. Girl goes hurrying to
the door._)
MARY STEWART. Stop, stop! Would you be opening the door with a
light like that shining from the house? A man would be seen
against it in the doorway for a mile. And who knows what eyes may
be watching? Put out the light now and cover the fire.
(_Room is reduced to semi-darkness, and the door unbarred. Someone
enters._)
MORAG. You are cold, Dugald!
(STEWART, _very exhausted, signs assent._)
MORAG. And wet, oh, wet through and through!
STEWART. Erricht Brig was guarded, well guarded. I had to win
across the water.
(_The old woman has now relit candle and taken away plaid from
fire._)