Explore "John Burnet of Barns" by John Buchan on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I rushed up the street, leaving the gates swinging wide behind me, and down the lane to where Nicol waited. In brief, panting words I told him my tale. He heard it without a movement, save to turn his horse's head up the street. I swung myself into the saddle, and, with no more delay, we made for our lodgings.
"There is but one thing that we may do," said I. "The night is an ill one, but if it is ill for us 'tis ill for them. " And at the words I groaned, for I thought of my poor Marjory in the storm and cold.