The Mistress occupied herself in putting things to rights in the parlour long after her husband had gone to the fields. She thought Lauderdale too wanted to be alone with Colin; and, with natural jealousy, could not permit the first word of counsel to come from any lips but her own. The mistress had no baby to occupy her in these days; the little one whom she had on her bosom at the opening of our history, who bore her own name and her own smile, and was the one maiden blossom of her life, had gone back to God who gave her; and, when her boys were at school, the gentle woman was alone. There was little doing in the dairy just then, and Mrs. Campbell had planned her occupations so as to have all the time that was possible to enjoy her son’s society. So she had no special call upon her at that moment, and lingered over her little business, till Lauderdale, who would fain have said his say, strayed out in despair, finding no room for him. “When you’ve finished your letter, Colin, you’ll find me on the hill,” he said, as he went out; and could not refrain from a murmur in his own mind at the troublesome cares of “thae women.” “They’re sweet to see about a house, and the place is hame where they are,” said the philosopher to himself with a sigh; “but, oh, such fykes as they ware their hearts on!” The mistress’s “fykes,” however, were over when the stranger left the house. She came softly to Colin’s table, where he was writing, and sat down beside him. As for Colin, he was so much absorbed in his letter that he did not observe his mother; and it was only when he lifted his head to consider a sentence, and found her before him, that he woke up, with a little start, out of that more agreeable occupation, and asked, “Do you want me?” with a look of annoyance which went to the mistress’s heart. “Yes, Colin, I want you just for a moment,” said his mother. “I want to speak to you of this new change in your life. Your father thinks nothing but it’s Sir Thomas Frankland you’re going to, to be tutor to his boys; but, oh, Colin, I ken better! It’s no the fine house and the new life that lights such light in my laddie’s eye. Colin, listen to me. She’s far above you in this world, though it’s no to be looked for that I could think ony woman was above you; but she’s a lady with mony wooers, and you’re but a poor man’s son. Oh, Colin, my man! dinna gang near that place, nor put yourself in the way of evil, if you havena confidence both in her and yoursel’. Do you think you can see her day by day and no break your heart? or do you think she’s worthy of a heart to be thrown away under her feet? Or, oh, my laddie! tell me this first of a’--do you think you could ask her, or she could consent, to lose fortune and grandeur for your sake? Colin, I’m no joking; it’s awfu’ earnest, whatever you may think. Tell me--if you’ve ony regard for your mother, or wish her ony kind of comfort the time you’re away.”