At her entrance Adam Hepburn looked keenly into the woman’s face, and when she was gone, he turned to his sister-in-law, and said briefly, "I mistrust the countenance of that woman, Jane. Under what circumstances was she dismissed from the services of the laird?" "I did not pursue the subject with her, Adam. She said she could not agree with her neighbours in the kitchen, and that her ladyship had blamed her for the disturbances there," replied Jane Gray. "Knowing her to be a capable worker, I engaged her gladly; for though she might be of a quarrelsome temper, she could not well fall out with herself, and I am not one to bandy words with a serving woman." "Keep an eye on her, Jane, and be careful of your words in her hearing. I misdoubt me very much if she be not a spy sent hither by Sir Thomas Hamilton, who in the zeal of his loyalty to the king will not be slow to forget his honour as a gentleman," said Adam slowly. "I lost faith in the laird from that day he threatened me with danger to your father, if I did not turn out to McLean’s preaching." Jane Gray sighed. If foes were to be found in the very household, among those who broke and ate bread at the table, on whom could trust be stayed? Her brother-in-law’s words were simply a re-echo of her own doubts and fears, which, however, she kept as yet to herself. After some further conversation they separated for the night, but Adam Hepburn did not close an eye, for, under his own roof-tree, his heart was torn anew by the violence of his sorrow, and ached with intolerable yearning for the "touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that was still!" On the morrow he went about his duties as usual, superintending the work on the farm, it having been almost at a standstill for many weeks. It was more to keep himself in occupation than out of any interest in the thing, for even the ordinary business of getting and spending had ceased to occupy the minds of men. That afternoon, when Jane Gray went out as usual to feed her poultry, she had occasion to step round to the corn-yard in search of some young chickens which had deserted their usual roost, and which she feared might become the prey of the foxes that frequently paid a visit to Rowallan, and which that very spring had made off with some of the lambs. Her soft shoes made no noise on the turf, therefore she did not alarm two people sheltering behind a stack of straw, and busily engrossed in conversation. She came upon them quite suddenly, and to her astonishment, who should it be but Martha Miller, the maid, and the curate of Inverburn! Both looked considerably confused, and Martha threw her apron over her head, and turned to go.