“The very words, my lady—the very thing I said to our guidman and the bairns at hame. ‘It’s time,’ says I, ‘that Katie was learnin’ something fit for her natural place and lot. What kind of a wife will she ever make to a puir man, coming straight out of Kellie Castle, and Lady Anne’s very cha’mer?’ No that I’m meaning it’s needful that she should get a puir man, Lady Anne; but a bien man in the parish is no like ane of your grand lords and earls; and if Katie does as weel as her mother before her, she’ll hae a better portion than she deserves.” Indignantly Katie tossed her curls from her forehead, bent her little flushed face over the frame, and began to ply her needle as if for a wager. “But, Mrs Stewart,” urged Lady Anne, “Katie’s birthday is not till May, and she’s only fifteen then. Never mind the man—there’s plenty time; but as long as we’re at Kellie, and not far away from you, Mrs Stewart, why should not Katie live all her life with me?” Katie glanced up archly, saucily, but said nothing. “It wouldna be right, my lady. In the first place, you’ll no be aye at Kellie; you’ll get folk you like better than Katie Stewart; and Katie must depend on naebody’s will and pleasure. I’ll have it said of nae bairn of mine that she sorned on a stranger. Na, she must come hame.” Lady Anne’s eyes filled with tears. The little proud belligerent mother stood triumphant and imperious before the fire. The petulant wilful favourite pouted over her frame; and Lady Anne looked from one to the other with overflowing eyes. “My sister Betty’s away, and my sister Janet’s away,” said Anne Erskine sadly; “I’ve nobody but Katie now. If you take Katie away, Mrs Stewart, I’ll break my heart.” Little Katie put away her frame without saying a word, and coming silently to the side of the high chair, knelt down, and looked earnestly into Lady Anne’s drooping face. There was some wonder in the look—a little awe—and then she laid down her soft cheek upon that hand of Lady Anne’s, on which already some tears had fallen, and taking the other hand into her own, continued to look up with a strange, grave, sudden apprehension of the love which had been lavished on her so long. Anne Erskine’s tears fell softly on the earnest uplooking face, and Mrs Stewart’s heart was melted. “Weel, Lady Anne, it’s no my nature to do a hard thing to onybody. Keep the cuttie; I’ll no seek her as lang as I can do without her. I gie ye my word.” CHAPTER IX.