If she had flattered herself that, amid the somewhat secluded life all led at Craigmhor, any fancy Colville had for Blanche would speedily manifest itself, she was doomed to disappointment--angry disappointment, and worse; for, if the stories Mademoiselle Rosette told were true, the captain had spent somewhat too much of his time wandering, rod in hand, on the banks of the May, and tarrying for afternoon tea at Birkwoodbrae. The result of all this was that Mary and Ellinor had become painfully conscious that many who were their friends before had now begun to view them coldly and distantly, why or wherefore, in their innocence, they knew not, because they were ignorant of malevolent hints regarding them dropped to chance visitors at Craigmhor, by elevation of the eyebrows, shrugs of the shoulder, or the impatient wave of a fan, if their names were mentioned; the ladies there--mother and daughter--were leaving nothing undone to injure them in the estimation of all, and even spoke of them as 'young women who were above doing their duty in that state of life to which Providence had called them.' A consciousness of all this added to their new mortification, and increased their anxiety to be gone, and they worked away at their arrangements in a species of suppressed excitement, and Dr. Wodrow was still in Edinburgh. It was neither a Sacramental Fast-day nor a Sunday at Birkwoodbrae, yet a strange stillness, as if death were there again, brooded over all the place; the house with its roses and creepers, the garden with its now untended flowers, the empty meadow, and the lovely silver birches; and poor Robert Wodrow, as sadly he approached the house for the last time, felt conscious of this as he passed, and with a bitter sigh looked around him. Even Jack's bark was unheard; the scythe lay among the rich clover, the gate that led to the highway stood wide open, and near it lingered some cottar people, with mouths agape, old and young, with grave and anxious faces, even with tears, for some of the young girls' 'belongings' had already been sent away, the gazers knew not where. Something strange they thought had come to pass, yet the sunshine of the first of September lay golden on the woods, the pastures, the cattle, and the flower-gardens, though beneath was a great shadow like that of death over all, and Robert Wodrow, impressionable at all times, felt it; for the sisters were on the eve of departure, and another day or two--so quickly had Mary's preparations been made--would see all ended.