“It’s not about t’auld maister, he’s fine and weel,” said Isaac, following her along the passage with his shuffle, talking as he went; “you would not give him more than sixty to look at him, out here and there to his dinner, and driving about the country like ony young man.” “He’s very lively for his age,” Joan said. “Ay, or for any age,” said Isaac, and by this time they had reached the parlour-door. The moment they had entered that sanctuary Joan turned upon this messenger of fate and pushed him into a chair. She took no notice of Mrs. Joscelyn, who sat as usual in the distance, pretending to work, but on the watch for every wayfarer, sweeping the line of road and the grey fields and dim horizon with her anxious eyes. “Now tell us what you have to tell us,” she cried. “It’s just--I’ve been at Wyburgh, Miss Joan, to see t’auld maister. He’s fine and weel, as I said; and Mrs. Eadie, she’s fine and weel, and as pleased as they could be, baith the wan and the other----” “Isaac, if you have nothing to tell us but about Uncle Henry and Mrs. Eadie say so at once.” Mrs. Joscelyn rose from her chair. She left her eternal mending on her seat, and came forward holding her hands together as was her wont. “What is it, Joan?” she said, with an appeal to her daughter’s understanding; she had begun not to trust to her own. “That’s just what I’m waiting to hear. It’s about Harry; he’s been at Wyburgh, of course, on his way to ----. To be sure, mother, you know that.” “They were terrible glad to see him,” said Isaac. “I said you would be sure to ken, but Mrs. Eadie she thought no, so she would engage me to come. Go over as soon as you get back, Isaac, she said to me, the mistress and Miss Joan will be real glad to hear.” “So we are, Isaac. Say away like a man, anything you can tell us we’ll be glad to hear; he’s not a good letter-writer, my brother Harry; we like to hear all we can. He got there safe and well?” “I gave him a dael of advice the night before,” said Isaac, “young lads is aye wanting something--again’ asking a penny from t’auld maister. Mr. Harry makes a fool o’ me, leddies; he’s just one o’ the lads I canno’ resist. There’s naething I would not do for him. I flew in the face o’ my missis, and even o’ my ain convictions, which are mair than ony woman’s, to follow him to the ‘Red Lion’ the night afore. No, it’s not a place that I frequent, far from that, no man can be more strong again’ it, let alone the missis; but I risked a dael of disgrace to gang after him there, to say to him--Ye’ll no’ think the worse of me, nor the mistress will no’ think the worse of me, that I spoke my mind.” “And is he with Uncle Henry now, or has he--gone on?”