“I hope it is all over, uncle,” said Martha, slowly; “I trust it is--I trust it is. He has had hard lessons, many of them, and a great and sudden deliverance. The news of it came to me like an angel from heaven--for I felt that it might save Harry; and so, I hope, I trust it will.” “You hope, you trust? we all do that, Martha, my woman,” said the old man, anxiously. “I never kent an evil-doing stranger yet that I would not have given all the strength of my good wishes to; but, Martha, God has given you a clearer judgment than many. What _think_ ye? what does your ain mind decide as the most likely end?” “God knows!” said Martha, solemnly. “I _think_ nothing, uncle; I only trust and hope. I see no sin in him now--poor Harry! poor Harry! and God send the evil may pass away like the fearful dream, I sometimes believe it is. Do you mind him, uncle--do you mind the pure, grand boy he was? Oh, my Harry! my poor Harry!--but I speak as if I was despairing, when, indeed, I am full of hope,” said Martha, looking up with a faint smile, through the unusual tears which only moistened her dried eyelids, but did not fall. The old man looked at her doubtfully, with serious and earnest anxiety. She did not lift her eyes, neither did she seem inclined to say more; but her hand went wandering, wandering, over the books she knew so well, opening and closing them with such unconscious fingers, and mind so intently preoccupied, that he shook his head as he turned away, with a prayer, and a pang in his heart. For experience, alas! spoke to him as it spoke to her--sadly, hopelessly; and with Martha he turned from the subject, and would not _think_--would only trust and hope. “And the other bairns,” said the old man, half questioning her, half consoling himself, “the other bairns; they at least bring us nothing but comfort.” “Uncle,” said Martha, looking up with quick curiosity, “what brings this Mr. Charteris to Ayr? what is his business here? We meet him wherever we go; what does he want in your house or with us?” “What is it ye say, Martha?” Alexander Muir looked up with an awakened face, and glanced out through the framework of leaves and blossoms round the window to where his niece Rose stood under the great plane tree. “Hush! look at them!” said Martha, grasping her uncle’s arm with her hand, and bending forward eagerly, as if the gesture made her hear as well as see.