another into her remembrance, and from her lips, was a mark of the age which began gradually to draw near. Age! the time of repose, of quietness, of peace; in the day-time, when such a thought struck her, the fiery heart within her chafed and rebelled; but at night she only felt her eyelid moisten, and her heart swell. Martha was wrong--age was not near; but in spite of forebodings and anxiety, this was a time of peace--a reposing time wherein strength for the great conflict was to be gathered. CHAPTER XI. Three thousand ducats for three months, and Antonio bound. MERCHANT OF VENICE. “THE land is aye guid security,” said Alexander Muir doubtfully to himself, as he slowly brushed his Sabbath-day’s hat, and glanced from the window to where one or two of his younger visitors, carrying their work idly in their hands, strayed with wistful looks past his strawberry beds. “There are hungry e’en among these bairns, and what can we expect, poor things? I must promise them a lawful feast in the afternoon, if they’ll no pick any berries the time I’m away; and then there’s my two hundred pounds if it should come to the worst--but two hundred’s a far way off a thousand; and the house and the garden are worth but little siller, and to sell them would break my heart. Well, I can aye see what Miss Jean says; and if all belonging to ye have done hard things for ye, in their day, Harry, my man, this is no the least.” “Bairns,” continued the old man from the window, “do ye see yon strawberries yonder among the leaves? I’ll be out an hour--you might have time to make an end of them if ye liked--but I ken there is far mair honour among ye than the like of that. Maggie, my dear, never you mind the rasps--they can stand steady of themsels, and need no prop. Beatie, come away from the strawberries like a good bairn.” “It’s just a branch that’s lying ower the border--somebody’s sure to tramp on’t,” explained Beatie. “Never you mind, my woman, so it’s no you that does it,” answered the old man. “Enter not into temptation--turn your backs upon them like good bairns; and if I see there’s good work done when I come back, ye shall have a table spread out, and I’ll tell Mrs. Tamson to send in some cream, and ye shall gather the berries for yoursels.” One or two smiling faces looked up and nodded thanks, and there was a very general quickening of needles; but Mary Burness who had “cast out” with her “lad” the night before, drooped her head pathetically and sighed. Poor Mary, in her melancholy, had a soul above strawberries! Having delivered this his last message, and given to Jessie, his little handmaiden, special directions to prepare for this simple entertainment, Alexander Muir took his staff in his hand, and set out solemnly to call upon Miss Jean.