“Mailie’s milkit half an hour since,” said Dragon, getting up with his usual activity, and shaking the long arms which Violet half suspected were fastened on with wires, “and the haill house will be asteer wondering what’s come of us. Bairns, we’ll get our licks if we stay langer--and I’m wearying for my parritch mysel.” But Lettie went along the dark lane, under the high hedge, which might have concealed armies of fairies, and looked behind her with furtive side-long looks, wistful and afraid. The road was very solitary and quiet, but now and then a slow footstep advancing out of the darkness made her heart leap; and even when they had reached home, Lettie ran, with unnecessary haste, up the dim staircase, and was glad when bed-time came, and she could lay down her head and close her eyes. But after all, it was quite unsatisfactory to close her eyes; and as the room was very dark, Lettie constantly opened them to cast anxious glances into the corners, and listened with all her might for the rustling of the lady’s silken gown; but Lady Violet made no appearance to her little relative, except in dreams. CHAPTER XVI. What strong hand can hold his swift foot back? SHAKSPEARE. THE window is up in Martha’s room, and the sweet morning air comes in upon you, with a fresh and pleasant abruptness, frank and simple as the sudden laughter of a child. The stir of early day is upon all the country without--birds twittering among the wet leaves, which themselves glisten and tremble in the sun, shaking off the rain which fell heavily through the night--and far-off footsteps and voices, echoing over the fields, of rural people at their wholesome toil. Beside the window, a work-basket stands upon a little table, and you will wonder when you see it full of the embroidered muslin--the delicate “opening” at which Martha and Rose were wont to labour. It is an elaborate collar which Martha holds in her hand, and she is working at it with silent speed, as she used to do. You would fancy, to look at her now, that the family change of fortune had brought little ease to her. But upon a sofa, at a little distance, Rose, with a fresh morning face, and pretty muslin gown, is spreading out Harry’s present--the rich, grave-coloured silk, which has been made into a dress for Martha. And Martha suffers herself to smile, and says it’s only fault is that it is too good, and that the bairns will not know her when she has it on. Katie Calder, at Rose’s side, draws out the folds reverentially, and says, with awe, under her breath, that it is “awfu’ bonnie;” but Violet sits on the carpet at Martha’s feet, and thinks about the lady at the well.