So Harry retires to his library when they have left him, and chafes himself a little over the trouble of so many complicated concerns, and feels a momentary shiver pass over him, as he wonders how he will do when the great sum he lately lodged in his bank at Stirling shall be exhausted--what then, Harry? with more than three hundred of interest to pay, and only four hundred and fifty pounds? And Harry’s brow contracts for a moment, and a shadow steals over his face; but immediately it brightens. “Why by that time, to be sure, the farm will have doubled its value, and I shall be a rich man,” he repeats half aloud, with a short laugh of satisfaction, and going to his writing-table, he puts down in permanent “black and white,” a list of the pretty things in silver-work and upholstery, which he has promised to order before Agnes’s party, and throwing himself into an easy-chair, reads a novel for an hour with the lightest heart in the world. While Agnes visits little Harry in his crib to kiss him as he sleeps, and folds the new-come brother into her own bosom, and lies down to her happy rest; and Rose, between sleeping and waking, dreams, with a heart full of sweet anticipations; and Martha in the darkness looks out upon the falling snow, and on the pallid moon lightening Demeyet, and bids the stern voice of her experience be still, and let her hope--Hope! she holds it to her heart with a desperate clutch, as a drowning mother holds her child, and is still, waiting for the will of God. Not a sound breaks the profound slumber of Maidlin Cross, where Harry’s labourers, free of all care for the morrow, lie silent in the deep sleep which compensates their toil. Not a sound disturbs the quietness of Allenders, except that small voice of Violet asking in the darkness if Katie is asleep. Yes, Katie is asleep: shut your dark eyes, Lettie, and say your prayers, that Lady Violet may not come in her glistening garments to sit yonder in the darkest corner, and hold you with her glittering eye; but except for this visionary dread, and the one ache of ancient fear in Martha’s graver breast--fear which only dwells far down in the depths, like an echo in a well--this hour of rest sheds nothing but peace upon the home of Harry Muir. END OF VOL. II. LONDON: Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street. Corrections The first line indicates the original, the second the correction. p. 193 And there’s Harry ready at the the door. And there’s Harry ready at the door. p. 233 Vio et spoke Violet spoke p. 246 through which the delicate white convolvolus through which the delicate white convolvulus p. 247 over the clear spring its feet. over the clear spring at its feet. p. 269 which Violet thinks, with a thrill, sounds very like peotry. which Violet thinks, with a thrill, sounds very like poetry.