And when Harry was out, they drew together instinctively, and sat working in Martha’s room. And Martha roused herself, and with the ready associations and strange flow of simple words, which she thought were signs and tokens of approaching age, told them stories of actual life, homely, real histories, in which there was always interest, and often consolation. She wondered herself at the clear memory which recalled to her those numberless tales of the neighbour families in Ayr--stories of household affliction, sometimes only too like their own--but still one continued to lead to another; and Rose and Agnes worked beside her, and listened, and the tedium of the long, sad hours was beguiled. Yet, though she did all this to give some partial and temporary lightening to them, heavy as death within her was Martha’s own strained heart. CHAPTER X. “Two peaceful days. And what should hap in these, But things of common life? He will return As safe as he went hence.” LATE in the end of October, when Katie Calder began to speak of Hallow’een, and to consult with Jeanie Armstrong at Allender Mains, on the best place to pull the “kail-stocks,” and practise the other spells proper to the occasion, Harry told his anxious household that he was going to Edinburgh. They had observed that he was gloomy and depressed for some days before, though he had been less than usual from home. Now he told them vaguely about money which was wanted, and expenses which had been incurred, and that his errand to Edinburgh was on business very important to him. When Martha and Agnes pressed for more definite information, Harry fell back upon his morose and gloomy silence. It was useless to be make inquiries, for many a thing must have been told, if Harry had begun to satisfy them, which he would never suffer to reach their ears. And no one went with him to Stirling this time to see him off. When even Gilbert Allenders proposed to go, Harry answered him with an instant and not very courteous negative, and Agnes’s wistful looks passed quite unnoticed. He rode away, silently, too much abstracted, as it seemed, to turn back and wave his hand to his wife and his sisters at their window, as he was wont to do; but when he was past the gate and almost out of sight upon the road--out of sight entirely to eyes less eager--they saw him start and turn round, and wave back to them the usual gesture of farewell. Agnes thrust herself half out of the window of the drawing-room to return it, with tears in her eyes; and then she saw his head droop again upon his breast, and he rode away.