“I’ve come from Ayr on the tap o’ the coach, my lane,” said Miss Jean, suddenly relapsing, as she did sometimes, into the natural passive state of age, which forgot in an instant the emotions which had animated the poor exhausted skeleton frame. “If it hadna been a decent lad that paid the odds of the charge, and put me in the inside atween this and Falkirk, I’m sure I wad have been perished wi’ the cauld, and never ane of you offering a puir auld woman a morsel to keep her heart. I heard from Mr. Macer, in Stirling, there was to be a meeting here the day, and I thought my canniest plan was to take my fit in hand, and trust nane of thae sliddry writers. But, man, micht ye no be mending the fire the time ye’re glowering at me? the tane’s as easy as the tither, and there’s as mony coals yonder standing in the scoop as would fill my bunker, and hand me gaun half the year. Coals maun be cheap here away, and I wadna scruple to make a bleeze, if you’re sure the lum’s clean; but I aye keep a frugal fire at hame: I’m a very careful woman. Sandy, do ye ken ony place hereawa where an auld body could get a sma’ cheap meal? I’m very moderate in my eating mysel, but travel appetizes even a frail person like me; and what was yon ye was saying about the siller?” Lindsay repeated what Martha had said in a few words. Mr. Lindsay did not by any means admire this occupation of his office. But Miss Jean’s eyes wandered to Martha, who still stood silently looking on, and holding her uncle’s arm. “She’s no muckle to look at,” said the old woman, bending her shrivelled face forward, “but I’ve heard the voice she speaks wi’ afore, and it’s no like a fremd voice. Canna ye tell me what ye said about the siller yoursel, instead of standing there like a stane figure? and sit down and be quiet, honest man, now ye have gotten on the coals.” This was addressed to Macalister, who very humbly, and with a look of fright at Lindsay, had replenished the fire at Miss Jean’s command. He now obeyed her again, with instant submission, feeling himself a very small person, and altogether forgetful of his imaginary grandeur. Martha repeated her former words, where she stood, holding the arm of Uncle Sandy--and Uncle Sandy, still perceptibly trembling, averted his head with a simple pride and dignity, and held Martha’s arm closely in his own, as if with an impulse of protection.