One day, after much entreaty, she consented to go out for a drive with him, when round to the door came a beautiful new carriage, and such a pair of horses as she could not help expressing satisfaction with. Francis told her they were at her command, but if ever she took unfair advantage of them, he would send both carriage and horses away. She was furious at his daring to speak so to _her_, and had almost returned to her room, but thought better of it and went with him. She did not, however, speak a word to him the whole way. The next morning he let her go alone. After that, he sometimes went with her, and sometimes not: the desire of his heart was to behold her a free woman. She was quite steady for a while, and her spirits began to return. The hopes of her son rose high; he almost ceased to fear. CHAPTER XXXIX KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE It was again midsummer, and just a year since they parted on the Horn, when Francis appeared at Corbyknowe, and found Kirsty in the kitchen. She received him as if nothing had ever come between them, but at once noting he was in trouble, proposed they should go out together. It was a long way to be silent, but they had reached the spot, whence they started for the race recorded in my first chapter, ere either of them said a word. ‘Will ye no sit, Kirsty?’ said Francis at length. For answer she dropped on the same stone where she was sitting when she challenged him to it, and Francis took his seat on its neighbour. ‘I hae had a some sair time o’ ’t sin’ I shawed ye plain hoo little I was worth yer notice, Kirsty!’ he began. ‘Ay,’ returned Kirsty, ‘but ilka hoor o’ ’t hes shawn what the rael Francie was!’ ‘I kenna, Kirsty. A’ I can say is--’at I dinna think nearhan’ sae muckle o’ mysel as I did than.’ ‘And I think a heap mair o’ ye,’ answered Kirsty. ‘I canna but think ye upo’ the richt ro’d noo, Francie!’ ‘I houp I am, but I’m aye fin’in oot something ’at ’ill never du.’ ‘And ye’ll keep fin’in oot that sae lang ’s there’s onything left but what’s like himsel.’ ‘I un’erstan ye, Kirsty. But I cam to ye the day, no to say onything aboot mysel, but jist ’cause I cudna du wantin yer help. I wudna hae presumed but that I thoucht, although I dinna deserve ’t, for auld kin’ness ye wud say what ye wud advise.’ ‘I’ll du that, Francie--no for auld kin’ness, but for kin’ness never auld. What’s wrang wi’ ye?’ ‘Kirsty, wuman, she’s brocken oot again!’ ‘I dinna won’er. I hae h’ard o’ sic things.’ ‘It’s jist taen the pith oot o’ me! What _am_ I to du?’ ‘Ye canna du better nor weel; jist begin again.’