Slowly, very slowly, Phemy recovered. But long before she was well, his family saw that the change for the better which had been evident in Steenie’s mental condition for some time before Phemy’s illness, was now manifesting itself plainly in his person. The intense compassion which, that memorable morning, roused his spirit even to the glorifying of his visage, seemed now settling in his looks and clarifying them. His eyes appeared to shine less from his brain, and more from his mind; he stood more erect; and, as encouraging a symptom, perhaps, as any, he had grown more naturally conscious of his body and its requirements. Kirsty, coming upon him one morning as he somewhat ruefully regarded his trowsers, suggested a new suit, and was delighted to see his face shine up, and hear him declare himself ready to go with her and be measured for it. She found also soon after, to her joy, that he had for some time been enlarging with hammer and chisel a certain cavity in one of the rocks inside his house on the Horn, that he might use it for a bath. In all these things she saw evident signs of a new start in the growth of his spiritual nature; and if she spied danger ahead, she knew that the God whose presence in him was making him grow, was ahead with the danger also. Steenie not only now went attired as befitted David Barclay’s son, but to an ordinary glance would have appeared nowise remarkable. Kirsty ceased to look upon him with the pity hitherto colouring all her devotion; pride had taken its place, which she buttressed with a massive hope, for Kirsty was a splendid hoper. People in the town, where now he was oftener seen, would remark on the wonderful change in him.--‘What’s come to fule Steenie?’ said one of a group he had just passed. ‘Haith, he’s luikin ’maist like ither fowk!’--‘I’m thinkin the deevil maun hae gane oot o’ him!’ said another, and several joined in with their remarks.--‘Nae muckle o’ a deevil was there to gang oot! He was aye an unco hairmless cratur!’--‘And that saft-hertit til a’ leevin things!’--‘He was that! I saw him ance face a score o’ laddies to proteck a poddick they war puttin to torment, whan, the Lord kens, he had need o’ a’ his wits to tak care o’ himsel!’--‘Aye, jist like him!’--‘Weel, the Lord taks care o’ him, for he’s ane o’ his ain innocents!’ Kirsty, before long, began to teach him to sit on a horse, and, after but a few weeks of her training, he could ride pretty well. It was many weeks before Phemy was fit to go home. Her father came to see her now and then, but not very often: he had his duties to attend to, and his books consoled him.