At the close of the religious exercises, Mary had hastened home to her brother, from whom she had already been longer away than at any previous time since he was taken ill. She would not have attended the meeting at all, but for his desire that she should; and she was glad to return home at the earliest moment, for since she had learned its proneness to think evil without cause, she loathed Glen Effick utterly and all its affairs. Her brother had been drowsing, but he woke up at her entrance, and asked to hear what had been done. 'Just the usual thing. Mr. Geddes preached about the Tabernacle, and Mr. Dowlas about Solomon's Temple.' 'Ah! I can imagine it; very pretty and flowery, no doubt. But I think when so many were collected they might have had something more useful and more likely to do good to the poor people. "A dish of metaphor," as my good father used to say, "is light feeding for hungry souls."' 'They did not think so, I assure you; they seemed quite delighted; though I confess I rather wearied over the inventory of the golden vessels, and I saw Sophia Sangster yawn once at any rate.' 'Was Sophia there?' 'Oh yes. And by the way she sent a most particular message to you; or at least she seemed particularly anxious that you should receive it.' 'Ah!' said Roderick, raising himself, 'tell me quick.' 'I declare, Roddie, you look quite excited! She asked me to tell you she had received your letter--You rogue! What have you been writing to her? I remember now how restless you were one morning till you had got Joseph sent off to Auchlippie! But I, simple soul, supposed it was Session business with the Laird. To think I should be so obtuse with a little comedy going on under my very nose! But, ah me! It has been more like tragedy of late, you have been so ill, and we have both been so lonely.' 'But, to return to your comedy, or at least to Sophia, what more?' 'She said she had got your letter! Was not that enough? She did not _say_ it was a sonnet to her eyebrows--but I suspect, she blushed so prettily--yet, now I think of it, it was not a sonnet you sent, for I was to tell you that she is not engaged--that there is no one who has a right to ask her to be engaged. You must have been jealous, Roddie! Who was it? And she said she would have written, but her mother forbade her.' 'Oh that tiresome Duchess! What ridiculous fancy has she got in her head now, I wonder? I feel quite ashamed when I recall the black thoughts I have been nourishing against that poor harmless cockney or whatever he is, Mr. Wallowby; all along of some absurd scheme of hers, which rushed to her lips in her agitation that day on the hill. Poor Duchess! She must have a bee in her bonnet; but she is a sad worry.' 'She is far worse that that!--hard, evil-minded, worldly.' 'Hush, Mary! "Judge not," et cetera. But proceed!'