“I am near, very near,” said Kirsteen, with a hot colour rising over her. She dropped the knitting in her lap, and fixed her eyes upon her companion’s face. She had already a premonition who it was of whom she was to hear. “Puir thing,” said Mrs. Macgregor, “she hasna seen one of her own kith and kin this mony a day. She comes to me whiles for news. And she’ll sit and smile and say, ‘Have ye any news from Marg’ret, Mrs. Macgregor?’ never letting on that her heart’s just sick for word of her ain kin.” “You are perhaps meaning--Anne,” said Kirsteen, scarcely above her breath. “I’m meaning Mrs. Dr. Dewar,” said the old woman. “I think that’s her name--the one that marriet and was cast off by her family because he was just a doctor and no a grand gentleman. Oh, missie, that’s a hard, hard thing to do! I can understand a great displeasure, and that a difference might be made for a time. But to cut off a daughter--as if she were a fremd person, never to see her or name her name--oh, that’s hard, hard! It may be right for the Lord to do it, that kens the heart (though I have nae faith in that), but no for sinful, erring man.” “Mrs. Macgregor,” said Kirsteen, “you will remember that it’s my--my near relations you are making remarks upon.” “And that’s true,” said the old lady. “I would say nothing to make ye think less of your nearest and dearest--and that maybe have an authority over ye that Scripture bids ye aye respect. I shouldna have said it; but the other--the poor young leddy--is she no your near relation too?”