The conversation lasted a long time. Their letters had been frequent for the habit of the time, once every quarter of a year at the least they had exchanged their good wishes and such information to each other about the other as could be conveyed by “hand o’ write”; but neither of them had any habit of letter-writing, and there was much to be added, to fill in the framework of fact which Kirsteen had communicated from time to time. Everything indeed had to be told from the time of her arrival in London until the present moment. Marg’ret sat crying softly, holding her hands, keeping up a low murmur of commentary. “Eh, but I’m glad my sister Jean had it in her power.” “Eh, but she’s a fortunate woman to have ye!” “Eh, if I had but been there!” she exclaimed at intervals, pride and satisfaction mingled with an envy of her sister which Marg’ret’s better feeling could scarcely overcome. “I am just an ill woman, full of envy and all uncharitableness. I would fain, fain have been the one. I would have held ye up in my arms, and let no harm come near ye! I couldna have seen your bonny fingers spoilt with sewing,” she cried with outbursts of tears. But when Kirsteen came to the story of the last year, Marg’ret listened upon her knees, her head bent down upon the hands which she held clasped in her own, a few sobs bursting from her breast, her lips pressed in a passion of sympathy which had no words upon Kirsteen’s hands. The story was told very briefly in a few words. And then that chapter was closed, and no more was said. “What is it that ails Jeanie?” asked Kirsteen, after she had come to the end of her tale, and Marg’ret had resumed her seat by the bed. “Tell me what has happened to her; there is something on her mind.” “Hoots,” said Marg’ret drying her eyes, “there is little on it, but what is on most lassies’ minds--most likely a braw marriage so far as I can see. There is a gentleman that is up in yon lodge on the hill above Glendyer. It’s said to be for the fishing--but first it was said to be for the shooting--and my opinion is it’s neither for the one nor the other, but for our bit bonny Jeanie. It is just what I always said, even to the Laird himself. She is the bonniest creature in all this country from Clyde to the sea.” “But she would not start in her sleep like that, nor cry and pray to me to take her with me, if that was all. And who is the man?”