“Kirsteen,” said Jeanie raising her face to her sister. “I have more cause than you. Oh, listen to me, Kirsteen; would you like to see shame at Drumcarro? Would you like to see the name you all think so much of rolled in the dust? Oh, hear what I’m saying, Kirsteen! I have more cause than you.” “Jeanie, my dear! my dear!” “Kirsteen, there is one that is here, and they all think much of him, and he follows me wherever I go. Kirsteen, are ye listening?” The girl grasped her hands fiercely as if her own had been made of steel. “Kirsteen! It’s not to marry me he is seeking me. Do ye hear what I am saying? It is not--for anything that’s good.” And Jeanie who had been very pale, hid her face which was blazing with sudden red in Kirsteen’s lap, and sobbed as if her heart would burst. Kirsteen caught her in her arms, held her to her breast, murmured over her every tender word, but profoundly as Jeanie was in earnest, gave no faith to what she said. “What has put that dreadful thought in your mind? Oh, my darling, if there was such a villain in the world it’s not here he would dare to come--with everybody round you to defend you--to our father’s house.” “Who have I to defend me?” cried Jeanie raising her head. “Jock is away and Jamie is so young; how should he understand? And my father that notices nothing, that thinks it will be a grand marriage and a credit to the family. Even Marg’ret!”--cried the girl with sudden exasperation, “they will none of them understand!” Kirsteen took her young sister’s face between her hands--“An ill man could have no power but what he got from you. Jeanie, Jeanie, has he got your heart?” “Oh, how can you tell, you that have never been tried?” cried the girl drawing herself out of her sister’s hold. Little Jeanie had her experience too. “No, he has not got my heart; but he gives me no rest night nor day, he sends me letters--I might put them in the fire. But there’s little to keep you living at Drumcarro--and I read them, I canna help it. And then he’s waiting for me about the door whenever I stir. And his tongue would wile the bird off the tree. And he’s not like the rough men you see, young Glenbowie or the like of that, he’s a fine grand gentleman. And oh, Kirsteen, take me with you! take me away! For my father’s one that will not understand, and Jamie is but a laddie, and even Marg’ret!--And how am I to fight and stand all alone by myself?” The girl’s eyes were full of tears and her face of trouble. She held fast by Kirsteen’s hand as if by an anchor of salvation. “He has not got my heart,” she said, “but oh, I canna trust my head. He wiles me away. And there’s nobody in the world, nobody else, that is heeding what becomes of me, or where I go, unless it’s maybe you, Kirsteen. Oh, take me with you, Kirsteen! for I cannot trust myself and live here.” “Jeanie, Jeanie, ye love this man.”