“Well, well,” said Mrs. Douglas, “that may be true enough; but I think she might have come and told me the news herself, instead of letting me find it out through your father--not that I had not judgment enough to see what was coming this many a day.” Kirsteen was still trembling with the results of her self-argument at the linn--which indeed had come to no result at all save the tremor in her frame and the agitation in her heart. She had knelt down by her mother’s side to wind the wool for which it appeared Mrs. Douglas had been waiting, and she was not prepared with any reply. “She doesn’t seem to have much to say to us now, mother,” said Mary. “Kirsteen, you should not be so proud. You will be a finer lady than ever your mother was, with a carriage and horses of your own, and no doubt everything that heart can desire; for an auld man is far more silly than a young one.” Kirsteen gave the wool a jerk which tangled it wildly. “Mother, I just wonder what you are all havering about,” she said. “Kirsteen, I’m well used to rude speaking,” cried the mother, ready to cry at a moment’s notice; “but not from my own bairns.” “Oh, mother, I beg your pardon. It was not you that was havering. Dinna speak to me, for I cannot bear it. My heart is just like to break.” “With pleasure?” said Mary in her soft tones. Kirsteen darted a glance of fire at her calm sister, but turned nervously to her occupation again and answered nothing. She had enough to do with her yarn which, in sympathy with her confused thoughts, had twisted itself in every possible way and refused to be disentangled. Her mother remarked the tremor of her hands. “Ye have got the hank into a terrible tangle, and what are ye trembling at, Kirsteen--is it the cold?” “I’m not trembling, mother,” said Kirsteen. “Do ye think I am blind or doited and cannot see? Na, I’m a weak woman, sore held down with many infirmities; but I’m thankful to say my eyes are as good as ever they were. Ye’re all trembling, Kirsteen; is it the cold?” “She has gotten her gown all wet, mother. She has been down by the linn, it’s no wonder she’s trembling. She ought to go and change her things.” “Are your feet wet, Kirsteen?” “Oh,” said Kirsteen springing to her feet, “if ye would just let me alone; I’m neither wet nor cold, but my heart’s like to break. I don’t know what I am doing for misery and trouble. If ye would only have peety upon me and let me alone!” “Dear Kirsteen, how can ye speak like that? Where will ye get any person you can open your heart to like your mother? Just tell me what’s wrong and that will ease your mind. What can Mary and me mean but what is for your good? Eh, I never thought but what you would be pleased, and a blithe woman this bonny day.”