“Does that satisfee yersel’, Maister Graham?” asked Malcolm, looking deep into the eyes of his teacher. “Not at all,” answered the master. “Does onything?” “Yes: but I will not say more on the subject now. The time may come when I shall have to speak that which I have learned, but it is not yet. All I will say now is, that I am at peace concerning the question. Indeed, so utterly do I feel myself the offspring of the One, that it would be enough for my peace now--I don’t say it would have been always--to know my mind troubled on a matter: what troubled me would trouble God: my trouble at the seeming wrong must have its being in the right existent in him. In him, supposing I could find none, I should yet say there _must_ lie a lucent, harmonious, eternal, not merely consoling, but absolutely satisfying solution.” “Winna ye tell me a’ ’at’s in yer hert aboot it, sir?” “Not now, my boy. You have got one thing to mind now--before all other things--namely, that you give this woman--whatever she be--fair play: if she be your mother, _as_ such you must take her, that is, as such you must treat her.” “Ye’re richt, sir,” returned Malcolm, and rose. “Come back to me,” said Mr Graham, “with whatever news you gather.” “I will, sir,” answered Malcolm, and went to find Miss Horn. He was shown into the little parlour, which, for all the grander things he had been amongst of late, had lost nothing of its first charm. There sat Miss Horn. “Sit doon, Ma’colm,” she said gruffly. “Hae ye h’ard onything, mem?” asked Malcolm, standing. “Ower muckle,” answered Miss Horn, with all but a scowl. “Ye been ower to Gersefell, I reckon.” “Forbid it!” answered Malcolm. “Never till this hoor--or at maist it’s nae twa sin’ I h’ard the first cheep o’ ’t, an’ that was frae Meg Partan. To nae human sowl hae I made mention o’ ’t yet ’cep’ Maister Graham: to him I gaed direck.” “Ye cudna hae dune better,” said the grim woman, with relaxing visage. “An’ here I am the noo, straucht frae him, to beg o’ you, Miss Horn, to tell me the trowth o’ the maitter.” “What ken I aboot it?” she returned angrily. “What _sud_ I ken?” “Ye micht ken whether the wuman’s been sayin’ ’t or no.” “Wha has ony doobt aboot that?” “Mistress Stewart _has_ been sayin’ she’s my mither, than?” “Ay--what for no?” returned Miss Horn, with a piercing _glower_ at the youth. “Guid forfen’!” exclaimed Malcolm. “Say ye that, laddie?” cried Miss Horn, and, starting up, she grasped his arm and stood gazing in his face. “What ither sud I say?” rejoined Malcolm, surprised. “God be laudit!” exclaimed Miss Horn. “The limmer may say ’at she likes noo.” “_Ye_ dinna believe ’t than, mem?” cried Malcolm. “Tell me ye dinna, an’ haud me ohn curst like a cadger.” “I dinna believe ae word o’ ’t, laddie,” answered Miss Horn eagerly. “Wha _cud_ believe sic a fine laad come o’ sic a fause mither?” “She micht be ony body’s mither, an’ fause tu,” said Malcolm gloomily.