“Say something, Matty, for heaven’s sake,” again said Verna behind backs. “It is a large house--ask them to stay.” “I am sure,” said Matilda after a pause, “I don’t wish anyone to hurry. If Marjory will promise not to interfere with the servants, or the things--or give orders, or ring the bell for Fleming when she pleases--she may stay if she likes. Only I know dear Charlie would have wished me to be mistress in my own house.” Mr. Charles had sprung nervously to his feet. “Not another day!” he said hastily; but then sat down again with that blank irresolute air. Where was he to take her? and then the responsibility, and his old tower that he loved! “You’re a very considerate young woman,” said Miss Jean grimly, with a fierce little chuckling laugh. “You’ll be much respectit in the county, and much thought of by the Heriots’ auld friends. That I’ll assure you of--indeed I’ll see to it myself.” “Oh, thanks,” said Matilda, with a certain alarm, for it was evident even to her obtuse understanding that more was meant than met the ear. “I’ll see to that myself,” the old woman repeated with a chuckle. “And in the meantime, Marjory, go you and get your things, and bring the bairn, and come away home with me. Comlie High Street is no amiss for a born and bred Heriot; everybody in Fife knows you, and what you are, and how you come there, which is more than can be said for everybody. Come away, my bonny woman; and as for you, Chairlie Heriot, you can do what you please; stay on till they turn you out, or till you’ve gathered up all your playthings, your pictures and your papers, and the whole paraphernalia. But in the meantime I’ll no see my flesh and blood putting up with the slights of a strange woman. Marjory and the bairn shall come with me.” Mr. Charles was wounded in his tenderest feelings, but still he saw a certain consolation and relief in this suddenly propounded plan, which would save him from so many difficulties. “I would not say but it was the best thing that could be done,” he said, slowly. “Anyhow, May, my dear, it would leave us time to think.” “I had thought of it,” said Marjory. “I knew Aunt Jean would take us in. It is the best refuge for us. I shall be glad to go away, and yet not to go away. If you think we will not be a trouble to you--” “Na, na; no trouble, no trouble. In a whilie,” said the old woman, with moisture in her keen eyes, “it will all be yours, my old house and my pickle siller. It’s a great thing to have natural heirs. You’re too natural, Marjory, too natural. You’ve smiled the lads away from you with scornings and civil speeches, as I did myself. You’ll be Miss Heriot, like me. It’s suited me well enough, but yet I’m wae to see another begin. For life’s long, and sometimes it’s weary and dreary. There’s more trouble the other way, but even trouble is a divert, and keeps you from that weary think-thinking, and all about yourself.”