A still further test of obedience he required from her that very afternoon: but then, too, Robert conquered, and they set out together to call on the new Mrs Wright of the Fairholm chapel of ease. The Reverend Simon Wright was, like the Reverend Robert Insches, of plebeian origin, but, unlike his younger, more graceful, and more talented neighbour, he was by no means adapted for the profession of gentleman. He too had a sort of sluggish, heavy ambition, though it had not reached the altitude of Robert’s; but his marriage had sentenced him hopelessly to his original standing. It was barely possible that he might have struggled upward alone, but there was no elevating the dead weight of his wife. For himself he had a ponderous unserviceable mind, not without a certain power, and after his own fashion could preach good sermons sometimes; but generally the man was an incapable man, slow to perceive, and helpless to take advantage of his opportunities. Willie Tasker, the joiner, had given him lodgings for a month or two, while his staring, red, box-like manse was being built, and the result was that Willie Tasker’s daughter became the minister’s wife. To the immense indignation of his neighbours and people all and sundry, who felt in the degradation of their minister a personal injury, and who having expressed their disapprobation of the courtship by various very decided demonstrations, were now keeping aloof, and refusing to notice the new wife. Still more indignant were the wives of “the brethren” in the vicinity, at this intruder into their ranks. They, all of them, discovered suddenly that without a conveyance it was impossible to pay visits; and “we do not keep a conveyance.” The inference was unmistakeable; it was not in their power to call on Mrs Wright. Miss Insches fully shared in the general indignation, but she was not without curiosity; so with proper condescension, and as a duty, she agreed to accompany her brother. The best room of the Fairholm Manse had two windows; it stood rather high, and was approached by a road which one of these windows commanded, so as very conveniently to warn the inhabitants of the rare advent of visitors. As they opened the gate, a sturdy maid servant stared at them for a moment--answered Mr Insches in the affirmative, when he inquired if her mistress was at home, and precipitately fled to the back door, leaving the visitors to find the more dignified entrance at their leisure. They had to pass the windows of the “best room;” within, sitting as gingerly as ever Miss Insches sat, in a parlour by no means so fine as the sacred drawing-room, they had a first glimpse of the bride. She saw them looking for the door in some confusion, but she sat bolt upright in her new dignity, with her hands crossed in her lap, and her eyes fixed upon the opposite wall, and made no sign. “The woman’s daft,” muttered Miss Insches, “could she no let folk in? Mrs Whyte, that’s a lady born, is no ower grand to open the door.”