“No, Miss Buchanan has quite reässured me,” said Mrs Whyte; “and I am not sure that I should at any time have feared for her so much as for you. Is not Mossgray very quiet--shall I say dull? We have an idea that your guardian is a melancholy man, Miss Maxwell.” “No, indeed, no,” said Lilias. “He likes to be alone, and is a thoughtful man, but Mossgray is not melancholy--if melancholy means anything like unhappiness. He may be pensive as the stars are--but not sad--never gloomy. You think so, Helen?” Helen assented in a single word, for she had been led into saying far more than she intended before, and was considerably ashamed and embarrassed now; especially as the Reverend Robert was drawing up his stately figure close beside her, and Mrs Whyte looked interested and curious. “You must come to the Manse and see me, Miss Buchanan,” said Mrs Whyte, “when the days are longer. I shall expect you often, mind, and we are really rather attractive people; besides myself, you know, there is Paulus, whom everybody has a kindness for, and two treasures of bairns. You will like Paulus,” continued the minister’s wife, glancing at him with a kindly smile, as he sat talking to Mrs Oswald: “and Paulus would say, I think, that you were not likely to cast out with me, and of course there can be but one opinion about the bairns. I shall expect you, Miss Buchanan, and I shall expect Miss Maxwell. It is not a very long walk, and you will do me a kindness if you come.” The words were easily said, and it was very true that two such guests as Lilias and Helen would most pleasantly relieve the quietness of the Manse of Kirkmay; but they made the heart of the young schoolmistress glad. The delicate perception which gave this special invitation to _her_ rather than to the well-friended Lilias--the true friendliness and appreciation which could venture to praise to her its own especial household. It is surely true that _words_ will rise up hereafter in judgment against us: so well and gracefully as we might heal and cheer and encourage with these magic utterances; so often as we make them poisoned arrows, to pierce, and kill, and wound. “And I am sure,” said Miss Insches, who had been listening with great edification, “it would be a real charity if you would call whiles on me. I might maybe no presume on asking Miss Maxwell, because she’s a gey bit from the town, besides being delicate; but as you’re so near hand, Miss Buchanan, it wouldna be much trouble, and I would take it real kind. I’m sure Robert never wearies speaking about you, and he would be as glad as me: for ye see--Eh, is that you Robert? Was you wanting me?”