She had become a frequent visitor of Isabell Brown; the old woman was fretfully kind to Lilias; and when the days were warm enough to permit her to receive those calls in Miss Lucy’s parlour, Isabell was very communicative, and told tales of the Murrays, their old grandeur and their present exile with much satisfaction to herself. Lilias meanwhile sat on one of the faded high-backed chairs, opposite the wall on which hung the portrait, and listened pleasantly. Isabell took the young lady of Mossgray’s admiration of the picture as a personal compliment to herself, and there began to spring up a genuine liking for her in the breast of the little sharp old woman; she almost thought Lilias worthy to take rank next to Miss Lucy. On this particular day Isabell’s dissertation began as usual. “Ye see, I canna tell what gars Murrayshaugh stay away in thae foreign pairts, and him has a guid house o’ his ain to bide in; but there’s nae accounting for folk’s tastes. For my ain pairt, I wadna gie Murrayshaugh just where ye’re sitting this minute, for a king’s palace; but he’s an awfu’ proud man, Murrayshaugh, and nae doubt he has a guid richt.” Lilias made some indistinct response; it did not much matter what it was, for Isabell desired a good listener more than anything else. “It’s maist folk’s pride to be thought rich,” continued the little old housekeeper, with some ostentation; “but Murrayshaugh’s a man far frae the common; it’s his notion to hae the house bare, like as he was puir. It’s naething but folk’s fancy--ane likes ae thing, and ane anither. I wadna wonder noo but ye’ve heard that the Murrays were gaun doun the brae? there’s aye some havers rattling at the heels o’ a gentleman’s ain fancy; as if it was needcessity, when it’s naething but his pleasure.” Lilias involuntarily glanced round the faded bare room; its look of decayed gentility made a dreary comment on the assumption of the old adherent of the ruined family; but her eye rested again, where it rested so often, on the portrait, and she sighed and did not answer. “You’re no weel the day,” said Isabell, sympathetically; “and yet it’s bonnie cheerie weather that should be guid for young folk. Eh Miss Maxwell! ane wad think ye kent that picture, ye tak sic weary looks at it; but ye wad never see onybody like that?” “I think I have,” said Lilias, with a faint smile. “Like the auld picture that was like Mr Hew? tell us where. It bid to be himsel; there’s only the twa o’ them in the world, and wha should hae the kindly face but their ainsels? I’m saying tell me where ye saw him--for charity tell me where!” “It was not Mr Murray, Isabell,” said Lilias; “it was a friend--a person I knew in England.” “And he was like that!” said Isabell. “Do ye think I dinna ken that nae fremd man could be like that? will you tell me what they ca’ed him? Ye’ll read in books whiles, o’ gentles for their ain pleasure taking anither name--it bid to be Mr Hew.”