The little roundabout Miss Insches began to grow disturbed about the length of her own continuance in office. She saw that very soon her dominion over the dining-room and the drawing-room, and her share of the comforts of the library, must come to a close; and while the good-humoured sister anticipated, with considerable relief, her return to the plebeian, unpretending home where there was no necessity for being always genteel, she felt also a good many qualms about resigning Robert, and Robert’s beautiful chairs and tables, into the keeping of a stranger. “For ye see, Miss Buchanan, she’s young,” said Miss Insches to herself, not daring to have any other confidante, “and for a’ she’s nae better--I’m meaning for a’ she’s a hantle puirer than oursels, no to speak of Robert--she has gey high notions like himsel’; and I’m very doubtful that she’ll just let Nelly dust the big room, and no think of putting to her ain hand. Robert says I should do that too, but he’s a young lad for a’ he’s the minister, and doesna ken a’thing. I wish she may just be mindful o’ himsel’. He’s aye been used wi’ his ain way, puir man, and has been muckle made o’, and muckle thought o’; and I’m sure a better lad--” Miss Insches paused with an incipient tear in her eye. The worshipped minister son, of whom the mother at home was so proud--the omnipotent brother whose slightest word was law--alas! was he to cease to be an idol--to come down from his absolute throne, and be limited to a constitutional monarchy like any other man, with perhaps a young, proud wife exacting service from him, instead of rendering the devoted homage which was Robert’s due? Miss Insches’s eye again wandered over the shining tables of the sacred drawing-room, and her heart was troubled. “He’s aye had his ain way, puir man!” she repeated, mournfully, as she carefully closed the door and sighed. Poor Robert! he was to be married, as all Fendie said--he was to have his own way no longer. The Reverend Robert was seated at his writing table in the library; it was a study day. Miss Insches stole noiselessly in, closed the door, and took her seat at the window, with her seam in her hand. Robert was writing his sermon; the good sister sewed those new shirts of his in devout silence; when her thread fell she picked it up with a look of guilt--she might have disturbed Robert. Foolish Robert! the young wife would not reverence his stillness so. “Janet,” said Robert, graciously, “we are to dine at Kirkmay on Monday. I have just had a note from Mrs Whyte.” “Ye dinna mean me, too, Robert?” said Miss Insches. “Certainly I mean you too, Janet,” said the young man, with some impatience. “Why, you have been at Kirkmay before.” “Yes, Robert, I’m meaning that,” responded the dutiful sister humbly, “but it’s the Monday of the preachings, is’t no? and will there be more folk than ministers?”