Last of all they went into “Miss Lucy’s parlour.” It had no very sad associations for Hew. He remembered only the pleasant boyish evenings spent in it, the sadness of the parting, which now, so far away, was softened into a tender memory, making its scene not mournful, only dear; and Hew lifted the window and stepped happily out upon the terrace, while Lucy seated herself on the old high-backed chair at the old work-table, to ponder on the old times. To her the room was full of dim days well remembered--girlish griefs and solitudes, struggles which no one witted of--they seemed to have been dwelling here like so many pale ghosts, waiting for her coming, to remind her of their former selves. A touch on her sleeve roused Lucy from her reverie. Isabell was looking down earnestly into her silvery, gentle face. “Leddy--Madam,” said the old woman, with a husky voice, “you didna mean you? You wasna saying that you’re Miss Lucy?” “I am Lucy Murray grown old,” was the answer, “and that is my brother Hew, Isabell, whom we lost in India. Could you forget Hew? Do you not know Hew, Isabell?” “And Murrayshaugh?” gasped the old woman. “My father is dead; he lived until ten years ago, and when he died was a very old man, Isabell, and a gentler one than he used to be. Will you welcome me now?” Timidly, and still a little jealous, the housekeeper consented to meet with a hasty touch the white hand of the old lady whom she feared; and then Isabell abruptly left the room. They remained for some time in the same position; Lucy in her old place, thinking of the past, and Hew joyously passing from room to room, pointing out the scene of youthful games and merry-makings. Lilias and the young Hew had speedily followed Mossgray, and now a double introduction, very proudly and joyfully performed, had to take place, for Lucy presented her son to Adam Graeme, and Hew Grant bade his mother welcome her new child. The mother had been afraid somewhat of her son’s early choice, and thought, as mothers will, that Lilias had but an indifferent chance of being worthy of her Hew; and Lilias too had slightly trembled for the meeting; but now all the formidable part of it was over, and they were already friends. All her fears were forgotten; it was almost too much for Mossgray’s Lily. Hew did not think her changed; he was not changed himself; and his mother received her as her own child. Lilias felt her happiness overpower her. She went away to seek for Isabell, who had disappeared, and to realize it all for a moment alone. Isabell was in the great dining-parlour of Murrayshaugh. She was on her knees in a corner, with her apron flung over her head, and petulant, painful sobs coming from under its cover, like the sobs of a child. “What ails you, Isabell?” said Lilias, stooping kindly over her.