“Ye can bide till I come down,” I heard Mrs Mense say, as she shut the door, “and I’ll ask the laird, since ye will hae’t; but ye’ll stay where ye are till I come back again.” In a minute or two after she appeared at the door of my study; her ruddy face was paled by emotion, and her eyes turned upon me with a painful solicitous look that smote me to the heart. “What is the matter?” I asked as calmly as I could, “and why do you not bring that man up to me at once, Nancy, instead of keeping him so long at the door?” Again she looked at me--a conscious, terrified look, which I trembled to interpret. “Oh, Mossgray! for the Lord’s sake tak tent o’ yoursel! you’re an innocent lad--ye aye were an innocent lad--ye kenna what ill may be brewing. I saw ane that saw Mr Charlie in the toun yestreen--oh, Mr Adam, dinna look sae fearsome!--and if ye canna meet this man--if ye’ve ony fear--just say the word, and I’ll send him away.” I felt large drops of moisture burst upon my brow; I shuddered through my whole frame; I felt an irresistible inclination to flee away, and escape from all these miseries for ever. I had indeed awakened from my frenzy of grief--and such an awakening! “Why should I fear to see him?” I asked, the words refusing to come plainly from my stammering tongue. “What is this? Do you think--do you think I am mad?” She did not answer; but with tears streaming from her eyes she continued to fix that painful, terrified, conscious look upon my face. I felt my nostril dilate--I felt some bitter scorching tears flood my eyes. Then I became suddenly calm. “God help me!” I exclaimed in my agony, and my prayer was heard. I grew calm in a sudden consciousness of restored strength. I thought steadily of Lucy and her warning; of this humble woman here, whose honest heart sorrowed and laboured for me. I was roused--I put my wrongs forth, out of my heart, and committed myself to God. “Now,” I said, “let him come up.” My kind housekeeper withdrew, wiping the tears from her cheeks. I saw she had acquired some sort of trembling confidence from my bearing; then I did what I could to make my appearance less conspicuously negligent, and then with a nervous concentrated quietness, I waited for my visitor. He looked me very steadily in the face, with a singular emphatic look. I did not think at the time what was the meaning of this, or it might have raised a ferment in my veins, and made me appear as they wished me. As it was, I saluted him calmly, gliding at once into my usual manner, and feeling with a consciousness of unspeakable relief, that I was myself again. “I have been residing in the neighbourhood for a week or two, Mr Graeme,” said my visitor, after introducing himself as Doctor Pulvers of Edinburgh, “and hearing that you were in delicate health, I took the liberty of volunteering a call; that is to say--for I am taking too much credit to myself--some of your friends begged me to do so, expressing themselves very anxious about you.”