"Tell her so yourself to-morrow," said Anne, "and she will think you pay her a high compliment." Alice shook her head. "I should not mean it for that, Miss Ross; but Mrs. Catherine said you would perhaps go with me to Falcon's Craig. Will you? I should be half afraid if I went alone." "Feared for Marjory Falconer!" said Mrs. Catherine, entering the room. "If once she knew her own spirit, it is not an ill one; and I see not wherefore she should scare folk. I know well _you_ are not feared, Anne. See, bairns, here are some bonnie dyes to look at, while I am away. Ye are to wear them the morn's night, Alison Aytoun, according to your pleasure. They belong to yourself. And see you go not away, Anne, till I come back again. I will send Lewis up to hold you in mirth. For myself, I have things to make me up, other than mirthful." Alice advanced timidly to the table as Mrs. Catherine left the room. What might be within that mysterious enclosure of morocco? Anne smilingly anticipated her. Rich ornaments of pearls, more beautiful than any thing the simple, girlish eyes had ever looked upon before. Alice did not know how to look, or what to say; only her heart made one great leap of delight--all these were her own! How pleased and proud, not for the gift alone, but for the kindness that gave it, would be the mother's heart at home! Mrs. Catherine descended slowly, and, resuming her seat in the library, called the young lawyer and the factor to her presence, and dismissed Lewis to the pleasanter company up stairs. Mr. Ferguson, one of those acute, sagacious, well-informed men, who are to be met with so frequently in the middle class of rural Scotland, came with looks of anxious expectation, and Walter Foreman, of whom his independent client did not deign to ask counsel, took his place again, with secret pique, fancying himself at least as good an adviser as the plain and quiet stepdaughter of Mrs. Ross, of Merkland. "Mr. Ferguson," said Mrs. Catherine, "I have made up my mind. You shall have the siller. Thank me not. I do that which I know is wrong, and which I would have done for no mortal but Isabel Balfour's son. You can get the papers made out at your convenience, and tell me the name of his dwelling. I will write to the ill-doer myself." "Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Ferguson, eagerly, "I beg you will not give yourself so much trouble, Mrs. Catherine. I will myself write to Strathoran immediately, and tell him of your kindness." "Doubtless," said Mrs. Catherine: "but wherefore should I not have my word of exhortation, as well as another? Write me down Archie Sutherland's address. I could get it from Lewis Ross, but I do not choose that; and let the siller be paid to Mr. Ferguson, Walter Foreman--that is, when the papers are ready--for mind that I do not _give_ this siller, I only lend it." "On the lands of Lochend and Loelyin," said Mr. Ferguson. "Of course, Mrs. Catherine."