"We are not going to part here," said Jean, a look of triumph on her face. "No," said Mrs. Dorriman, who felt this coming parting sorely. "I supposed you would go to the station and see me off. I am glad of that." "Further than that," said Jean, emphatically. Mrs. Dorriman looked up at her. What did she mean? "I am going all the way to Renton itself," said Jean, in a tone of determination. "But my dear Jean--my brother...." "Your brother's not mine, and I have nothing to do with him, nor he with me. I'm going to the town of Renton, and I've got a situation there; do you suppose I would let you go where I could never see you--or you me? No! no! I settled it first in my own mind and then I arranged it with other people, and the same train that takes you takes me, and my kist's just away with your things, in the same cart." Mrs. Dorriman could not speak, but the forlorn woman kissed the ruddy face before her--half her trouble seemed lightened--and Jean, touched and awkward under so strange a demonstration, patted her back with a hard and hearty hand and disappeared from her mistress's eyes. Mrs. Dorriman walked up the river-side with a happier heart than she had had lately. With one friend near her in the shape of Jean she felt as though nothing mattered quite so much; she needed some comfort. With all the enthusiastic love for the beauty of the home she was leaving for ever, she was also leaving the little self-made duties that had become pleasant to her. She had to face the sorrow of those who had become her friends; she could promise them nothing from a distance--she had nothing of her own; she did not suppose her brother would continue to give her an income; she must guard against making promises she could not fulfil. The same words met her all round, "What a pity you're going! It's we that will miss you, my dear. Oh, what is it for? Is it for company's sake?" They could not get over it, her hands were shaken till they tingled again. When she was going home one of the eldest of the old women stood out from her doorway like an old prophetess. Her grey hair was smoothed back under her _mutch_, her black eyes sparkled, and her wrinkled face showed up white in the gloaming. She was the daughter of a man famous in his day, a man who had had the gift of second sight, and though she had not inherited his gift she was looked up to, she had so many of her father's sayings at her fingers' ends, and she had much of his manner. "Come here," she said, "and set ye down." Mrs. Dorriman could not do this, but she asked her to go towards home with her. It was getting late, and the light was fading fast. Christie was attached to Mrs. Dorriman especially because she and her forbears had lived near the old home on old Mr. Sandford's property, and she had a great deal to say about the way the sale of the place had been predicted and foreseen long years before by her father.