"And upon what subject?" Mr. Macfarlane took out his watch, counted the seconds with his thumb and returned it to his pocket. Urged by this evidence of time being precious, poor Mrs. Dorriman, without any of those explanations which she had turned over in her mind as necessary to lead up to the subject, rushed into it at once. "My brother, Mr. Sandford, wishes me to live with him----" "To live with him?" Mr. Macfarlane was a little surprised, but he knew also that this could not be all. "I suppose he is anxious to have more of a home than a bachelor has as a rule," he said, after a pause. "He wishes me to give up Inchbrae." "Give it up! You do not mean to sell it out and out?" "Yes, he desires me to sell it," and Mrs. Dorriman's voice showed plainly what selling it meant to her, and what a pang it would give her. Mr. Macfarlane was a little puzzled now. Though he knew a good deal of her history, he was not at all sure what the relations between brother and sister were, that is to say, he knew a great deal, but not _everything_, and he was afraid of making a false move from ignorance, and putting this poor lady into a worse position than she at present was in. He looked at her expectantly, and then he said kindly, "Then you intend going to him--you intend leaving Inchbrae?" "I must," she said, nervously. "And my advice is not needed then, since you have made up your mind." There was a visible struggle going on in her. "I am afraid I must go, since he wishes it, but--need I sell the place, Mr. Macfarlane?" "The place is yours--I would not sell it if I were you." "But he commands me," she said, bitterly, "and----" "And you do not know what the consequences may be if you refuse to do so?" "I--I know nothing," she said, helplessly. Mr. Macfarlane was sorry for her, he understood quite well what was weighing on her--she was afraid of disobeying--she thought herself too much in Mr. Sandford's hands--too much in his power. Before he had time to speak she said, hurriedly, "Perhaps it had better not be discussed, perhaps I had better do it." But here, the thought of having no home to come to if she was unhappy--the pang of parting with the little place she so loved, where her husband had died, and each shrub and tree of which she had seen planted, was too much for her--and her quivering lips and tearful eyes awoke real sympathy in Mr. Macfarlane's heart. "What is in your mind, Mrs. Dorriman?" he said, kindly, and putting aside his official air he leaned forward and spoke to her, inviting her to speak her confidence. Mrs. Dorriman turned red and pale, she was troubled, and her nervousness increased. "I cannot bear parting with the place for ever," she exclaimed, but in a low voice, "if----" In vain poor Mr. Macfarlane waited, words would not come for some time, then in a hurried way she said, "Could I sell on the understanding that I might buy it back when I chose?"