"If you are ill, I will not leave you." "Nonsense! my body is well enough, but there is something that hurts far more than bodily illness." A commotion in the hall was followed by the servant's entrance. He announced the arrival of a box for Mrs. Dorriman. She forgot, at the moment, that she had sent to the Macfarlanes for the famous box which held so much that was important to her, and when she saw it it gave her a little shock. Apparently it gave a greater shock to her brother, for he was white to the very lips. "Anne," he said, and his voice was full of entreaty, "will you do me one great favour: Will you not look at the contents of this box, will you not break the seals, till you are at Inchbrae?" Mrs. Dorriman--who had seen it arrive with a curiously mingled feeling, half dreading half anxious to know its contents--said quietly, "It shall be as you wish, brother." CHAPTER IV. The long July days were at hand, so much longer in the Highlands than in other parts of Great Britain, and which most people, living in that favoured spot, think more than makes up for the shorter winter days. Over everything lay the beauty of summer. Where the heat is not too intense for enjoyment, what a delicious thing is a long, summer day! At Inchbrae, where the sea kept the air cool, it was perfect; by the side of the burn and down by the waterfall, ferns sprinkled with spray, showed a perpetual verdure, a thousand flowers lingered within the freshness of the burn-side; honeysuckle and sweetbriar rivalled each other in fragrance. The garden near the house was in perfection, for, though spring flowers come late, they make up for it when they arrive--and roses and geraniums made bright colour, and caught the sunshine to enhance their beauty. Mrs. Dorriman had felt much on arriving at the little place where she had gone through so much sorrow. Inchbrae, to her, was second to the old home, where she had many memories, but she loved it, and it was her very own, and the fact of possession gives a certain touch of pride in everything. Christie had welcomed her with all the heartiness of an old Highland friend and dependent. She had scrubbed and cleaned, and Mrs. Dorriman, while missing Jean at every turn, was full of gratitude. "Eh, my dear, time has stood still for you," Christie said to her, as she watched her quick movements to and fro; "you are a different woman to what you were when you went away." "I am happier, Christie." "Aye, you are happier, but you have to get more yet; there's more good to come to you yet." Mrs. Dorriman laughed softly. "Are you prophesying a husband to me at my age, and another husband too?" and then she blamed herself for laughing. "Your age is no hindrance; but I was not thinking of marrying; I was thinking of the old house, of the old home."