The carriage passed up the long winding drive and halted in the wide porch. Toppen sprang nimbly down from the box, threw off his Mackintosh, and opened the coach door, assisting its occupants to alight. Then he flung open the house door and led the way up the steps into the great hall, while the carriage went around to the stables. In the wide hall the steward and his wife were waiting, to welcome the new owner of Heather Hills. The former was a hale, sandy-haired Scotsman, with a plain honest face. The latter was a broad-faced motherly Scots-woman, who fell in love with the young mistress of the house at first sight. “Miss Wroat,” said Peters, “these are Mr. and Mrs. Lang, the steward and his wife.” Lally acknowledged the introduction with a gentle courtesy that won the Scotsman’s heart. “The house is all in order, Miss,” he said respectfully. “There’s a cook and house-maid from Inverness, and new furniture has been put in your own room, Miss, and your sitting room has been newly furnished, as Mrs. Peters ordered. If the house is not to your liking, anything can be changed as you wish.” “I will show you up to your room, Miss,” said Mrs. Lang, noticing Lally’s pallor, and evident weariness. “Dinner will be on the table in an hour.” Lally and Peters followed the steward’s wife to the upper hall, and to a large octagon chamber, newly fitted up with a crimson carpet, crimson-covered chairs, and a cottage piano. A wood fire burned on the hearth, and an easy-chair in a white slip cover was drawn up before it. “How cozy and pleasant!” exclaimed Lally. “All is warmth and brightness in here, but I can look from my windows upon the wild sea, white with fury. See the sails! I shall never tire of this charming room and charming prospect.” “Your bed-room adjoins this room, Miss Wroat,” said Mrs. Lang, well pleased with Lally’s praise. “Mrs. Peters’ room is next beyond, and opens into yours.” “Do you live in the house, Mrs. Lang?” asked Lally. “No, Miss. We live at the cottage half a mile back, which you passed just before turning into the grounds. We have lived there twenty years. No other spot in the world seems so like home to us. If we had to leave it now,” and Mrs. Lang’s voice trembled, “I think my old man would just fret himself to death.” “You won’t have to leave it,” said Lally cheerfully. “I do not intend that my aunt’s old friends or faithful servants shall suffer through me. I desire Mr. Lang to continue his stewardship so long as he lives and I live. I do not know anything about the revenue or this little estate; Mr. Harris forgot to mention it perhaps; but I am sure it cannot be in better hands than those in which my aunt placed it.” Mrs. Lang looked relieved and gratified.