Cuddie also proffered his assistance; but his wife reminded him, "That the bairns would be left to fight thegither, and coup ane anither into the fire," so that he remained to take charge of the menage. His wife led the way up a little winding path, which, after threading some thickets of sweetbrier and honeysuckle, conducted to the back-door of a small garden. Jenny undid the latch, and they passed through an old-fashioned flower-garden, with its clipped yew hedges and formal parterres, to a glass-sashed door, which she opened with a master-key, and lighting a candle, which she placed upon a small work-table, asked pardon for leaving him there for a few minutes, until she prepared his apartment. She did not exceed five minutes in these preparations; but when she returned, was startled to find that the stranger had sunk forward with his head upon the table, in what she at first apprehended to be a swoon. As she advanced to him, however, she could discover by his short-drawn sobs that it was a paroxysm of mental agony. She prudently drew back until he raised his head, and then showing herself, without seeming to have observed his agitation, informed him that his bed was prepared. The stranger gazed at her a moment, as if to collect the sense of her words. She repeated them; and only bending his head, as an indication that he understood her, he entered the apartment, the door of which she pointed out to him. It was a small bedchamber, used, as she informed him, by Lord Evandale when a guest at Fairy Knowe, connecting, on one side, with a little china-cabinet which opened to the garden, and on the other, with a saloon, from which it was only separated by a thin wainscot partition. Having wished the stranger better health and good rest, Jenny descended as speedily as she could to her own mansion. "Oh, Cuddie!" she exclaimed to her helpmate as she entered, "I doubt we're ruined folk!" "How can that be? What's the matter wi' ye?" returned the imperturbed Cuddie, who was one of those persons who do not easily take alarm at anything. "Wha d' ye think yon gentleman is? Oh that ever ye suld hae asked him to light here!" exclaimed Jenny. "Why, wha the muckle deil d'ye say he is? There's nae law against harbouring and intercommunicating now," said Cuddie; "sae, Whig or Tory, what need we care wha he be?" "Ay, but it's ane will ding Lord Evandale's marriage ajee yet, if it 's no the better looked to," said Jenny; "it's Miss Edith's first joe, your ain auld maister, Cuddie." "The deil, woman!" exclaimed Cuddie, starting up, "Crow ye that I am blind? I wad hae kend Mr. Harry Morton amang a hunder." "Ay, but, Cuddie lad," replied Jenny, "though ye are no blind, ye are no sae notice-taking as I am." "Weel, what for needs ye cast that up to me just now; or what did ye see about the man that was like our Maister Harry?"