"Such to-and-fro words as you gave him! He'll build his own way strong as Gibraltar upon them. See if he doesn't. Your fight is all to do over, but, as you have taken the matter in your own hands, you and him for it." "O Aunt! I am so miserable." "Well, then, I have seen lately that you are never happy unless you are miserable." "I have not heard from Richard, either yesterday or to-day." "What is that! At your age I was very proud and satisfied with a love letter once in a fortnight. That's enough in all conscience." "Two weeks! If Richard was so long silent it would kill me." "Have you any more nonsense to talk?" "Aunt, do not be cross with me. I thought you were as full of trouble as I am. Why else did you come here?" "Partly to keep the doors of my lips shut, and partly to think. I am not full of trouble. I cannot do as I wish to do, but I have a Friend who does all things well. And, when it is my time to act, I shall be ready to act. Now go to your sleeping place and dream without care sitting on your heart; then in the morning you can rise with a clear, trusting soul, such as God loves." CHAPTER VII MARION DECIDES "Love is indestructible, Its holy flame forever burneth, From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. "Love is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind." After Donald left his father he went straight to his aunt's room and, when she had finished making her pastry, she found him there, nursing his anger and sorrow with passionate tears and words of self-justification. He had kept a brave face to his father, but to his aunt-mother he wept out all his trouble, and he was comforted as one whom his mother comforteth. When Dr. Macrae asked her if she knew where Donald was she had truthfully answered, "No," but she instantly suspected, and shortened her work as much as possible in order to go to him. They talked cautiously of his plans and prospects and, when dinner time arrived, she surreptitiously carried him a good meal upstairs; for she was not willing that the servants should discuss Donald's quarrel with his father--the Master being to them, first of all, an ecclesiastic with a suggestion of the surplice ever around him. She knew their sympathy would veer decidedly toward the Master, for Donald played the "wee sinfu' fiddle" too much, and, as he went through the halls and parlors, was always whistling some irreligious reel, or strathspey, forbye hardly keeping himself from dancing it.