The next morning Robert and Shargar got on the coach and went to Rothieden. Robert turned his head aside as they came near the bridge and the old house of Bogbonnie. But, ashamed of his weakness, he turned again and looked at the house. There it stood, all the same,--a thing for the night winds to howl in, and follow each other in mad gambols through its long passages and rooms, so empty from the first that not even a ghost had any reason for going there--a place almost without a history--dreary emblem of so many empty souls that have hidden their talent in a napkin, and have nothing to return for it when the Master calls them. Having looked this one in the face, he felt stronger to meet those other places before which his heart quailed yet more. He knew that Miss St. John had left soon after Ericson's death: whether he was sorry or glad that he should not see her he could not tell. He thought Rothieden would look like Pompeii, a city buried and disinterred; but when the coach drove into the long straggling street, he found the old love revive, and although the blood rushed back to his heart when Captain Forsyth's house came in view, he did not turn away, but made his eyes, and through them his heart, familiar with its desolation. He got down at the corner, and leaving Shargar to go on to The Boar's Head and look after the luggage, walked into his grandmother's house and straight into her little parlour. She rose with her old stateliness when she saw a stranger enter the room, and stood waiting his address. 'Weel, grannie,' said Robert, and took her in his arms. 'The Lord's name be praised!' faltered she. 'He's ower guid to the likes o' me.' And she lifted up her voice and wept. She had been informed of his coming, but she had not expected him till the evening; he was much altered, and old age is slow. He had hardly placed her in her chair, when Betty came in. If she had shown him respect before, it was reverence now. 'Eh, sir!' she said, 'I didna ken it was you, or I wadna hae come into the room ohn chappit at the door. I'll awa' back to my kitchie.' So saying, she turned to leave the room. 'Hoots! Betty,' cried Robert, 'dinna be a gowk. Gie 's a grip o yer han'.' Betty stood staring and irresolute, overcome at sight of the manly bulk before her. 'Gin ye dinna behave yersel', Betty, I'll jist awa' ower to Muckledrum, an' hae a caw (drive) throu the sessions-buik.' Betty laughed for the first time at the awful threat, and the ice once broken, things returned to somewhat of their old footing.