We think it a strange thing that mortals should laugh and weep by turns, yet we think sunshine and showers a very natural alternation; and surely it is far more wonderful that we often weep when we should laugh, and laugh when we should weep--of which hypocrisy, notwithstanding, there is a hundred times more in the world than man or woman wots of. And we are sorry to be obliged to doubt the extent of the new-made lady’s grief when she saw the laird’s cough increasing as his love waxed stronger and his lungs grew less. Nay, we are not sure that when she saw that he was dying, and hailed the signs with grief in her eyes and joy in her heart, she was under the impression that she was acting up to the amiable tenet of her religious creed--total depravity. Be all which as it may, it is certain that though Dorothy’s tears had been of that real kind of which Tully says they are--“the easiest dried of all things,” they would not have retarded the progress of the laird’s disease. It was not yet three months, and he was confined to bed, with Dorothy hanging over him, watching him with all the care of a seeker for favourable symptoms. But one evening there was a symptom which she was unprepared for--nay, she was this time serious in her alarm. “I have done that which is evil in the sight o’ God.” The words came as from a far-away place, they were so hollow. “What is it, Tammas?” asked she. “I have seen David Dempster’s ghaist,” said he. “It looked in at that window, and disappeared in an instant; but no’ before I kent what the een said. Yea, Dorothy, they said as plainly as een can speak--‘Tammas Snoddy, ye made love to Dorothy Dempster when I was alive in the body, and her lawful husband.’” And the laird shook all over so violently that Dorothy could see the clothes move. “Just your conscience, Tammas,” said she. “Ye maun fley thae visions awa in the auld way. It is the deevil tempting ye. We maun flap the leaves o’ the Bible at him, and ye’ll see nae mair o’ him in this warld at any rate.” And Dorothy, taking up the holy book and opening it at the middle, flapt it with such energy that more dust came out of it than should have been found in a Calvinist’s Bible. “Ye’ll see nor hilt, nor hair, nor hoop, nor horn mair o’ him,” she added, with, we almost fear to surmise, a laugh. And Mrs Snoddy’s prophecy was of that kind--the safest of all--which comes after knowledge. “Then I will dee in peace,” said the relieved laird; “for I hae nae ither sin on my conscience.” “Nae sin, nae salvation,” added Dorothy. “A maist comfortable doctrine,” sighed the laird.