“Eh dear, but I’m no like you, Peter! Whan the sowl’s gane, I tak no content i’ the presence o’ the puir worthless body, luikin what it never mair can be! Na, I wad be rid o’ ’t, I confess!—But be it as ye wull, my ain man! It’s a sair hert ye hae as weel as me i’ yer body this nicht; and we maun beir ane anither’s burdens! The dauty may lie as we hae laid her, the nicht throuw, and naething said: there’s little to be dene for her; she’s a bonny clean corp as ever was, and may weel lie a week afore we put her awa’!—There’s no need for ony to watch her; tyke nor baudrins ’ill never come near her.—I hae aye won’ert what for fowk wad sit up wi the deid: yet I min’ me weel they aye did i’ the auld time.” In this she showed, however, and in this alone, that the girl she lamented was not her own daughter; for when the other Isy died, her body was never for a moment left with the eternal spaces, as if she might wake, and be terrified to find herself alone. Then, as if God had forgotten them, they went to bed without saying their usual prayers together: I fancy the visit of her son had been to Marion like the chill of a wandering iceberg. In the morning the farmer, up first as usual, went into the death-chamber and sat down by the side of the bed, reproaching himself that he had forgotten “worship” the night before. And as he sat looking at the white face, he became aware of what might be a little tinge of colour—the faintest possible—upon the lips. He knew it must be a fancy, or at best an accident without significance—for he had heard of such a thing! Still, even if his eyes were deceiving him, he must shrink from hiding away such death out of sight! The merest counterfeit of life was too sacred for burial! Just such might the little daughter of Jairus have looked when the Lord took her by the hand ere she arose! Thus feeling, and thus seeming to see on the lips of the girl a doubtful tinge of the light of life, it was no wonder that Peter could not entertain the thought of her immediate burial. They must at least wait some sign, some unmistakable proof even, of change begun! Instead, therefore, of going into the yard to set in motion the needful preparations for the harvest at hand, he sat on with the dead: he could not leave her until his wife should come to take his place and keep her company! He brought a bible from the next room, sat down again, and waited beside her. In doubtful, timid, tremulous hope, not worthy of the name of hope—a mere sense of a scarcely possible possibility, he waited what he would not consent to believe he waited for. He would not deceive himself; he would give his wife no hint, but wait to see how she saw! He would put to her no leading question even, but watch for any start or touch of surprise she might betray! By and by Marion appeared, gazed a moment on the dead, looked pitifully in her husband’s face, and went out again.