He was very glad to see Ronald, notwithstanding that he had become very anxious to get rid of him during his stay at the Manse. A visitor of any kind was a godsend in the middle of winter, and at this time of the year, and especially a visitor from Edinburgh, with news to tell, and perhaps a fresh story or two of the humors of the courts and the jokes of the judges, things that did not get in even to _The Scotsman_. “And what’s a’ your news, Mr. Lumsden?” he said eagerly. Ronald, who had had many opportunities of understanding the old minister, had come provided with a scrap or two piquant enough to please him, and what with the jokes, and what with the politics, made a very good impression in the first half-hour of his visit. Then came the turn of more personal things. “Yon was a fine glass of wine, Mr. Lumsden,” said the minister, with a slight smack of his lips. “I am very glad you liked it, sir; it was chosen by one of my friends who is learned in such matters. I would not trust it to a poor judge like myself.” “Better for you, Mr. Lumsden, better for you at your age not to be too good a judge. Look not upon the wine when it is red, says the prophet, which is just when it’s best, many persons think. I am strongly of his opinion when your blood’s hot in your veins, like the most of you young lads; but when a man begins to go down the hill, and when he’s well exercised in moderation, and to use without abusing, then a grand jorum of wine like yon makes glad the heart, as is to be found in one rather mysterious scripture, of God and man.” “I hoped it would give you a charitable thought of one that was rather a _sorner_, as I remember you said, upon your hospitality.” “That was never meant, that was never meant,” said the minister, waving his large flabby hands. Ronald had risen from his seat and was now standing by the fire, leaning his arm on the mantel-piece. The slow twilight was waning, and though the daffodil sky still shone in the window, the fire had begun to tell, especially in the shadow of the half-lit room. “You see, sir,” said Ronald, with a leap of his heart into his throat, and of the voice which accompanied it, coming forth with sudden energy, “there was more in that than met the eye.” “Ay, do ye say so?” said Mr. Blythe, also with a quickened throb of curiosity in his voice. “Miss Ramsay and I--had met in Edinburgh,” said Ronald, clearing his throat, “we had seen--a great deal of each other. We had, in short----” “I always said it, I always said it!” said the minister. “I told Eelen the very first night. I’ve seen much in my day. ‘These two are troth-plighted,’ I said to my daughter, before ye had been in my house a single night.” “I thought it was vain to attempt deceiving your clever eyes,” said Ronald; “I told Lily so; but ladies, you know, are never so sure--they think they can conceal things.”