That evening, just before the darkening, when once more the sunset sky was flushed with all kinds of color, and shone in graduated tints of rose pink darkening to crimson, and blue melting into green, through the Manse window, one homely figure after another stole into the Manse parlor. Katrin had brought the minister a dozen of her own fresh eggs, and what could he do less than call her in and say, “How is a’ with ye?” at New Year’s time, when everybody had a word of good wishes to say? “And this is Robina,” he added, with a touch of reserve and severity in his tone. Beenie could not understand how to her, always so regular at the kirk and known for a weel-living woman, the minister should be severe; but it was easy to understand that on such an occasion he had a great deal on his mind. There was a chair at either end of the great sofa that stood against the wall; for in these days furniture was arranged symmetrically, and it was not permitted that any thing should be without its proper balance. The two women placed themselves there modestly one at each end; the great arms of the sofa half hid them in the slowly growing twilight. Katrin, who was nearest the door, was blotted out altogether. Beenie, who was at the end nearest the window, showed like a shadow against the light. And then there was a pause; it was a very solemn pause indeed, like the silence in church. The minister sat in his big chair in the darkest part of the room, with the red glow of a low fire just marking that there was something there, but not a word, not a movement, disturbing the dark. The room after a while seemed to turn round to the two watchers, it was so motionless. When Mr. Blythe drew a long breath, a sort of suppressed scream came from both of them. Was it rather a death than a marriage they had come to witness? They had never seen any living thing so still, and the awe of the old man’s presence was overwhelming enough in itself. “What’s the matter with you,” he said almost roughly. “Can I not draw my breath in my own house?” “Oh, sir, I beg your pardon,” cried Katrin, thankful to recover her voice. “It was just so awfu’ quiet, and we’re no used to that. In our bit houses there’s nobody but says whatever comes into his head, and we’re awfu’ steering folk up at Dalrugas Tower.” “Just in the way o’ kindness, and giving back an answer when you’re spoken to,” said Beenie deferentially, in her soft, half-apologetic voice. It was a great comfort to them in the circumstance, which was very unusual and full of responsibility, to hear themselves speak.