Lily turned to him with the same overwhelming smile which had nearly made an end of Sir Robert before, which shone from her pale face and from her wide, lucid, liquid eyes, still so large and bright with weakness; but she did not wait for him to bring her a chair to the window. She tottered to one that had been placed for her near the fire, which, however bright the day, was always necessary at Dalrugas. “I am better here,” she said. She looked so fragile seated there opposite to him that the old gentleman’s heart was moved. “My poor lassie! I would give something to see you as bright-faced and as light-footed as when you came here.” “Ah, that’s so long ago,” she said. “I was light-hearted, too, and perhaps light-headed then. I am not light in any way now, except, perhaps, in weight. It makes you very serious to live night and day and never change upon the moor.” “Do you think so, Lily? I’m sorry for that. I thought you were so fond of the moor. They told me you were out upon it when you were well, rambling and taking your pleasure all the day.” “Yes,” she said, “it’s always bonnie. The heather is grand in its time, and it’s fine, too, in the gray days, when the hills are all wrapped in their gray plaids, and a kind of veil upon the moor. But it cannot answer, Uncle Robert, when you speak, or give you back a look or say a word.” “That’s true, that’s true, Lily. I was thinking only that it’s a peaceful place, and quiet, where an old man like me can get his sleep in peace; though there’s that Dougal creature with his pails and pony that is aye stirring by the skreigh of day.” “The pony was a great diversion,” said Lily, “and Dougal, too, who was always very kind to me.” “Kind! It was his bounden duty, the least he could do. I would like to know how he would have stood before me if he had not been kind, and far more, to the only child of the old house!” “Thank you, Uncle Robert,” said Lily, “for saying so. They were all kind, and far more than kind. They have just been devoted to me, and thought of nothing but to make me happy. You will think of that--in case that any thing should happen.” “Lily!” said Sir Robert with an angry tone, “I’m thinking you’re both ungrateful and unkind yourself. God has spared you and brought you back out of a dreadful illness, and these two women have nursed you night and day, and though I could do little for you, having no experience that way, yet perhaps I’ve felt all the more. And here are you speaking of ‘any thing that might happen,’ as if you had not just been delivered out of the jaws of death.”