“Has Dr. Somers been to see her?” said Clare. “If she is Mr Perfitt’s relation, perhaps we could be of some use; some jelly perhaps, or fruit----” “I am much obliged to the young lady, but I’ll not trouble anybody,” was the answer. “Thank ye all. If I might ask the liberty, when Jeanie is able, of a walk about your park----” She had turned to Edgar again, upon whom her eyes dwelt with growing interest. Even Mr. Fielding thought it strange. “If she wants anything, surely I am the fit person to help her,” Clare could not help saying within herself. But it was Edgar to whom the stranger turned. He, too, was a little surprised by her look. “The park is open to everybody” he said; “that is no favour. But if you would like to go through the gardens and the private grounds--or even the house--Perfitt, you can arrange all that. And perhaps you might speak to the gardener, Clare?” “Whatever you wish, Edgar,” said his sister, turning away. She was displeased. It was she who ought naturally to have been appealed to, and she was left out. But the new-comer evidently was honestly oblivious of Clare’s very presence. She had no intention of disrespect to the young lady, or of neglecting her claims; but she forgot her simply, being fascinated by her brother. It was him whom she thanked with concise and reserved words, but a certain strange fulness of tone and expression. And then she made the party a little bow, which took in the whole, and turned and led the way up the narrow cottage stair--Perfitt following her--leaving them all considerably puzzled, and more moved than Clare would have allowed to be possible. “If this is your Scotchwoman,” she said, turning to the Rector, “I don’t wonder you found her original;” and Clare went hastily out of the cottage, without a word to Sarah, followed by the gentlemen, who did not know what to say. “Listen to her story before you begin to dislike her,” said Edgar. “Perfitt told me as we came along. It appears she had her daughter’s family thrown on her hands a great many years ago. She has a little farm in Scotland somewhere, and manages it herself. When these children came to her, she set to work as if she had been six men. She has brought up and educated every one of them,--not to be ploughmen, as you would think--but educated them in the Scotch way; one is a doctor, another a clergyman, and so on. If you don’t respect a woman like that, I do. Perfitt says she never flinched nor complained, but went at her work like a hero. And this is a granddaughter of another family whom she has taken charge of in the same way.” “I felt sure she was something remarkable,” said Mr. Fielding, “I told Clare I had never seen any one quite like her; now, didn’t I? Scotch, you know--very Scotch; but to me a new type.”