The anxious stare that she bent on his face at this time was enquiry enough, what he meant by the short and mysterious sentence he had just uttered; but from the fulness of his heart he had said that which he could not recal, and had no mind to commit himself farther. His eldest son, John, was in the room too, which he had not remarked before he spoke, and therefore he took the first opportunity to change the subject. “Gudewife,” said he, tartly, “what are ye sittin glowrin like a bendit wulcat there for? Gae away and get me something to eat; I’m like to fa’ atwae wi’ sheer hunger.” “Hunger, father!” said the lad; “I’m sure I saw ye take as much meat to the hill with you as might have served six.” Walter looked first over the one shoulder at him, and then over the other, but, repressing his wrath, he sat silent about the space of two minutes, as if he had not heard what the youth said. “Callant,” then said he, with the greatest seeming composure, “rin away to the hill, an’ see after the eild nowt; ca’ them up by the Quare Burn, an’ bide wi’ them till they lie down, gin that sudna be till twal o’clock at night—Gae away when I bid ye—What are ye mumgin at?” And saying so, he gave him such a thwack on the neck and shoulders with the wet bonnet as made him make the best of his way to the door. Whether he drove the young cattle as far as the Quare Burn, or whether he looked after them that night or not, Walter made no farther enquiry. He sat still by his fire wrapt in deep thought, which seemed to increase his uneasy and fretful mood. Maron Linton, (for that was the goodwife of Chapelhope’s name) observing the bad humour of her husband, and knowing for certain that something disagreeable had befallen him, wisely forbore all intermeddling or teazing questions respecting the cause. Long experience had taught her the danger of these. She bustled about, and set him down the best fare that the house afforded; then, taking up her tobacco pipe, she meditated an escape into the kitchen. She judged that a good hearty meal by himself might somewhat abate his chagrin; and, besides, the ominous words were still ringing in her ears—“It will be a bloody night in Gemsop this”—and she longed to sound the shepherds that were assembled around the kitchen fire, in order to find out their import. Walter, however, perceiving her drift, stopped her short with—“Gudewife, whar are ye gaun sae fast—Come back an’ sit down here, I want to speak t’ye.” Maron trembled at the tone in which these words were spoken, but nevertheless did as she was desired, and sat down again by the fire. “Weel, Watie, what is’t?” said she, in a low and humble tone. Walter plied his spoon for some time without deigning any reply; then turning full upon her, “Has Kate been in her bed every night this week?” asked he seriously. “Dear gudeman, whaten a question’s that to speer at me—What can hae put sic a norie i’ your head as that?”