From that time, tokens of grateful, loving remembrance from our Montenegrin friends ceased not to flow in. It rained quinces, figs, and walnuts; poultry cackled at our door, the bringers running hastily off to get out of the way of payment; and, finally, an elaborate epistle from the parish priest of Cetigna (Basil's home) expressed the gratitude of the village for this our simple act of kindness. II. "Oh, that I were where I would be." Aunt Cattie was called away to see visitors, and it was not till after tea that the story could be resumed. Millie had chafed at the interruption, and said it was horrid of people to come, and bring one down from the Black Mountain to listen to talk about weather and fashions. Janie bore the delay more philosophically, observing that she could not have turned the heel of her stocking so correctly while thinking of Nilo and his poor mother. Archie remained silent, only when Aunt Cattie sat down and resumed her narrative, he was heard to mutter to himself that it was "awful jolly!" The day that Spira left us, she said, was the last of your uncle's holiday. That evening we sat together before the hearth on which a pine log or two from Montenegro blazed. Your uncle cracked his walnuts in a thoughtful mood, and I sat listening to the wind which rose and rose till it blew a perfect gale; when it paused, as if to take breath, I could count the waves that plashed on the shingle, and hear the shouts of people on the quay welcoming the mail steamer from Ragusa. "Laurie," said I at last, "are you going by that vessel to-morrow morning?" "Yes," he answered, "I have made up my mind to go to Ragusa, and come to an explanation with John Popham; there has been a misunderstanding between us, Cattie--I may tell you this much--and he has been led to doubt not only the prudence of my conduct in the affairs of the house, but the purity of my motives also." "Doubt your purity of motive!" I cried. "If he can do that, Laurie, it is not fit you should remain in his service another moment; it is not, indeed." There was a quiet smile on his face as he sat opposite to me in the flickering firelight; he did not speak and I sat silent too, perusing the lines of that dear face with a strange unaccountable foreboding of evil. "The man," thought I, "who can meet the glance of those clear, honest, grey eyes, hear the tones of that kindly voice, and harbour one suspicion, must be blind indeed. Heaven grant my Laurie be not too honest, too unsuspicious for his own safety! If he could only be persuaded to take half the care of that he does of the interests of those ungrateful Pophams, there would be no cause for fear." Your uncle spoke at last.