“Ay--to Norlaw,” said the Mistress, ignorant of all this complication of feeling and with a softening in her voice; “Norlaw himself, that’s gane, was near of kin to your mother; your grandfather, auld Melmar, was good to us and ours; my sons are your nearest kinsmen in these parts, and I’m their mother. It’s mair for your honor and credit, and for your mother’s, now when you ken, to be there than here. Come hame with me--you’ll be kindly welcome at Norlaw.” “And yet,” said Desirée, lifting her tearful eyes, and her face flushed with painful emotion; “and yet but for us, all this fortune would have gone to your son. Why are you kind to me? you ought to hate me.” “Na!” said the Mistress, with proud love and triumph; “my Huntley is nane the waur--bairn, do you think the like of you could harm my son, that I should hate you? Na! he would work his fingers to the bone, and eat dry bread a’ his days before he would touch the inheritance of the widow--loss of land or loss of gear is no such loss to my Huntley that I should think ill of any person for its sake and you’re my son’s kinswoman, and I’m his mother. Come hame with me till your ain mother is here.” Without a word Desirée rose, dried her eyes, and held out her little hand to the Mistress, who took it doubtfully. “I will be your daughter, your servant!” cried the little Frenchwoman, with enthusiasm; “I will come to learn what truth means. Wait but till I tell them. I will stay here no longer--I will do all that you say!” In another moment she darted out of the room to prepare, afraid to linger. The Mistress looked after her, shaking her head. “My daughter!” said the Mistress to herself, with a “humph!” after the words--and therewith she thought of Katie Logan; where was Katie now? CHAPTER LXI.