“We came this morning, Katie and me, to see what use we could be; but now the worst’s over, Huntley, I’m thinking we’ll just go our way back again, and leave you to rest--for Katie thinks your mother will be best pleased to be alone.” “Do you think so?” said Huntley, looking eagerly into Katie’s face. “Yes, unless I could be your real sister for a while, as long as Mrs. Livingstone needed me,” said Katie, with a smile, “and I almost wish I could--I am so good at it--to take care of you boys.” “There is no fear of us now,” said Huntley. “The worst’s over, as the minister says. We’ve had no time to think what we’re to do, Dr. Logan; but I’ll come and tell you whenever we can see what’s before us.” “I’ll be very glad, Huntley; but I’ll tell you what’s better than telling me,” said Dr. Logan. “Katie has a cousin, a very clever writer in Edinburgh--I knew there was something I wanted to tell you, and I had very near forgotten--if you’ll take my advice, you’ll go in, it’s not very far, and get him to manage the whole thing for you. Here’s the address that Katie wrote down last night. Tell your mother about it, Huntley, and that it’s my advice you should have a sound man in the law to look after your concerns; and come down to the manse as soon as you can, if it were only for a change; and you’ll give your mother our regards, and we’ll bid you good-day.” “And dinna think more than you should, or grieve more, Huntley--and come and see us,” said Katie, offering him her hand again. Huntley took it, half joyfully, half inclined to burst out into boyish tears once more. He thought it would have been a comfort and refreshment to have had her here, this wearied, melancholy day. But somehow, he did not think with equal satisfaction of Katie’s cousin. It seemed to Huntley he would almost rather employ any “writer” than this one, to smooth out the raveled concerns of Norlaw. CHAPTER X. Common daylight, common life, the dead buried out of their sight, the windows open, the servants coming to ask common questions about the cattle and the land. Nothing changed, except that the father was no longer visible among them--that Huntley sat at the foot of the table, and the Mistress grew familiar with her widow’s cap. Oh, cruel life! This was how it swallowed up all the solemnities of their grief. And now it was the evening, and the eager youths could be restrained no longer. Common custom had aroused even the Mistress out of her inaction, sitting by the corner window, she had once more begun mechanically to notice what went and came at the kitchen door--had been very angry with the packman, who had seduced Jenny to admit him--and with Jenny for so far forgetting the decorum due to “an afflicted house;” had even once noticed, and been partially displeased by the black ribbons in Marget’s cap, which it was extravagant to wear in the morning; and with melancholy self-reproof had opened the work basket, which had been left to gather dust for weeks past.