The English girl watched the look in the young Scotchman’s face with wonder not unmixed with amusement. When with a sigh Alec turned to his companion, she, too, was gazing on the far-off mountain-top. ‘I really must go now,’ she said softly, holding out her hand. ‘May I not go to the park-gate with you?’ Laura shook her head; but her smile was bright enough to take the sting from her refusal. ‘Good-bye.’ And in another moment Alec was alone. The sun had gone out of his sky. He sat down on a bench, and began to wonder how he had dared to converse familiarly with one so beautiful, so refined, so far removed from his ordinary friends, as Laura Mowbray. Then he recalled her great goodness in interesting herself in his concerns, and of course he resolved to follow her advice. He could think of nothing but Laura Mowbray the whole afternoon. He recalled her looks, her smile, her lightest word. To him they were treasures, to be hidden for ever from every human eye but his own; and in every look and word he found a new ground for admiration, a new proof of Miss Mowbray’s intelligence, sweetness, and goodness. Next week he acted upon her suggestion, and paid a visit to Blythswood Square. He was received by Miss Lindsay, a tall, spare, large-featured woman, whose gray hair was bound down severely under her old-fashioned cap. ‘Weel, Alec; an’ what brings you here?’ was her greeting, as she held out her hand without troubling herself to rise. ‘Nothing particular: why do you ask?’ ‘Ye come sae seldom; it’s no often we hae the pleasure o’ a veesit frae you.’ ‘I canna say much for my attentions, Aunt Jean; but then I canna say much for your welcome,’ returned Alec, flushing as he spoke. ‘Hoots, laddie! sit doon an’ behave yersel’. My bark’s waur nor my bite.’ ‘And how’s my uncle?’ ‘Much as usual. I don’t think he’s overly weel pleased wi’ you, Alec, my man.’ ‘What have I done now?’ ‘It’s no your daein’; it’s your no-daein’. Ye never look near him.’ ‘He doesn’t want to be bothered with me.’ The door opened, and the master of the house came in. He gave Alec his hand with his usual dry, consequential air, and hardly looking at him, made some indifferent remark to his cousin. ‘Here’s Alec sayin’ he doesna believe you want to be bothered wi’ him,’ she said. The old man seated himself deliberately, and made no disclaimer of the imputation. ‘You’ll be going home for the summer?’ he asked. ‘Yes; I am going home at the end of the month; but I should like to get a tutorship for the summer, if I could.’ ‘Humph!’ ‘What are you going to be?’ asked Mr. Lindsay after a pause--‘a doctor, or a minister, or what?’ ‘I don’t know yet,’ said Alec. His uncle sniffed contemptuously. ‘A rowin’ stane gethers nae fog,’[6] put in Aunt Jean. Alec changed the subject; but his grand-uncle soon returned to it.