And then Isabel calmed down and took her seat again, and shed a few silent tears, trembling meanwhile with excitement, and the secret something which Jean could see was ‘on her mind’ but could not divine. She made no complaint, however, and no disclosure, but quieted herself with a power of self-command which the homely but close observer standing by perceived to be new developed in her. When she spoke again it was about little Margaret’s ‘things,’ that they might be packed up and ready when the gig came for them at four o’clock. ‘Will ye take her away with ye?’ said Jean; ‘it’s awfu’ sudden; will ye take her this very night?’ ‘Do you think I would give my darling up again?’ cried Isabel, with her cheek pressed against the child’s cheek. ‘If you’re sure it’s for the best,’ said Jean, whose mind was really disturbed and anxious for her stepdaughter. ‘Isabel, my bonnie woman, I’m meaning no slight to him; but men are queer creatures. They’re no fond whiles of a little bairn that takes up the mother’s time, even when it’s their ain bairn; and she’ll no go to strangers. And ye canna have her with you at night as ye used to have her. My dear, if I was you I would take time to think.’ ‘I will never part with my baby again!’ said Isabel. In the quietness her old nature seemed to come back to her. The spell of Stapylton’s presence began to lose its fascinations. She began again to feel that it was still lawful for her to judge and decide for herself. ‘But if it was to make any--dispeace. I’m meaning no offence. She’s well and safe, and ye can trust her with me. My bonnie woman! you must not do that in haste that you’ll repent o’ before the day’s done.’ ‘How should I repent of it?’ she said, hastily, but would not yield. She had made up her mind entirely how it was to be done. She would say not a word to her husband, but take it for granted as a thing inevitable. Even, if she saw that to be expedient, she would cover up her baby under her cloak, until the _trajet_ was accomplished. In one way or other, howsoever she might be baffled, she had determined to take the child with her. All that Jean, who saw the practical difficulties better than she did, could succeed in settling was that Jenny Spence’s eldest daughter, at present ‘out of a place,’ whom little Margaret knew, should go with her to Kilcranion, to take care of her, and relieve the young mother from constant attention to the child. Jean sent off her boy instantly to warn Nelly Spence that she must make ready. ‘If she goes by the afternoon boat, she’ll be at the house as soon as you,’ said Jean; and when that was fairly accomplished, it was, as she said, a weight off her mind.