‘Many a time I frighten mysel,’ said Ailie, ‘I come and go, and I carena where. I am seeking the Lord and I canna find Him. Something says in my heart Lo here and Lo there--but there’s nae sound of His coming, though I’m ay listening night and day?’ ‘And are you no better?’ said Isabel, in her bewilderment: ‘and is there no word of Mr. John?’ ‘Oh, aye, Mrs. Lothian, she’s better,’ said old Janet Macfarlane, coming forward nimbly from among the heather. The old woman was worn with anxiety and excitement, but kept her undaunted courage. ‘I beg your pardon, I canna mind your new name; they’re awfu’ fashious thae English names. Mrs. Diarmid’s a hantle better, since the letters came from Ardnamore. He’s in Paris, he’s among his grand friends. I canna understand what it’s a’ about myself, but he says it’ll be in the papers if he shouldna hae time to write: and if your goodman should get an English paper, maybe you would let us hear. She’s real weel, and taking her walks, her and me, like the auld times,’ said Ailie’s champion. She met Isabel’s eye steadily, as she told this lie of pride and love. Ailie for her part took no notice. She was standing by Isabel’s side, looking with wistful eyes on the wild landscape, and seeing nothing; a creature distraught, and torn out of all the common woes and rules of life--but not mad, though even her mother thought so--at least not yet. ‘I was never ill,’ she said softly, ‘I want but one thing, Isabel, but that I canna get. I would be as well as you, and as light-footed, and as ready to do whatever there was to do--if I had but light from the Lord.’ ‘Has it never come back?’ said Isabel, wistfully, not knowing what to say. ‘Whiles I think it will never come back,’ said Ailie, shaking her head, ‘and whiles there is a glimmer of hope. My mother’s ay at my side night and day; and if she is that kind, would He break His word? Isabel, it’s an awfu’--awfu’ trial! What are your trials to that? To be disappointed in your God! But if _she_ is that kind, would He break His word? I never was a mother myself. But if you were tempted with a’ this world could bestow, would you give up your little bairn?’ A cry burst out of Isabel’s heart. She clasped her child closer, and sprang apart from the strange questioner. ‘Oh, no never--never! not if I should die.’ ‘And you’re but a young thing, and she’s but an old worldly woman,’ said Ailie, with solemn calm, ‘and would He break His word that’s above a’?’