“You may as well tell your father, Randal, that Sir Ludovic has gone,” said Mrs. Burnside, with a little nod to the intruder. “Good-morning, Rob; I saw your mother, worthy woman, was out this morning. I am glad her cold is better;” and, so saying, she went slowly away toward the Manse in anything but a tranquil state of mind. She was not mercenary, nor had she really engaged in any matrimonial speculations for her son. But he was a young man, she well knew, who would be a credit to everybody belonging to him; and if Margaret and he had met, and if they had taken a fancy to each other, why then-- They had both a little money; indeed, it was generally known that Margaret had more than a little; but upon this point the minister’s wife assured herself that she had no information; and they were both well-born (for the Burnsides were as old as anything in the county), and it would have been very suitable: he a rising young lawyer, with a good profession and a good head, and the best of prospects before him. There was no unworthy scheming in her desire to bring these two perfectly matched young people together. The question in her eyes was not, was Randal good enough for Margaret? but, was Margaret good enough for Randal? But they had played together when they were children, and there was nobody far or near so like Margaret as Randal, so like Randal as Margaret. This was what Mrs. Burnside was thinking, as she walked very gently toward the Manse. The children and the old women did not courtesy when they met her, for such are not the habits of rural Scotland; but the little things looked at her with shy smiles, and the women wished her good-day, and were blithe to see Mr. Randal back. “And so am I, Jenny,” she said; “more glad than words can say.” “Eh, mem, ye hae nae need to say it; a’ the kirk,” said the old woman, sympathetic, “could see it in your face.” And why should she not ask herself, what was the very best thing to be had--the fairest and the sweetest to get for her boy? But that intrusive Rob Glen making himself so conspicuous! what was he, a country lad, nobody at all, not a gentleman, to put himself in Randal’s way? “And what have you been doing, Rob, all these years? I’ve heard of you from time to time; but I’ve been wandering, as you know, and for some time back I know nothing. Little Margaret Leslie, I thought her a child, and lo! she’s a lovely lady. I thought I should have found you in the pulpit preaching for my father; but here you are, without so much as a black coat. What has happened to you?”