“Gang out of this house,” said Jenny, with quiet fury, holding the door wide open in her hand, and setting down her right foot upon the floor of her own domain, with a stamp of absolute supremacy. “No anither word--gang out of this door, and let me see your face again if ye daur! Gang to London--fleech up the mistress--wait upon Miss Menie! My patience!--and you’ll ca’ a decent woman thrawn to me! Gang out o’ this house, ye shadow!--the sight o’ you’s enough to thraw ony mortal temper. Your mother, honest woman!--but I canna forgive her for being art or part in bringing the like of you to this world. Are ye gaun away peaceably--or I’ll put ye out by the shouthers wi’ my ain twa hands!” “Eh, sic a temper!” said Nelly Panton, vanishing from the threshold as Jenny made one rapid step forward. “I’m sure I forgive you, Jenny, though I’m sure as weel, that if the rain hadna laid a’ the stour, mony a ane has shaken the dust off their feet for a testimony against less ill usage than you’ve gien me; but I’m thankful for my guid disposition--I’m thankful that there’s nae crook in me, and I leave you to your ain thoughts, Jenny Durward; it’s weel kent what a life thae twa puir ladies lead wi’ ye, through a’ the countryside.” The kitchen door violently shut, by good fortune drowned for Jenny this last vindictive utterance, and Nelly Panton, unexcited, drew her shawl again close over her elbows, and went with her stealthy steps upon her way--a veritable shadow falling dark across the sunshine, and without a spot of brightness in her, within or without, to throw back reflection, or answer to the sunny morning light which flashed upon all the glistening way. But no such quietness possessed the soul of Jenny of Burnside; over the fresh sanded floor of her bright kitchen her short vigorous steps pattered like hail. Cups and saucers came ringing down from her hands upon the tray, which she was crowding with breakfast “things.” The bread-basket quivered upon the table where her excited hand had set it down. She turned to the hearth, and the poor little copper kettle rang upon the grate--the poker assaulted the startled fire--the very chain quaked and trembled, hanging from the old-fashioned crook far back in the abyss of the chimney. Very conspicuous in this state of the mental atmosphere became Jenny’s high shoulder. It seemed to develop and increase with every additional fuff, and the most liberal and kindly commentator could not have denied this morning the existence of the “thraw.”