Startled and abashed, Menie drew back, but Miss Annie’s ringlets had already touched her forehead, as Miss Annie bestowed the morning salutation upon Menie’s cheek; and now they are seated side by side under shadow of the greatest elm. “My dear, I am afraid your mamma does not encourage you to confide in her; you must tell me all your little trials, Menie,” said Miss Annie, fluttering with her finger-points upon Menie’s hand; “and now, my darling, speak to me freely--you were delighted to meet him last night.” But Menie had no voice to answer, and could only bend down her flushed face, and pluck up the grass with her disengaged hand. “Don’t be shy, love. I am so much interested; and tell me, Menie, you found him quite unchanged?--just as devoted as he used to be? I am sure one only needed to look at him--and how delightful to find him quite unchanged!” “How far is it to London, aunt?” said Menie, with confusion. “So near that your thoughts have travelled there this morning to find him out, I know,” said Miss Annie,--“so near that he can come out every night, so we need not talk of London: but come now, darling; have you nothing to tell me?” “You are very good,” said Menie, with a slight falter in her voice. “I--I should like very well to take Jenny, if you please, to see some of the great sights.” Miss Annie shook her head--“Ah, Menie, how mischievous! Don’t you think I deserve your confidence?” “But, indeed, I have no confidence to give,” said Menie, almost under her breath. “My dear, I was just like you: the Scotch system is so restrictive--I was afraid to speak to any one,” said Miss Annie; “and so you see I had a little misunderstanding; and he was angry, and I was angry; and first we quarrelled, and then we sulked at each other, and so at last it came about that we were parted. Yes, Menie, dear! just now you are happy; you do not care for a sympathising heart; but if you should chance to be disappointed--I trust not, my love, but such things will happen--you will then remember that I, too, have been blighted--oh, my dear child!” And with a wave of her hand, expressing unutterable things, Miss Annie arranged her light silken mantle over this same blighted heart of hers, as if to hide the wound. But Menie, whose mind already had recovered its tone--Menie, who now only remembered Randall unchanged, unchangeable, towering high above all vulgar quarrels and sullennesses, a very fortress for a generous heart to dwell in--Menie sprang lightly up from the elastic turf, and stood with her slight young figure relieved against the morning sky, and all her frame vibrating with pride and joy in her worthy choice. What chance that she should ever give this wished-for confidence--should ever turn to seek such sympathy--should ever find comfort or solace in hearing of Miss Annie Laurie’s kindred woe? CHAPTER XIV.