"Very absentminded, and reading his Horace as if the old poet were new. He did not even look up while she thanked me for the money the judge had sent. ’I’m knitting every minute I’m not working or eating, for my poor lame lad Jamie,’ she said. ’Now, he has nothing to do but read his law books, an’ tell others what’s in them, and grow rich! ’T is all because his father ’s such a gentleman!’" "How proud she is, the dear old woman!" said Mary warmly. "Yes, and they have the sense to be proud of her," said Hamilton, settling into his chair more comfortably and putting his empty glass aside. "I rode to the Rocky Hills myself late this afternoon. I heard that Elder Shackley had been ill. I liked the fresh wind and wet after last night’s warmth and a busy morning here in the house. I meant at first to ride north to meet you; but it was better not, since you crossed at the Falls." "I thought you would go another way," said Hamilton seriously. There were moments when he seemed old enough to be her father; there were, indeed, many years between them. "There is a sad heart and a lonely one across the river to-night, while we seem gay enough together." Mary’s face changed quickly; she stepped toward him, and seated herself on the broad arm of the chair, and drew her brother’s head close against her side. "What is it that you wish to say to me?" she asked. "I have been thinking of dear Madam Wallingford all day long," and Hamilton could feel her young heart beating quick like a bird’s, close to his ear. "She was in my mind, too. I came down that side of the river to see her, but it grew so rainy and late that I gave up my thought of stopping except to leave a message. My mare was very hot and spent," he explained, in a matter-of-fact way. "As I came toward the house I saw my lady standing at a window, and she beckoned me. She came herself to the door, and the wind blew her to and fro like a flag. She had been weeping terribly. ’I longed to see a friend,’ she told me, and could say no more.... I feared that she might bear us much ill will." Hamilton was so full of feeling that his own voice failed him, and Mary did not speak at first. "Well, dear brother?" she asked a moment later, knowing that he had more to say. "She wished to send you a message; ’t was her reason for calling me in. She asked if you would not come to see her to-morrow, late in the afternoon. Earlier she has business of the estate to manage, in place of her son. There are men coming down from the Lake." "Oh yes, yes, I shall go!" said Mary, with a sob. "Oh, I am so glad; I feared that her heart was broken, and that she would only hate us!" "I was afraid, too," returned Hamilton, and he took his sister’s hand gently in his own, and would have spoken something that she could not bear to hear. She moved away quickly. "Come, dear man," she said, "you must throw off these muddy clothes; you are warm again now, and they will soon be calling us to supper."