“There’s this to be said for the watter, father,” he remarked, as he set down the wooden bowl in which Grizzie had thought proper to supply it, “that it comes mair direc’ frae the han’ o’ God himsel’--maybe nor even the milk. But I dinna ken; for I doobt organic chemistry maun efter a’ be nearer his han’ nor inorganic! Ony gait, I never drank better drink; an’ gien ae day he but saitisfee my sowl’s hunger efter his richteousness as he has this minute saitisfeed my body’s drowth efter watter, I s’ be a happier man nor ever sat still ohn danced an’ sung.” “It’s an innocent cratur’ at gies thanks for cauld watter--I hae aye remarkit that!” said Grizzie. “But I maun awa’ to my bairn up the stair; an’ may it please the Lord to lift her or lang, for they maun be luikin for her yont the burn by this time. Whan she wauks i’ the mornin’, the’ ’ill be nae mair scornin’!” This was Grizzie’s last against her mistress. The laird took no notice of it: he knew Grizzie’s devotion, and, well as he loved his mother, could not but know also that there was some ground for her undevised couplet. Scarcely a minute had passed when the voice of the old woman came from the top of the stair, calling aloud and in perturbation, “Laird! laird! come up direc’ly. Come up, lairds baith! She’s comin’ til hersel’!” They hastened up, Cosmo helping his father, and approached the bed together. With smooth, colourless face, unearthly to look upon, the old lady lay motionless, her eyes wide open, looking up as if they saw something beyond the tester of the bed, her lips moving, but uttering no sound. At last came a murmur, in which Cosmo’s ears alone were keen enough to discern the articulation. “Mar’on, Mar’on,” she said, “ye’re i’ the lan’ o’ forgiveness! I hae dune the lad no ill. He’ll come hame to ye nane the waur for ony words o’ mine. We’re no’ a’ made sae guid to begin wi’ as yersel’, Mar’on!” Here her voice became a mere murmur, so far as human ears could distinguish, and presently ceased. A minute or so more and her breathing grew intermittent. After a few long respirations, at long intervals, it stopped. “She’ll be haein’ ’t oot wi’ my ain mistress or lang!” remarked Grizzie to herself as she closed her eyes. “Mother! mother!” cried the laird, and kneeled by the bedside. Cosmo kneeled also, but no word of the prayers that ascended was audible. The laird was giving thanks that another was gone home, and Cosmo was praying for help to be to his father a true son, such as the Son of Man was to the Father of Man. They rose from their knees, and went quietly down the stair; and as they went from the room, they heard Grizzie say to herself, “She’s gang whaur there’s mair--eneuch an’ to spare!” The remains of Lady Joan’s ten pounds was enough to bury her. They invited none, but all the village came to her funeral. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE LABOURER.