The novelty of the scenes around her revived Annot's spirits, and she was soon the merry little sunbeam of the house. Aunt Matilda was delighted with the Highland lassie, and was never better pleased than when she could draw her away from all the rest, and hear her tales about Scottish life, and scenery, and people; the old superstitions had their charm for her, and many a time Madeline enjoyed a quiet laugh at the expense of Aunt Matilda. As soon as Edmund heard of the arrival, he hastened to Woodcliff; but what was his surprise to see Annot Lindsay in America! She was no longer the pretty, innocent child of fifteen, with her sweet voice and winning ways, but a lovely girl of eighteen, with the simplicity of a child and the deeper nature of a woman. She had grown wonderfully, but was still a little Highland maiden; the same soft eyes and ever-changing color, the same graceful form and tripping step, the same luxuriant flow of golden ringlets and tender, bewildering voice. He was completely taken by surprise. He could not call her Annot now--this young and charming woman. "Miss Lindsay, I am delighted to see you again; this is indeed an unexpected pleasure," and Edmund touched respectfully the hand so bashfully extended, and, as soon as possible, Annot sought the shelter of a quiet corner, where she thought herself secure from observation. But not so. Edmund was soon again by her side, and would take no denial when begging for some of her sweet Scotch songs. She was an artless little thing, and, without farther persuasion, took her seat at the piano, and revived the old memories with her sweet voice, now so much fuller, deeper, richer than three years ago. "I ken some mair music, Mr. Norris," and Annot proceeded to sing some of her more fashionable music. "Let us keep to the old songs, Miss Lindsay; they are the sweetest by far." "What are you about now, Edmund?" said Roland. "I am in business just to please my mother; but I despise mercantile concerns; I shall never be a successful merchant." "We shall see you often now, Edmund, I suppose," said Roland, archly emphasizing the word now. "I think that is very likely," dryly answered Edmund, with a significant smile. CHAPTER XXX. FELLOW-HEIRS OF THE GRACE OF LIFE "This is a trial," said Roland; "business calls me to New York, and it will never do for me to be running down daily to Woodcliff; I should be half of my time on the road. In the busy season, I shall have to content myself coming every other day, unless we take boarding in the city." "Do you desire it, Roland? your wishes shall guide me, although I should be sorry to leave dear Woodcliff; life is so very different in that gay metropolis." "I think that we had better remain here; we will go to the city for a few weeks in the winter, that Annot may see some of the lions that we have to show her."