fate. Katie raised her hand menacingly, and looked | was by no means to be neglected. She wrote-he fierce. The small Lord Erskine burst into a loud came, and with him the crisis of Janet Erskine's fit of laughter. He, too, was a spoiled child. "I'll be five the morn," continued the boy; "and I'm to be the best man. I saw Auntie Janet greeting. What makes her greet?" "Lordie, I wish you would speak low!" exclaimed Lady Anne. "Mamma says I'm to be Earl of Kellie, and I may speak any way I like," returned the heir. "But you shanna speak any way you like!" cried the rebellious Katie, seizing the small lord with her soft little hands, which were by no means destitute of force. "You shanna say anything to vex Lady Janet !" "Because I'll no let you," said the determined Katie. The spoiled child looked furiously in her face, and struck out with his clenched hand; but Katie grasped and held it fast, returning his stare with a look which silenced him. The boy began to whimper, and to appeal to Lady Anne; but Lady Anne, in awe and admiration, looked on and interfered not, fervently believing that never before had there been such a union of brilliant qualities as now existed in the person of Katie Stewart. CHAPTER IV. "But what makes Lady Janet greet?" Katie could not answer the question to her own satis faction. For the faithless Sir Robert and the belligerent brother had some private conversation; and thereafter Sir Robert sought his forsaken lady, and, by his changed manner, revived for a little ber drooping heart; but then a strange proposal struck harshly on Lady Janet's ear. Her brother had interfered. To escape from his interference, Sir Robert proposed that their long-delayed marriage should be hurried-immediate-secret; and that she should leave Kellie with him that very night, that there may be no collision between your brother and myself." Fatal words these were, and they sank like so many stones into Janet Erskine's heart. And for this the little loud, spoiled lordie had seen her weeping-for this, Katie had observed those terrible sobs. The poor fated Lady Jane !thus compelled to take the cold and reluctant hand which only under compulsion was offered to her, now feeling more than ever that the heart was lost. To elope too-to mock the wild expedient of passion with these hearts of theirs-the one iced over with indifference, the other paralyzed with misery. It was a sad fate. And if she hesitated-if she refused-then, alas! to risk the life of the belligerent brotherthe life of the cold Sir Robert-to lose the life of one. So there was no help or rescue for her, wherever she looked; and, with positive anguish throbbing in her heart, she prepared for her flight. Poor Lady Janet! A certain Sir Robert had been for a year or two a constant visitor at Kellie; It is late at night, and Katie Stewart is very his residence was at no great distance; and he wakeful, and cannot rest. Through her window had lost no opportunity of recommending himself look the stars, severe and pale, for the sky is to the quiet, intense Janet Erskine. He was a frosty, clear, and cold. Katie has lain long, turnrespectable, average man; handsome enough,ing to meet those unwearying eyes her own wide clever enough, attractive enough, to make his open wakeful ones, and feeling very eerie, and just opportunities abundantly suflicient for his pur- a little afraid-for certainly there are steps in that pose; and for a while Lady Janet had been very gallery without, though all the house has been happy. But then the successful Sir Robert began hushed and at rest for more than one long hour. to be less assiduous, to come seldom, to grow cold; and Janet drooped and grew pale uncomplainingly, refusing, with indignation, to confess that anything had grieved her. The earl had not noticed the progress of this affair, and now knew no reason for his daughter's depressed spirits and failing health; while Lady Betty, sadly observing it all, thought it best to take no open notice, but rather to encourage her sister to overcome an inevitable Borrow. But the Lady Erskine, Lordie's widowed mother, thought and decided differently. At present she was rather a supernumerary, unnecessary person in Kellie; for Lady Betty's judicious and firm hand held the reins of government, and left her sister-in-law very little possibility of interference. This disappointment of Janet's was quite a godsend for Lady Erskine-she took steps immediately of the most peremptory kind. For hints, and even lectures, had no effect on Sir Robert, when she applied them. Less and less frequent became his visits-paler and paler grew the cheeks of Janet, and Lady Erskine thought she was perfectly justified in her coup-de main. So she wrote to an honorable military Erskine, who, knowing very little about his younger sister, did perfectly agree with his brother's widow, that a good settlement for Janet was exceedingly desirable, and that an opportunity for securing it So, in a sudden paroxysm of fear, which takes the character of boldness, Katie springs from her little bed, and softly opens the door. There are indeed steps in the gallery, and Katie, from her dark corner, sees two stealthy figures creeping towards the stair, from the door of Lady Janet's room. But Katie's fright gradually subsides, and melts into wonder, as she perceives that Bauby Rodger, holding a candle in her hand, and walking with such precaution as is dreadful to see, goes first, and that it is quite impossible to prevent these heavy steps of hers from making some faint impression on the silence. And behind her, holding up with fingers which tremble sadly the heavy folds of that long ridingskirt, is not that Lady Janet? Very sad, as if her heart were breaking, looks Lady Janet's face; and Katie sees her cast wistful, longing glances towards the closed door of Lady Betty's room. Alas! for there peacefully, with grave sweet thoughts, unfearing for the future, untroubled for the past, reposes the bride who shall go forth with honor on the morrow; while here, with her great grief in her face, feeling herself guilty, forsaken, wishing nothing so much as to close her eyes this night forever, pauses her innocent, unhappy sister -a bride also, and a fugitive. And so the two figures disappear down the stair. Cold, trembling, and afraid, Katie pauses in her corner. But now the gallery is quite dark, and all the louder with eagerness and impatience to enter these troubles for itself. she steals into her room again, where at least there | could be anything but thankful, and rather beat are always the stars looking in unmoved upon her vigils; but it is a very restless night for Katie. Very early, when the April morning has not fairly dawned, she is up again. Still interested, still curious, eager to discover what ails Lady Janet, and where she has gone. The hall below is quite still; no one is yet up in the castle, important as this day is; and Katie steals down the great staircase, on a vague mission of investigation. Upon a little table in the hall, under those huge antlers which frown so ghostlike in the uncertain morning light, stands the candlestick which Bauby Rodger carried last night; and, as Katie's curiosity examines the only tangible sign that what she saw was real, and not a dream, and sees that the candle in it has burnt down to the socket and wasted away, she hears a step behind her-although Katie recoils with some fear when she beholds again the omnipresent Bauby. What ails ye, Bauby?" "It's been loot burn down to the socket-and it 's a' my wyte! Gude forgie me!-how was I to mind a thing? The light 's burnt out; but ye dinna ken what that means. And what gars ye look at me, bairn, wi' sic reproochfu' een?" "What does 't mean, Bauby?" asked Katie Stewart. "It's the dead of the house-this auld house of Kellie," said Bauby mournfully. "When a light's loot waste down to the socket, and die of itsel', it's an emblem of the house. The race maun dwine away like the light, and gang out in darkness. Oh that it hadna been my blame!" "But Bauby, I couldna sleep last night, and I saw ye. Where were ye taking Lady Janet?" The bairn 's in a creel," said Bauby, starting. "Me take Lady Janet ony gate! It's no my place." Ay, but ye were, though," repeated Katie; "and she lookit sweard, sweard to gang." 66 66 Weel, weel, she bid to gang; ye 'll hear the haill story some time," said Bauby, lifting her apron to her eyes. That I should be the ane to do this-me that have eaten their bread this mony a day-that it should be my blame!" And Bauby, with many sighs, lifted away the unfortunate candlestick. They went up stairs together to the west room, where Bauby began to break up the "gathered" fire for Katie's benefit, lamenting all the time, under her breath," that it should be me!" At last she sat down on the carpet, close to the hearth, and again wrung her great hands, and wiped a tear from either eye. There's naething but trouble in this world," sighed Bauby;" and what is to be, maun be; and lamenting does nae good." "But, Bauby, where's Lady Janet?" asked little Katie. Bauby did not immediately answer. She looked into the glowing caverns of the newly-awakened fire, and sighed again. I "Whisht, Miss Katie," said Bauby Rodger, "there's naething but trouble in every place, as was saying. Be thankful ye 're only a bairn." But, indeed, the little, curious, palpitating heart That day was a day full of excitement to all in Kellie, household and guests, and anything but a happy one. Many tears in the morning, when they discovered their loss-a cloud and shadow upon the following ceremony, which Katie wonderingly, and with decided secret antagonism, and a feeling of superiority, saw performed by a surpliced Scottish bishop; and a dreary blank at night, when, all the excitement over, those who were left felt the painful void of the two vacant places. But the day passed, and the next morning rose very drearily; so Katie, glad to escape from the dim atmosphere of Kellie, put on the new gown which Lady Betty had given her, with cambric ruffles at the sleeves, and drew her long gloves over her arms, and put her little ruffled hooded black silk mantle above all; and with shoes of blue morocco, silver buckled, on her little feet, went away to Kellie Mill to see her mother. Down the long avenue, out through that coroneted gate; and the road now is a very commonplace country-road, leading you by and by through the village of Arncreoch. This village has very little to boast of. The houses are all thatched, and of one story, and stand in long, shabby, parallel rows, on each side of the little street. No grass, nor flowers, nor other components of pretty cottages, adorns these habitations. Each has a kailyard at the back, it is true; but the aspect of that is very little more delightful than this rough causeway, with its dubs in front. A very dingy little primitive shop, where is sold everything, graces one side, and at the other is the Kellie Arms. Children tumble about at every open door; and through many of the uncurtained windows you see a loom; for Arnereoch is a village of weavers, on which the fishing towns on the coast, and the rural people about it, look down with equal contempt. Little Katie, in her cambric ruffles and silk inantle, rustles proudly though the plebeian village; and, as she daintily picks her steps with those resplendent shoes of hers, remembers, with a blush of shame, that it had been thought possible that she should marry a weaver! But no weaver is this young rural magnate who overtakes her on the road. It is Philip Landale, a laird, though his possessions are of no great size, and he himself farms them. He is handsome, young, well-mannered, and a universal favorite; but little Katie's face flushes angrily when he addresses her, for he speaks as if she were a child. And Katie feels that she is no child; that already she is the best dancer in the parish, and could command partners innumerable; not to speak of having begun to taste, in a slight degree, the delights of flirtation. So Katie scorns, with her whole heart, the good-humored condescension of young Kilbrachmont. But he is going to Kellie Mill, and the young coquette has to walk with dignity, and with a certain disdain, which Landale does not notice, being little interested in the same, by his side. Softly yonder rises Kellie Law, softly, rounded by the white clouds which float just over the head of the green, gentle hill; and there the long range of his lower brethren steal off to the west, where Balcarras Craig guards them with his bold front, and clothes his breast with foliage, to save him from the winds. There is nothing imposing in the scene; but it is fine, and fresh, and fruitful-vivid with the young verdure of the spring. But you look at your blue morocco shoes, little Katie, with their silver buckles glancing in the sun, and settle your mantle over the white arm which shines through its black lace glove, and have no eyes for the country; and Philip Landale strikes down the thistles on the roadside, with the heavy end of the whip he carries, and smiles goodhumoredly, and does not know what to say; and now on this rough, almost impassable road, worn into deep ruts by the carts which constantly come and go, bringing gain to the miller, they have come in sight of Kellie Mill. CHAPTER V. ting stockings. Now and then you hear her quiet voice, saying something to her mother, who bustles in and out, and keeps up a floating stream of remark, reproof, and criticism on everything that is going on. But Isabell takes little part in Janet's conversation; a slight cloud shades her brow sometimes, indeed, as the long laugh from the other end of the room comes harshly on her ear; for these two sisters are little like each other. It is again a great woollen stocking which Isabell knits; and fastened to her waist is a little bunch of feathers which she calls her "sheath," and in which she secures her wire. Her gown is made of dark-striped linen, open in front, with a petticoat of the same material appearing below; and of the same material is the apron, neatly secured about her round, slender waist. Her soft Isabell Stewart is nineteen now, and one of the brown hair is bound with a ribbon just a little beauties of Fife. Her eyes and ber hair are darker darker than itself, and her eyes are cast down than Katie's, her graceful figure a little taller, upon her work, so that you cannot perceive how her manner staid and grave, as it used to be when dark their blue has grown, until, suddenly startled she was a child; and though every one speaks by a voice without, she lifts them to throw a hurkindly of Isabell, and she is honored with consid-ried glance towards the door, where even now aperation and respect more than belong to her years, pears the little splendid Katie, with Philip Lanshe seems to lack the power, somehow, of grasp- dale and his riding-whip close behind. ing and holding fast the affection of any. Isabell has no young friends-no wooers; thoughtful, gentle, serious, she goes about alone, and still in her heart there is the old sad consciousness, the old vague yearning for dearer estimation than falls to her lot. She does not envy any one, nor grudge her little sister Katie the universal love which attends her; but Isabell thinks she is incapable of creating this longed-for affection, and sometimes in quiet places, over this thought, sheds solitary tears. Janet's looks, too, have improved; still heavier, thicker, and less graceful than her sisters, Janet, in her ruddy, boisterous health, is a rural belle -has already, now being seventeen, troops of joes," and rather triumphs over the serious Isabell. The beauties of the Milton, the three are called; and they deserve the title. The house door is open. Without any intervention of hall or passage, the straightforward door introduces you to the family apartment, which is no parlor, but a kitchen, tolerably sized, extending the whole length of the house. It is the afternoon, and everything looks well-ordered and "redd up," from the glittering plates and china which you see through the open doors of the oak "aumrie" in the corner, to the white apron and shining face of Merran, the servant at the Mill. The apartment has a window at each end-a small greenish window of thick glass, which sadly distorts the world without when you look through. But it is very seldom that any one looks through, for the door is almost always open, admitting the pure daylight and unshadowed sun. At the further window Janet stands before a clean deal table, making cakes-oat-cakes, that is; for all manufactured of wheaten flower are scones or bannocks. Janet has a special gift for this craft, and her gown is still tucked up, and so are her sleeves, that the ruddy, round arms may be used with more freedom. The girdle is on the bright fire, and Merran superintends the baking, moving almost incessantly between the fire-place and the table. Much talk, not in the lowest tone, is carried on between Merran and Janet. They are decidedly more familiar than Mrs. Stewart approves. Over Isabell's lip there escapes a half-audible sigh. Little Katie, then, is first with Philip Landale too. 66 And were ye at the marriage, bairn?" inquired Mrs. Stewart; " and was 't awfu' grand ?—and how did the prelatic minister do?" "And eh, Katie! exclaimed Janet, pressing forward with her mealy hands, "what a' had Lady Betty on ?" "She had on a grand gown, a' trimmed wi' point-lace, and a white satin petticoat, and the grandest spangles and gum-flowers on her train; but oh, mother," said little Katie, "Lady Janet's run away!" "Run away! What are ye meaning, ye monkey?" said Mrs. Stewart. "The night before last, when it was dark, and a 'body in their beds, I saw Lady Janet gang down through the gallery, out of her ain room; and she had on her riding skirt, and was looking awfu' white, like as if her heart would break; and no lang after the haill house was up, and she was away." 66 Keep me!-the night before her sister was married! Was she in her right mind, think ye! said Mrs. Stewart. "Had she cast out with them? Where would she go, Katie ?" said Isabell. 66 My certy, Katie, lass, but you're a grand lady wi' your white ribbons and your new gown. I'll no have ye coming to my quiet house, to set Isabell and Janet daft about the fashions." "But Isabell has as braw a cloak as me, mother," said Katie, complacently looking down upon her ruffled black silk mantle as she took it off. "And cambric ruffles, nae less!-dead-fine cambric! Weel, my woman, see ye guid them At the other window the staid Isabell sits knit-weel; for, except ye hae a man o' your ain to work for ye, ye 'll no get mony cambric frills out of Kellie Mill." "The beauties of the Milton have less need than most folk of ruffles or braws," modestly said the young laird. "Eh Kilbrachmont, haud your peace, and dinna pit havers in their heads. There's plenty pride in the nature o' them, without helping 't out wi' flattery. Beauties o' the Milton, said he! I mind twa lassies ance-ay, just mysel and Maisdry, my sister, if ye will hae't, Katie-that were as weel-favored as ever stood in your shoon; and didna want folk to tell us that, either, ony mair than our neighbors; but ne'er a body beautied us. "No for want o' will," insinuated the young yeoman; "and if they ca'ed ye not beauty, it might be because they had a bonnier word." "Weel, I'll no say," said the little comely house-mother, with a slight elevation of her head. "Sit down to the wheel, Katie, and gie it a ca' the time I'm in the aumrie. What 's to come of this lassie, I ken not; for na'er a decent-like thing is she learned to do. Na, Lady Anne hersel is never held in such idleset; and what will ye do, ye monkey, if ye ever get a man and a house of your ain "I'll gar him keep maids to me, and buy me bonnie things," retorted little Katie, taking her seat at the wheel. "Keep maids to ye? Set ye up! If ye 're e'en as weel off as your mother was before ye, I'll say it's mair than ye 've ony right to expect; for I'll wad ye a pair of new ruffles, I was worth half-a-dizzen hired women the first day I steppit on my ain hearth-stane, baith to my man and mysel; and ye 'll ne'er be worthy o' the like o' your faither, John Stewart, Katie, or else I'm sair mista'en." Little Katie turned the wheel with petulant haste, and pouted. John Stewart!-yonder he stands, honest man, with his broad bonnet shading his ruddy face, newly returned from the marketspruce, and in his Sabbath dress. But Katie thinks of the Honorable Andrew Colville, and the grand English Sir Edward, who had been at Lady Betty's marriage the day before; and instinctively the little beauty draws herself up, and thinks of Peggie in the Gentle Shepherd, and many a heroine more; for Katie now knows, quite as well as Lady Anne, that the Erskines, though they are an earl's daughters, will never look a twentieth part so well as the three sisters of Kellie Mill. "I think some ane has sent Kilbrachmont here on an errand, and the puir lad has lost mind o't on the road," said Janet, now coming forward with her dress smoothed down, and her hands no longer covered with meal. "Maister Philip Landale, let a-be that clue; and Isabell there, she never sees that she 's lost it out of her lap.' Young Landale started from his reverie. " Troth, I saw nae clue, Janet; ye 're quicker e'en than me. "There it is, and the guid yarn a' twisted in that lang whip o' yours. What gars ye bring such things into the house? Isabell, canna ye mind your ain work, and no hae folk aye needing to look after ye? There, its broken! and ye 'll need anither fastening in that heel." "Weel, Janet, I'll fash naebody," said Isabell, quietly gathering up into her lap the clue, with its long ravelled end. "It ought to be me that got the trouble," said | young Landale, shyly, looking at the elder sister; for I hear mair folk than Janet say my whip's aye in the gait; but it's just a custom, ye see. "When ye dinna ken what to say," suggested the malicious Janet. "Weel, maybe ye 're no far wrang," said young Kilbrachmont, again casting a sidelong glance at Isabell, whom he had not yet directly addressed. "I'm no that ill at speaking in most houses; but for a' the minister says, ye 'll no convince me that the fairy glamor is clean gane from this world, or ever will be; for ane can speak ready enough when ane doesna care twa straes what folk think o't; while in anither place we make fuils o' oursels beyond remeid, out of pure anxiousness to look weel in somebody's een. It just maun be, I would say, a witchcraft somegate in the air." Isabell had never looked up; for this turning of the heel, be it known to the ignorant, is a crisis in the history of a stocking; but her usually pale forehead was crimson to the hair, and her eyelids drooped heavily as she bent over her work, which was particularly complicated just now, as several loops had dropt, and it was no easy job, with those nervous fingers of hers, to gather them up again. 66 "I see the guidman, Kilbrachmont," said Mrs. Stewart, at last emerging from behind the carved door of the aumrie with a large square bottle in her hand. 'It's weel he's come in time to countenance ye with your dram, amang a' us womenfolk; and it's real Hollands-grand stuff they tell me, though I'm nae judge mysel.' "No that ill-no that ill, guidwife," said the miller, as he entered. "I would take a guid stoop on your warranty, though ye are naething but a woman. Guid e'en to ye, Kilbrachmont; but is this a' ye 're to gi'e us to our four-hours, Bell?" "I'm gaun to make some tea for the bairns and me; but ye 'll no heed about that," said the house-mother. "And, man, John, do ye no see Katie in a' her braws?" "How's a' wi' ye, lassie?" said the father kindly. "But I wadna ken ye to be a bairn of mine, if I didna see the bit face. And, Katie, if onybody says ye 're owre braw to be the Miller of Kellie's daughter, aye do you tell them you 're owre bonnie to be anybody's else." "Hear to his vanity! As if onybody could see a feature of him in the bairn's haill face!" cried Mrs. Stewart. But little Katie sat in meditative silence, and turned her wheel. The wheel was a light one, and handsomely made-a chef-d'œuvre of the country wright, who, among many more, was a candidate for the favor of Janet Stewart. This pretty wheel was the musical instrument of Kellie Mill. Enter the room when you would-at early morning, or when the maker of it and his rivals stole in at night, to form a lingering group round the ruddy centre of the kitchen, made bright by the light from the fireplace-you always heard the soft whirr of the wheel, brought to a climax now and then by the sharp slipping of the band, or lengthened hum with which it rebounded when all the yarn was spun. In silence now at the wheel sits little Katie, passing the thread dreamily through her fingers, and taking in all they say, only half conscious that she does so, into her mind the while. "There's nae news, Janet-nae news particular I hear o' in Anster," said the miller, in answer to several inquiries; "but I saw Beelye Oli phant doun-by; he was asking kindly for ye a', and special for Isabell." There was no answer; the flush fled in a moment from Isabell's cheeks, and other loops were dropt in her stocking. Janet alone ventured to laugh, and again the long cord of young Kilbrachmont's whip began to curl uneasily about the floor. "The like of that man for sense is no to be found, I'll take my aith o't, in the haill kingdom of Fife," said John Stewart with emphasis. “Weel, miller, weel," said young Landale hastily,naebody says onything against it. No mony thanks to him; he's as auld as Kellie Law, and what should ail him to be sensible? It's the special quality folk look for in auld men." 66 66 They dinna aye get it, though," said the miller. They 're selling that tea-water, Isabell, for sixpence a cup in Sillerdyke, and muckle the fisher lads yonderawa' think o't for a treat, ye may suppose; but I didna think you would thole such wastry in this house." month ago, Davie Steele, Bauby Rodger's sister's husband, had seen the Red Slippers in Pittenweem; and Katie's heart leaped to her lips as something rustled on the ground a little way before her, and she paused in terror lest these very Red Slippers should be taking their ghostly exercise by her side; but it was only a great, stiff, red oak leaf, which the new bud had thrust forth from the branch to which all the winter it had clung with the tenacious grasp of death; and, quickening her pace still a little, Katie hurried on. But the fact that young Kilbrachmont had designs on Isabell was not of sufficient interest to keep her mind engaged, and Katie began to sing to herself softly as she went, half-running, over the solitary way. The song was about Strephon and Chloe, after the fashion of the time; but the air was a sweet Lowland one, and there were pretty lines in the verses, though they did come too distinctly from Arcadia. As she sang, her heart beat placidly, and usual fancies returned again to her mind-the grand English Sir Edward, "Mind you your mill, guidman-I'll mind the the Honorable Andrew; but a grander Sir Edward house," said his wife significantly, "and we 'll—a more accomplished, handsomer, blither, loftier see whilk ane of us has the maist maistry owre gentleman-was yet to come, attended by all imour dominions at the year's end. I got the tea in aginary splendors, to make a lady of little Katie a present, and Katie comesna ilka day. Make Stewart. your toddy, John Stewart, and haud your peace.' "Aweel, aweel-nocht's to be won at woman's hand," said the miller. "Draw in your chair, Kilbrachmont, and gi'e us your news. Hout, man, ye 're in nae hurry?" "Weel," said Landale, with very indifferently assumed reluctance, if ye will keep me, I can give Katie a convoy to Kellie gate. Katie! A cloud fell again, dimly, sadly, over the face of Isabell. A moment before there had been a tremulous happiness upon it, not usual to see there. Now she cast a wistful affectionate look at the little pretty sister musing over the wheel, and drawing the thread slowly through her hand. There is no envy in the look, and Katie, suddenly glancing up, meets it with wondering eyes-sorrowful, inquiring-Whence have you this magic, little sister? How is it that they all love you? CHAPTER VI. There now is the light from the west room, cheering the young wayfarer; and now Bauby Rodger's very real and unsentimental voice calls from a little side-entrance to Mally, one of the maids in the kitchen, suspected at present to be keeping tryst behind the garden hedge with a fisher lad, who has walked a dozen miles to-night for sake of this same tryst, and has not the slightest intention of suffering it to be disturbed so soon. Within sight and hearing of home, little Katie ventures to linger on her way, and again she thinks of young Kilbrachmont and Beelye Oliphant and Isabell. Beelye or Bailie Oliphant is a dignitary of the little town of Anstruther, on the coast-a man of substance and influence in his sphere; and John Stewart has been for some time coquetting with him about another Mill-town, very near Anstruther, of which the bailie is landlord, and which the miller thinks would be a better speculation than this mill at Kellie. Unfortunately, in the course of these transactions about the mill, the respectable bailie has seen Isabell Stewart, and the old man thinks she would make a "douce" dignified wife, worthy the lands and tenements with which he could endow her. So also thinks the miller; and Isabell has heard so much on the subject, that her heart is near the breaking sometimes, especially when Philip Landale steals in, in the evening, and hears it all, and plays with his whip, and speaks to no one. "I think he 's courting our Isabell," said Katie softly to herself, as the young laird of Kilbrachmont left her at Kellie gate. The night was frosty and the stars clear. Faint light and faint shadow fell across that homeward path of hers, for there was no moon to define the great trees on either side of the way; but a very little mysterious wind went whispering in and out among the boughs, with a faint echoing sigh, as though it said, "Poor me!" Katie was used to those long, But it is only for a few minutes that Katie can till, solitary roads; but a little thrill of natural afford to think of, or be sorry for, the pale face of timidity made her hurry through the dark avenue, her elder sister; and now she has emerged from and long to see the light from the uncurtained the avenue, and Bauby Rodger, springing out from window of the west room; and the same feeling the side-door and the darkness, pounces upon the prompted her anxious endeavor to occupy her mind | little_wanderer like a great lion upon a mouse. and thoughts with something definite, and so keep "Is this you, Mally? Ye little cuttie! to have away from her memory the eerie stories which lads about the house at this hour at e'en, as soon abounded then about all rural places even more as ever Lady Betty 's away.' than they do now. "He's courting our Isabell," repeated Katie, under her breath, laboring to fix upon this proposition those discursive thoughts which would bring back to her mind the popular ghost of one of the little coast towns in the neighborhood. Only a It's me, Bauby," indignantly interrupted the little_belle. "It's you? Bless me, Miss Katie, wha was to ken in the dark? Come in-by, like a guid bairn. Lady Anne 's been wearying sair, and so has Lor die-but that cutty Mally!" |