had been dearer to her than her own.  He was not an emotional man, but yet there was a ringing pathos in his voice as he read the rhythmic words.  At such times she would sit as if voice and rhythm soothed her, or she would bow her head solemnly at certain pauses, as if accustomed to agree to the sentiment expressed.  Heart and thought were not awake to him, nor to the book he read, nor to the memories he tried to arouse.  The fire of the lady’s heart sprang up only for one word, that word a name, the name of a man of whose very existence, it seemed, no trace was left in all that country-side.

The minister would retreat out of the lady’s range of vision; and so great did his curiosity grow that he instigated the maid to ask certain questions as she played at the game of the old love-story in her sprightly, pitying way.

‘Now I’ll tell ye a thing that I want to know,’ said the maid, pouring tea in a cup.  ‘What’s his given name?  Will ye tell me that?’

‘Is it Mr. Kinnaird ye mean?’

‘It’s Mr. Kinnaird’s christened name that I’m speering for.’

‘An’ I canna tell ye that, for he never told it to me.  It’d be no place of mine to ask him before he chose to speak o’ it himsel’.’

’Did ye never see a piece of paper that had his name on it, or a card, maybe?’

’I dinna mind that I have, Jeanie.  He’s a verra fine gentleman; it’s just Mr. Kinnaird that he’s called.’

‘What for will ye no let me tell the master that he comes every day?’

’Ye must no tell my father, Jeanie Trim’—­querulously.  ’No, no; nor my mither.  They’ll maybe be telling him to bide away.’

‘Why would they be telling him to bide away?’

‘Tuts!  How can I tell ye why, when I dinna ken mysel’?  Why will ye fret me?  I’ll tak’ no more tea.  Tak’ it away!’

’I tell ye he’ll ask me if ye took it up.  He’s waiting now to hear that ye took a great big piece of bread tae it.  He’ll no eat the bread and cheese I’ve set before him till ye’ve eaten this every crumb.’

’Is that sae?  Well, I maun eat it, for I wouldna have him wanting his meat.’

The meal finished, the maid put on her most winsome smile.

’Now and I’ll tell ye what I’ll do; I’ll go back to Mr. Kinnaird, and I’ll tell him ye sent yer love tae him.’

‘Ye’ll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim!’ All the dignity and authority of her long womanhood returned in the impressive air with which she spoke.  ’Ye’ll no do sic a thing as that, Jeanie Trim!  It’s no for young ladies to be sending sic messages to a gentleman, when he hasna so much as said the word “love."’