There was something marked in his tone, but his sister’s silence was not of long duration, for a letter arrived containing orders for lace, entreating that a high pressure might be put on Mrs. Kelland, and containing beauteous devices for the veil, which was to be completed in a fearfully short time, since the wedding was to be immediate, in order that Lord Keith might spend Christmas and the ensuing cold months abroad.  It was to take place at Bath, and was to be as quiet as possible; “or else,” wrote Miss Keith, “I should have been enchanted to have overcome your reluctance to witness the base surrender of female rights.  I am afraid you are only too glad to be let off, only don’t thank me, but circumstances.”

Rachel’s principles revolted at the quantity of work demanded of the victims to lace, and Grace could hardly obtain leave to consult Mrs. Kelland.  But she snapped at the order, for the honour and glory of the thing, and undertook through the ramifications of her connexion to obtain the whole bridal array complete.  “For such a pleasant-spoken lady as Miss Keith, she would sit up all night rather than disappoint her.”

The most implacable person of all was the old housekeeper, Tibbie.  She had been warmly attached to Lady Keith, and resented her having a successor, and one younger than her daughters; and above all, ever since the son and heir had died, she had reckoned on her own Master Colin coming to the honours of the family, and regarded this new marriage as a crossing of Providence.  She vainly endeavoured to stir up Master Colin to remonstrate on his brother’s “makin’ siccan a fule’s bargain wi’ yon glaikit lass.  My certie, but he’ll hae the warst o’t, honest man; rinnin’ after her, wi’ a’ her whigmaleries an’ cantrips.  He’ll rue the day that e’er he bowed his noble head to the likes o’ her, I’m jalousin.”

It was to no purpose to remind her that the bride was a Keith in blood; her great grandfather a son of the house of Gowanbrae; all the subsequent descendants brave soldiers.

“A Keith ca’ ye her!  It’s a queer kin’ o’ Keiths she’s comed o’, nae better nor Englishers that haena sae muckle’s set fit in our bonny Scotland; an’ sic scriechin’, skirlin’ tongues as they hae, a body wad need to be gleg i’ the uptak to understan’ a word they say.  Tak’ my word for’t, Maister Colin, it’s no a’thegither luve for his lordship’s grey hairs that gars yon gilpy lassock seek to become my Leddy Keith.”

“Nay, Tibbie, if you find fault with such a sweet, winning young creature, I shall think it is all because you will not endure a mistress at Gowanbrae over you.”

“His lordship’ll please himsel’ wi’ a leddy to be mistress o’ Gowanbrae, but auld Tibbie’ll never cross the doorstane mair.”

“Indeed you will, Tibbie; here are my brother’s orders that you should go down, as soon as you can conveniently make ready, and see about the new plenishing.”