Just now Miss Margaret could only look at her brother’s picture with tears.  On that very morning she stood before it, her spirit so full of tender memories, so crowded with sad yearnings, she felt as though they would crush her to the earth.  Oh, weary heart! endure yet “a little while” longer.  Even now the angel of reconciliation is on the wing.

Whilst John Greylston sat alone upon the foot of the porch at the front of the house, and his sister stood so sadly in the parlour, the city stage came whirling along the dusty turnpike.  It stopped for a few minutes opposite the lane which led to John Greylston’s place.  The door was opened, and a grave-looking young man sprang out.  He was followed by a fairy little creature, who clapped her hands, and danced for joy when she saw the white chimneys and vine-covered porches of “Greylston Cottage.”

“Annie!  Annie!” but she only laughed, and gathering up the folds of her travelling dress, managed to get so quickly and skilfully over the fence, that her brother, who was unfastening the gate, looked at her in perfect amazement.

“What in the world,” he asked, with a smile on his grave face, “possessed you to get over the fence in that monkey fashion?  All those people looking at you, too.  For shame, Annie!  Will you never be done with those childish capers?”

“Yes, maybe when I am a gray-haired old woman; not before.  Don’t scold now, Richard; you know very well you, and the passengers beside, would give your ears to climb a fence as gracefully as I did just now.  There, won’t you hand me my basket, please?”

He did so, and then, with a gentle smile, took the white, ungloved fingers in his.

“My darling Annie, remember”—­

“Stage waits,” cried the driver.

So Richard Bermon’s lecture was cut short; he had only time to bid his merry young sister good-bye.  Soon he was lost to sight.

Annie Bermon hurried down the lane, swinging her light willow basket carelessly on her arm, and humming a joyous air all the way.  Just as she opened the outer lawn gate, the great Newfoundland dog came towards her with a low growl; it changed directly though into a glad bark.

“I was sure you would know me, you dear old fellow; but I can’t stop to talk to you just now.”  And Annie patted his silken ears, and then went on to the house, the dog bounding on before her, as though he had found an old playmate.

John Greylston rubbed his eyes.  No, it was not a dream.  His darling niece was really by his side, her soft curls touching his cheek; he flung his arms tightly around her.

“Dear child, I was just dreaming about you; how glad I am to see your sweet face again.”

“I was sure you would be, Uncle John,” she answered gayly, “and so I started off from home this morning just, in a hurry.  I took a sudden fancy that I would come, and they could not keep me.  But where is dear Aunt Margaret?  Oh, I know what I will do.  I’ll just run in and take her by surprise.  How well you look, uncle—­so noble and grand too; by the way, I always think King Robert Bruce must just have been such a man like you.”