Miss Graeme, my dear, do you ken what ails your sister? Why has
this feverish wish to be away and at work come upon her so suddenly, if
it is a question that I ought to ask?"

"Janet, I cannot tell you. I do not know. I can but guess at it
myself, and I may be all wrong. And I think, perhaps, the best help we
can give her, is not to seem to see, as you said a little ago.
Sometimes I have thought it might all be set right, if Rose would only
speak; but one can never be sure, and I think, Janet, we can only wait
and see. I don't believe there is much cause for fear, if only Rose
will have patience."

"Then, wherefore should you look so troubled? Nothing but wrong-doing
on your sister's part should make you look like that." For there were
tears in Graeme's eyes as she watched her sister, and she looked both
anxious and afraid.

"Wrong-doing," repeated she, with a start. Then she rose impatiently,
but sat down again in a moment. Was it "wrong-doing" in a woman to let
her heart slip unawares and unasked from her own keeping? If this was
indeed the thing that had happened to Rose? Or was it "wrong-doing" to
come to the knowledge of one's heart too late, as Harry had once hinted
might be the end of Rosie's foolish love of admiration?

"Wrong-doing," she repeated again, with a sudden stir of indignation at
her heart. "No, that must never be said of Rose. It must be one of the
small tribulations that sooner or later fall to the lot of most women,
as you said yourself Janet, a little ago. And it won't do to discuss
it, anyway. See, Rose has opened the gate for some one. Who is coming
in?"

"My dear," said Mrs Snow, gravely, "it was far from my thought to wish
to know about anything that I should not. It is Sandy she is opening
the gate for, and wee Rosie. He has been down for the papers, it seems,
and he may have gotten letters as well."

"But, Janet," said Graeme, eagerly, "you know I could not mean that I
could not tell you if I were ever so willing. I do not know. I can
only guess; but as for `wrong-doing'--"

"My dear, you needna tell me that. Sandy, man, it must seem a
strange-like thing to the folk in the village to see you carrying the
child that way on your horse before you--you that have wagons of one
kind or another, and plenty of them, at your disposal. Is it safe for
the bairn, think you? Do you like that way of riding, my wee Rosie?"

"Yes, gamma, I 'ike it," lisped the two years old R