aeme laughed and laid it down, but did not leave the window, and soon
it grew so dark that she had no excuse for looking out. So she began to
move about the room, busying herself with putting away her work, and the
books and papers that were scattered about. Janet watched her silently.
The shadow was dark on her face, and her movements, as she displaced
and arranged and re-arranged the trifles on the table were quick and
restless. When there seemed nothing more for her to do, she stood still
with an uneasy look on her face, as though she thought her friend were
watching her, and then moved to the other end of the room.

"My dear," said Mrs Snow, in a little, "how old are you now?"

Graeme laughed, and came and took her old seat.

"Oh! Janet, you must not ask. I have come to the point when ladies
don't like to answer that question, as you might very well know, if you
would stop to consider a minute."

"And what point may that be, if I may ask?"

"Oh! it is not to be told. Do you know Fanny begins to shake her head
over me, and to call me an old maid."

"Ay! that is ay the way with these young wives," said Janet, scornfully.
"There must be near ten years between you and Rose."

"Yes, quite ten years, and she is almost a woman--past sixteen. I _am_
growing old."

"What a wee white Rose she was, when she first fell to your care, dear.
Who would have thought then that she would ever have grown to be the
bonny creature she is to-day?"

"Is she not lovely? And not vain or spoiled, though it would be no
wonder if she were, she is so much admired. Do you mind what a cankered
wee fairy she used to be?"

"I mind well the patience that never wearied of her, even at the worst
of times," said Mrs Snow, laying her hand tenderly on Graeme's bowed
head.

"I was weary and impatient often. What a long time it is since those
days, and yet it seems like yesterday." And Graeme sighed.

"Were you sighing because so many of your years lie behind you, my
bairn?" said Mrs Snow, softly.

"No, rather because so many of them lie before me," said Graeme, slowly.
"Unless, indeed, they may have more to show than the years that are
past."

"We may all say that, dear," said Mrs Snow, gravely. "None of us have
done all that we might have done. But, my bairn, such dreary words are
not natural from young lips, and the years before you may be few. You
may not have time to grow weary of them."

"That is true," said Graeme. "