pleasant intercourse was kept up between them, and
Lilias was as much at home in the manse as in the Glen. They still
pursued what Davie derisively called "their studies." That is, they
read history and other books together, some of them grave and useful
books, and some of them not quite so useful, but nice books for all
that. Lilias delighted in poetry, and in the limited number of works of
imagination permitted within the precincts of the manse. Anne liked
them too; but, believing it to be a weakness, she said less about her
enjoyment of them. Indeed, it was her wont to check the raptures of
Lilias and her little sister Jessie over some of their favourites, and
to rebuke the murmurs of the latter over books that were "good, but not
bonny."

They had other pleasures, too--gardening, and rambles among the hills,
and cottage-visiting. But the chief business and pleasure of Lilias was
in caring for the comfort of her aunt, and in the guiding of the
household affairs at Glen Elder. Matters within and without were so
arranged that, while she might always be busy, she was never burdened
with care; and so the quiet days passed on, each bringing such sweet
content as does not often fall to the lot of any household for a long
time together.

But, though Lilias took pleasure in her friends and her home, her books
and her household occupations, her best and highest happiness did not
rest on these. Afterwards, when changes came, bringing anxious nights
and sorrowful days, when the shadow of death hung over the household,
and the untoward events of life seemed to threaten separation from
friends who were none the less dear because no tie of blood united them,
the foundation of her peace was unshaken. "For they that trust in the
Lord shall be as Mount Zion, that cannot be removed."

Here for the present our story must close.

They went home to Glen Elder in May. Three years passed, and May came
again, and Glen Elder and Kirklands, and all the hills and dales
between, were looking their loveliest in their changing robes of brown
and purple and green. The air was sweet with the scent of
hawthorn-blossoms, and vocal with the song of birds and the hum of bees.
There was not a fleck of cloud on all the sky, nor of mist on all the
hills. The day was perfect, warm, bright, and still; such a day as does
not come many times in all the Scottish year.

Nancy Stirling stood at her cottage-door, looking out over the green
slope