gaze into such a room--free to him. If he
will aid me so, then let him aid himself by thinking that the house of
his own soul has such a door into the infinite beauty, whether he has
yet found it or not.

'Just think,' Robert said to himself, 'o' me in sic a place! It's a
pailace. It's a fairy pailace. And that angel o' a leddy bides here, and
sleeps there! I wonner gin she ever dreams aboot onything as bonny 's
hersel'!'

Then his thoughts took another turn.

'I wonner gin the room was onything like this whan my mamma sleepit in
't? I cudna hae been born in sic a gran' place. But my mamma micht hae
weel lien here.'

The face of the miniature, and the sad words written below the hymn,
came back upon him, and he bowed his head upon his hands. He was sitting
thus when Miss St. John came behind him, and heard him murmur the one
word Mamma! She laid her hand on his shoulder. He started and rose.

'I beg yer pardon, mem. I hae no business to be here, excep' to play.
But I cudna help thinkin' aboot my mother; for I was born in this room,
mem. Will I gang awa' again?'

He turned towards the door.

'No, no,' said Miss St. John. 'I only came to see if you were here. I
cannot stop now; but to-morrow you must tell me about your mother. Sit
down, and don't lose any more time. Your grandmother will miss you. And
then what would come of it?'

Thus was this rough diamond of a Scotch boy, rude in speech, but full
of delicate thought, gathered under the modelling influences of
the finished, refined, tender, sweet-tongued, and sweet-thoughted
Englishwoman, who, if she had been less of a woman, would have been
repelled by his uncouthness; if she had been less of a lady, would have
mistaken his commonness for vulgarity. But she was just, like the
type of womankind, a virgin-mother. She saw the nobility of his nature
through its homely garments, and had been, indeed, sent to carry on the
work from which his mother had been too early taken away.

'There's jist ae thing mem, that vexes me a wee, an' I dinna ken what
to think aboot it,' said Robert, as Miss St. John was leaving the room.
'Maybe ye cud bide ae minute till I tell ye.'

'Yes, I can. What is it?'

'I'm nearhan' sure that whan I lea' the parlour, grannie 'ill think I'm
awa' to my prayers; and sae she'll think better o' me nor I deserve. An'
I canna bide that.'

'What should make you suppose that she will think so?'

'Fowk kens what ane anither's aboot, ye ken, mem