owing her rough apron over her head, had a good cry.

"Woman-angel indeed," she sobbed, "and how am I to bide without her
and the bairn, and they the verra light of the house--as the saying
is?"

But Jean's grief did not hinder her long. The fowls were done to a
turn, and the rashers of ham grilled to a delicate brown; the
tea-supper, always an institution at the Manse, looked a most inviting
meal, with piles of oat-cake, freshly baked scones, and other bread
stuff, the best silver tea-pot hooded in its satin cozy, and the
kettle singing on its brass tripod.

Sir Hugh looked on at the preparations with the zest of a hungry
traveler as he sat in the old minister's arm-chair talking to Fergus;
but every moment his eyes turned expectantly to the door. The young
Scotchman smiled as he patted Nero, for he knew their guest was only
giving him scant attention.

"I hope Aunt Jeanie is content with 'the brutal husband' now," he
thought, with a chuckle of amusement. "I wonder what my lady is doing
all this time."

My lady had been extremely busy. First she had put up the hair that
baby Hugh's naughty little fingers had pulled down; then she had gone
in quest of a certain dress that reposed at the top of one of the
trunks. Janet had insisted on packing it, but she had never found an
opportunity of wearing it. It was one of those dainty, bewildering
combinations of Indian muslin and embroidery and lace, that are so
costly and seductive; and when Fay put it on, with a soft spray of
primroses, she certainly looked what Fergus called her, "Titania,
queen of all the fairies."

Both the men absolutely started when this brilliant little vision
appeared in the homely Manse parlor. Fergus clapped his big hands
softly together and said "Ech, sirs!" under his breath; but Sir Hugh,
as he placed a chair for her, whispered in Fay's ear, "I am afraid I
have fallen in love with my own wife"--and it was delicious to hear
Fay's low laugh in answer.

What a happy evening that was; and when, some two or three hours
later, Fay stood in the moonlight watching Hugh go down the road on
his way to the inn, for there was no room for him in the Manse, the
parting words were ringing in her ears, "Good-night, my dear one, and
dream of me."

Ah, they were happy tears that Jean's woman-angel shed by her boy's
cot that night; what prayers, what vows for the future went up from
that pure young heart, that at last tasted the joy of knowing itself
belov