had His hand about me through it
all. I am content. As for what may be before me--that is in His hand
as well."

Would she have had it otherwise? No, she would not--even if it should
come true that the life she had fled from, might still be hers. But
that could never be. Brownrig helpless, repentant, was no longer the
man whom she had loathed and feared.

Since the Lord himself had interposed to save him, might not she--for
His dear name's sake--be willing to serve him in his suffering and
weakness, till the end should come? And what did it matter whether the
service were done here or there, or whether the time were longer or
shorter? And why should she heed what might be said of it all? Even
the thought of her brother, who would be angry, and perhaps unreasonable
in his anger, must not come between her and her duty to this man, to
whom she had been brought as a friend and helper at last.

And so she let all go--her doubts, and fears, and cares, willing to wait
God's will. Her face grew white and thin in these days, but very
peaceful. At the utterance of some chance word, there came no more a
sudden look of doubt or fear into her beautiful, sad eyes. Face, and
eyes, and every word and movement told of peace. Whatever struggle she
had been passing through, during all these months, it was over now. She
was waiting neither for one thing nor another,--to be bound, or to be
set free. She was "waiting on God's will, content."

They all saw it--Mistress Robb, in whose house she lived, and Robert
Hume, and Doctor Fleming, who had been mindful of her health and comfort
all through her stay. Even Mr Rainy, who had little time to spare from
his own affairs, took notice of her peaceful face, and her untroubled
movements as she went about the sickroom.

"But oh! I'm wae for the puir lassie," said he, falling like the rest
into Scotch when much moved. "She kens little what's before her. He is
like a lamb now; but when his strength comes back, if it ever comes
back,--she will hae her ain adoes with him. Still--she's a sensible
woman, and she canna but hae her ain thochts about him, and--and about--
ahem--the gear he must soon--in the course o' nature--leave behind him.
Weel! it will fall into good hands; it could hardly fall into better,
unless indeed, the Brownrig, that young Douglas of Fourden married
against the will o' his friends some forty years ago, should turn out to
be the factor's eldest sister, and a