rs. And Mr. Spottiswoode," she said,
warming with her subject and impelled to a bit of confidence, "do you
know, Dr. Stark thinks my mother will be about again in a few months.
You are aware her knee-joint has been affected. We were even afraid she
would never put down her foot again. It would have been a dreadful trial
for all of us." Chrissy spoke simply, in a rather moved voice.

Bourhope was slightly moved, too. He had never heard much about Mrs.
Hunter, of Blackfaulds, except that she was a woman who had been long
ailing; and also occasional remarks about the consequences of her being
lost or spared to her family.

Chrissy was grateful for his evident sympathy, and gratified by it; but,
as if half ashamed of having elicited it, she at once began to prattle
to him on other subjects. Bourhope had leapt from his horse, and was
doing Chrissy the honour of walking at her side, his beast's bridle over
his arm, and his spurs ringing on the pavement. A sparkling prattle that
was of Chrissy's about the fine morning, the town, and the
yeomanry--few topics, but well handled and brilliantly illustrated.
Bourhope had dared to confess to himself how sorry he was when he
reached Mr. Spottiswoode's door.

[Illustration]

Next morning Bourhope detached himself from his comrades when he
approached the town, and looked narrowly for Chrissy. It would be but
civil to inquire for poor Mrs. Hunter. So bent was he on being thus
civil, that though Chrissy was far in advance, he knew her by the pink
gingham trimming of her morning bonnet, fluttering like rose-leaves in
the morning sun. He came up to her, and politely asked after her mother.
Chrissy was a little confused, but she answered pleasantly enough. She
was not nearly so talkative, however, as on the preceding morning,
though Bourhope made witty comments on the letter she held in her hand,
and pertinaciously insisted on her telling him whether she mentioned him
in her return letters! He reminded her that they were cousins in a way.
This was the first time Chrissy had known of any one hunting up a
relationship with her; and though pleased in her humility--Chrissy was
no fool in that humility of hers--Bourhope, she knew, was destined for
her cousin Corrie. He was out of Corrie's way just now, and was only
courteous and cordial to her as living for a time under the same roof.
She liked the ruddy, curly, independent, clever fellow of a farmer
laird, who, out of the riches of his kind