e startling? Would he need to be
condemned for the world's favour, then? Joanna trowed not.

The Crawfurds met Mr. Jardine occasionally, but there was no probability
of the acquaintance ripening, since Mr. Crawfurd could not call for
Harry at Whitethorn, and Harry did not see the necessity of offering his
company at the Ewes. Mrs. Jardine had not visited much since the shock
of her widowhood, and she only now began to recur to her long-disused
visiting-list on Harry's account. Though a reasonable woman, it is
scarcely requisite to say that she did not propose to renew her
friendship with the family at the Ewes. The blow which rendered her
without control did not break her spirit, but it pressed out its
buoyance. Mrs. Jardine was a grave, occupied, resigned woman, no longer
a blithe one, very fond and proud of Harry, but grateful, not glad in
her fondness and pride.

The frost had come early, strong, and stern on those Highlands of the
Lowlands, those moors of the south. The "lustre deep" at twilight and
dawn, the imperial Tyrian dye at noon, the glorious "orange and purple
and grey" at sunset and sunrise, which, once known and loved, man never
forgets, nor woman either--all would soon be swept away this year, and
Joanna regretted it. She liked the flower-garden, but, after all, the
garden was tame to the moor. The moor's seasons were, at best,
short--short the golden flush of its June; short the red gleam of its
September. Not that the lowland Moor has not its dead, frosted grace in
its winter winding-sheet, and its tender spring charm, when curlews
scream over it incessantly. But Joanna had never seen the autumn so
short as this year; and she had heard them tell, that in the Fall, when
poor Mr. Jardine was killed, the heather remained bright till November.

Thinking of that date caused Joanna, when she strolled out on the moor
one morning, to go near the scene with its melancholy celebrity.

It was quite early in the morning, a hail shower lying all around,
though the sky was a deep sapphire blue, with the wan ghost of the moon
lingering on the horizon, and the atmosphere bitter cold. The breakfast
was late at the Ewes, owing to Mr. Crawfurd's delicate health, and
because Mrs. Crawfurd had her fancies like Mrs. Primrose. Thus Joanna
was frequently abroad before breakfast, and, like most persons of
healthy organization, was rather tempted to court the stinging air as it
blew across the heather, bracing her whole fram