came away."

And at the remembrance she wept afresh.

"I must stop this," she said, dabbing her eyes with a very early-April
smile, "my Aunt Kirkpatrick will think it is because of meeting you. She
is always free with her imagination, my Lady Kirkpatrick--a clever woman
for all that--only, what is it that you say, 'hard and fyky!' She has
seen many great people and kings, and was long counted a great beauty
without anything much coming of it."

I thought I would risk changing the subject to what was really uppermost
in my mind.

"And Charlotte?" I ventured, as blandly as I could muster.

"I wonder you are not shamed!" she said, with a glint in her eye that
hardly yet expressed complete forgiveness. "I know all about that. And
if you think you can come to me bleating like a sore wronged and
innocent lamb, you are far mistaken!"

So this was the reason of her long silence. Charlotte had babbled. I
might have known. Still, I could not charge my conscience with anything
very grave. After all, the intention on both sides--Charlotte's as well
as mine,--had been of the best. She wanted to marry her Tam of the
Ewebuchts, which she had managed--I, to wed Irma, from which I was yet
as far off as ever.

So I made no remark, but only walked along in a grieved silence. It was
not very long till Irma remarked, a little viciously, but with the old
involuntary toss of her head which sent all her foam-light curls dipping
and swerving into new effects and combinations--so that I could hardly
take my eyes off her--"Would you like to hear more about Charlotte?"

"Yes!" said I boldly. For I knew the counter for her moods, which was to
be of the same, only stronger.

"Well, she has two children, and when the second, a boy, was born, she
claimed another five hundred pounds from her father to stock a farm for
him--the old man called it 'a bonny bairn-clout' for our Lottie's
Duncan!"

"What did you say the bairn's name was?"

"Duncan--after you!" This with an air of triumph, very pretty to see.

"And the elder, the girl?" I asked--though, indeed, that I knew--from
the old letters of my Aunt Jen.

"Irma!" she answered, some little crestfallen.

"After you?"

She had barely time to nod when we passed in at the lodge gate of the
Nun's House. The old porter came to the gate to make his reverence, and
no doubt to wonder who the young lady, his mistress's kinswoman, had
gotten home with her.

I found the Lady Kirkpatrick--Lady b