"Wha is she?"
"A Mrs. Hope."
"A widow?"
"No, not a widow, but she is not living with her husband."
"Then she'll ne'er win into my house, dominie."
"She has good and sufficient reasons. I uphold her. Do you think I would sanction aught wrong, laird?"
No more was said at that time, but a month afterwards Mrs. Hope had walked into the Keep and taken everything in her clever little hands. Drunken, thieving, idle servants had been replaced by men and women thoroughly capable and efficient. The laird's tastes were studied, his wants anticipated, his home became bright, restful, and quiet. The woman was young and wonderfully pretty, and Crawford soon began to watch her with a genuine interest.
"She'll be ane o' the Hopes o' Beaton," he thought; "she is vera like them."
At any rate he improved under her sway, for being thoroughly comfortable himself, he was inclined to have consideration for others.
One afternoon, as he came from the works, it began to snow. He turned aside to the manse to borrow a plaid of Tallisker. He very seldom went to the manse, but in the keen, driving snow the cheerful fire gleaming through the window looked very inviting. He thought he would go in and take a cup of tea with Tallisker.