Alice made her journey down to Cheltenham without any adventure, and was received by Lady Macleod with open arms. "Dearest Alice, it is so good of you." "Good!" said Alice, "would I not have gone a thousand miles to you?"
Lady Macleod was very eager to know all about the coming marriage. "I can tell you now, my dear, though I couldn't do it before, that I knew he'd persist for ever. He told me so himself in confidence."
"He has persisted, aunt; that is certain."
"And I hope you'll reward him. A beautiful woman without discretion is like a pearl in a swine's snout; but a good wife is a crown of glory to her husband. Remember that, my dear, and choose your part for his sake."
"I won't be that unfortunate pearl, if I can help it, aunt."
"We can all help it, if we set about it in the right way. And Alice, you must be careful to find out all his likes and his dislikes. Dear me! I remember how hard I found it, but then I don't think I was so clever as you are."
"Sometimes I think nobody has ever been so stupid as I have."
"Not stupid, my dear; if I must say the word, it is self-willed. But, dear, all that is forgiven now. Is it not?"
"There is a forgiveness which it is rather hard to get," said Alice.
There was something said then as to the necessity of looking for pardon beyond this world, which I need not here repeat. To all her old friend's little sermons Alice was infinitely more attentive than had been her wont, so that Lady Macleod was comforted and took heart of grace, and at last brought forth from under her pillow a letter from the Countess of Midlothian, which she had received a day or two since, and which bore upon Alice's case. "I was not quite sure whether I'd show it you," said Lady Macleod, "because you wouldn't answer her when she wrote to you. But when I'm gone, as I shall be soon, she will be the nearest relative you have on your mother's side, and from her great position, you know, Alice—" But here Alice became impatient for the letter. Her aunt handed it to her, and she read as follows:—