The next morning as he was preparing a sermon for the following Sunday, there came a knock at his study door. His brother came in. He was a fine looking man of two or three-and-fifty.
“I can't stay,” he said, “I've a long round, but I just looked in to tell you about your little heretic.”
Charles Osmond looked up anxiously.
“It is as you thought,” continued his brother. “Slight curvature of the spine. She's a brave little thing; I don't wonder you are interested in her.”
“It means a long rest, I suppose?”
“Yes, I told her a year in a recumbent posture; for I fancy she is one of those restless beings who will do nothing at all unless you are pretty plain with them. It is possible that six or eight months may be sufficient.”
“How did she take it?”
“Oh, in the pluckiest way you can conceive! Tried to laugh at the prospect, wanted me to measure her to see how much she grew in the time, and said she should expect at least three inches to reward her.”
“A Raeburn could hardly be deficient in courage. Luke Raeburn is without exception the bravest man I ever met.”
“And I'd back his daughter against any woman I know,” said the doctor.