“Oh, no,” replied the girl, with a strange smile.
“Look ye, lass. Who be ye? What be your name, an ye have no objection to tell it?” gravely inquired Mrs. Birney.
“I have no objection to tell my name; it has never been sullied by dishonor; it is Anna Lyon,” replied the girl, with her hand upon the door-latch.
“Anna Lyon! Sign us, and save us! that is the name of the bride that is to be married to-night!” cried Jenny Birney, aghast.
“I know it is,” quietly replied the girl.
“And ye hae the same name?”
“The very same,” said the stranger.
“Gude save us! then ye’ll be kin to the family?”
“No, no kin,” answered the girl, calmly. Then to herself she murmured, “I—‘a little more than kin,’ he ‘a little less than kind.’”
“What are ye muttering to yoursel’? Ye say ye’re no kin to the family, and if ye are no, what will be taking you to the old Hall the night?”