“What ailed you?” repeated Mrs Snow.
“I can’t tell you. An attack of the nerves, Nelly called it, and she was partly right. I was tired. It was just after Will’s long illness, and Harry’s going away, and other things.”
“I daresay you were weary and sorrowful, too, and no wonder,” said Mrs Snow, tenderly.
“Yes, about Harry. I was very anxious. There were some doubts about his going, for a while. Mr Ruthven hesitated, and Harry chafed and vexed himself and me, too, poor laddie; but we got through that time at last,” added Graeme, with a great sigh.
“Did Mr Ruthven ken of Harry’s temptation? Was it for that he hesitated?” asked Mrs Snow.
“I cannot say. Oh! yes, he knew, or he suspected. But I don’t think he hesitated altogether because of that. As soon as he knew that we were quite willing—Arthur and I—he decided at once. Mr Ruthven was very kind and considerate through it all.”
“Miss Graeme, my dear,” said Mrs Snow, with some hesitation, “did you ever think there was anything between your brother Harry and his master’s daughter—the young lady that Allan Ruthven married—or was it only Sandy’s fancy?”
Graeme’s face grew white as she turned her startled eyes on her friend.
“Sandy! Did he see it? I did not think about it at the time; but afterward I knew it, and, oh! Janet, you cannot think how it added to my wretchedness about Harry.”
“My bairn! There have been some rough bits on the road you have been travelling. No wonder your feet get weary, whiles.”