It could not have been her apparel that called forth Mrs Stirling’s audible acknowledgment of Lilias’ gentility; for her black frock was faded and scant, and far too short, though the last tuck had been let down in the skirt; and her little straw bonnet was not of this nor of last year’s fashion. But Nancy’s declaration was not a mistake, for all these disadvantages. Her greeting was characteristic.
“What made you come up the hill at that pace, you thoughtless lassie? Anybody to see you might think you had breath enough and to spare; and, if I’m not mistaken, you need it all.”
Lilias laughed as she shook hands, and then sat down wearily on the door-step.
“Ah, sit down and rest yourself. You’ll be going to meet your brother, or, maybe, to take your tea at the manse?” said Mrs Stirling, inquiringly.
“No: Archie’s not coming home till the evening. He’s going to Broyra with Davie Graham. I’m going no farther to-day. I came to see you, Mrs Stirling. I want you to advise me.”
Nancy would not acknowledge to herself, and certainly she would not acknowledge to Lilias, that she was a good deal surprised and flattered by this announcement; and she merely said:
“Well, sit still and rest yourself first. I’m going down to the burn to get a drop of soft water to make my tea. It makes it best. Sit still and rest; for you look weary.”
Weary she was, too weary even to take in the lovely scene before her, the hills and valleys in their fresh May garments. Far away on the dusty highway a traveller was approaching; and her eyes fastened themselves mechanically upon him. Sometimes he lingered and looked back over the way he had come, and then hurried on, as though his business would not brook delay. Still watching him as he advanced, Lilias idly wondered whence he came, and whither he was going, and whether it was hope or fear that urged him to such speed.
Then she thought of the many travellers on the highway of life, weary and ready to faint with the journey; and, closing her eyes, she strove to send a thought over her own uncertain future. She could see only a little way before her. The school must be given up; but what was to come after, she could not tell. She could think of no plan to bring about what she most wished—the power to do something and yet stay at home with her aunt. Change and separation must come, and she could not look beyond these; and then she sighed, as she had done many a time before.
“Oh, if I were only strong and well again!” So occupied was she with her thoughts that she had not noticed the return of Mrs Stirling from the brook, and was only made aware of it when she put a cut-glass goblet filled with water in her hand. A very beautiful goblet it was, no doubt equal to the one for which the Roman emperor, in the story, paid a small fortune; and you may be sure it was a great occasion in Mrs Stirling’s eyes that brought it from the cupboard in the corner. No lips save those of the minister had touched the brim for many a month.