One word to her was enough. The stern old woman burst into tears, crying, "Oh, my Grisel! my Grisel! Luik doon frae yer bonny hoose amo' the stars, an' see the braw laad left ahint ye, an' praise the Lord 'at ye hae sic a son o' yer boady to come hame to ye when a' 's ower." She sobbed and wept for a while without restraint. Then suddenly she rose, dabbed her eyes indignantly, and cried, "Hoot! I'm an auld fule. A body wad think I hed feelin's, efter a'!"
Malcolm laughed, and she could not help joining him.
"Ye maun come the morn an' chise yer ain room i' the Hoose," he said.
"What mean ye by that, laddie?"
"'At ye'll hae to come an' bide wi' me noo."
"'Deed an' I s' du naething o' the kin', Ma'colm. H'ard ever onybody sic nonsense? What wad I du wi' Jean? An' I cudna thole men-fowk to wait upo' me: I wad be clean affrontit."
"Weel, weel! we'll see," said Malcolm.
On his way back to the House he knocked at Mrs. Catanach's door, and said a few words to her which had a remarkable effect on the expression of her plump countenance and deep-set black eyes.
When he reached home he ran up the main staircase, knocked at the first door, opened it and peeped in. There sat Lenorme on the couch, with Florimel on his knees, nestling her head against his shoulder, like a child that had been very naughty, but was fully forgiven. Her face was blotted with her tears, and her hair was everywhere, but there was a light of dawning goodness all about her, such as had never shone in her atmosphere before. By what stormy-sweet process the fountain of this light had been unsealed no one ever knew but themselves.
She did not move when Malcolm entered—more than just to bring the palms of her hands together and look up in his face.