There was something about the whole of this stranger’s address, and tone, and manner, which acted upon Jeanie’s feelings like the illusions of a dream, that tease us with a puzzling approach to reality. Something there was of her sister in the gait and manner of the stranger, as well as in the sound of her voice, and something also, when, lifting her veil, she showed features, to which, changed as they were in expression and complexion, she could not but attach many remembrances.
The stranger was turned of thirty certainly; but so well were her personal charms assisted by the power of dress, and arrangement of ornament, that she might well have passed for one-and-twenty. And her behaviour was so steady and so composed, that, as often as Mrs. Butler perceived anew some point of resemblance to her unfortunate sister, so often the sustained self-command and absolute composure of the stranger destroyed the ideas which began to arise in her imagination. She led the way silently towards the Manse, lost in a confusion of reflections, and trusting the letter with which she was to be there intrusted, would afford her satisfactory explanation of what was a most puzzling and embarrassing scene.
The lady maintained in the meanwhile the manners of a stranger of rank. She admired the various points of view like one who has studied nature, and the best representations of art. At length she took notice of the children.
“These are two fine young mountaineers—Yours, madam, I presume?”
Jeanie replied in the affirmative. The stranger sighed, and sighed once more as they were presented to her by name.
“Come here, Femie,” said Mrs. Butler, “and hold your head up.”
“What is your daughter’s name, madam?” said the lady.
“Euphemia, madam,” answered Mrs. Butler.
“I thought the ordinary Scottish contraction of the name had been Effie;” replied the stranger, in a tone which went to Jeanie’s heart; for in that single word there was more of her sister—more of lang syne ideas—than in all the reminiscences which her own heart had anticipated, or the features and manner of the stranger had suggested.
When they reached the Manse, the lady gave Mrs. Butler the letter which she had taken out of the hands of Knockdunder; and as she gave it she pressed her hand, adding aloud, “Perhaps, madam, you will have the goodness to get me a little milk!”