kitchen office to show the
indifference of her question.

"Oh, he was not angry," said Gilian, thinking that might satisfy.

"I did not think he would be," she said. Then in a little again,
reluctantly: "But what was he talking about?"

The boy fobbed it off again. "Oh, just about--about--a story about a
woman in Little Elrig."

"Did you understand?" she said, stopping her fictitious task and
gasping, at the same time scrutinising him closely.

"Oh, yes--no, not very well," he stammered, making a great work with his
plate and spoon.

"Do not tell _me_ that," she said, coming over courageously and laying
her hand upon his shoulder. "I know you understand every word of the
story, if it is the story I mean."

He did not deny it this time. "But I do not know whether it is the same
story or not," he said, eagerly wishing she would change the subject.

"What I mean," said she, "is a story about a woman who was a friend of
mine--and--and she quarrelled with my brothers. Is that the one?"

"That was the one," said he.

Miss Mary wrung her hands. "Oh!" she cried piteously, "that they should
be thinking about that yet! wiser-like would it be for them to be
sitting at the Book. Poor Nan! Poor Nan! my dear companion! Must they
be blaming her even in the grave? You understand it very well. I know by
your face you understand it. She should not have all the blame. They
did not understand; they were older, more sedate than she was; their
merriment was past; there was no scrap left of their bairnhood that
even in the manliest man finds a woman's heart quicker than any other
quality. I think she tried to--to--to--like them because they were my
brothers, but the task beat her for all her endeavour. It is an old,
dait story. I am wondering at them bringing it up to you. What do
you think they would bring it up to you for?" And she scrutinised him
shrewdly again.

"I think the girl the Cornal saw me with put him in mind of her mother,"
said Gilian, pushing the idea no further.

She still looked closely at him. "The girl cannot help that," said she.
"She is very like her mother in some ways--perhaps in many. Maybe that
was the Cornal's reason for telling you the story."

There was not, for once, the response of understanding in Gilian's face.
She could say no more. Was he not a boy yet, perhaps with the impulse
she and the Cornal feared, all undeveloped? And at any rate she dare not
give him the watchword that all their reme