There was one great alleviation to the various discomforts of
Sutherland's tutor-life. It was, that, except during school-hours,
he was expected to take no charge whatever of his pupils. They ran
wild all other times; which was far better, in every way, both for
them and for him. Consequently, he was entirely his own master
beyond the fixed margin of scholastic duties; and he soon found that
his absence, even from the table, was a matter of no interest to the
family. To be sure, it involved his own fasting till the next
meal-time came round--for the lady was quite a household martinet;
but that was his own concern.

That very evening, he made his way to David's cottage, about the
country supper-time, when he thought he should most likely find him
at home. It was a clear, still, moonlit night, with just an air of
frost. There was light enough for him to see that the cottage was
very neat and tidy, looking, in the midst of its little forest, more
like an English than a Scotch habitation. He had had the advantage
of a few months' residence in a leafy region on the other side of
the Tweed, and so was able to make the comparison. But what a
different leafage that was from this! That was soft, floating,
billowy; this hard, stiff, and straight-lined, interfering so little
with the skeleton form, that it needed not to be put off in the
wintry season of death, to make the trees in harmony with the
landscape. A light was burning in the cottage, visible through the
inner curtain of muslin, and the outer one of frost. As he
approached the door, he heard the sound of a voice; and from the
even pitch of the tone, he concluded at once that its owner was
reading aloud. The measured cadence soon convinced him that it was
verse that was being read; and the voice was evidently that of
David, and not of Margaret. He knocked at the door. The voice