and twenty, rather short, square shouldered, firmly planted on her
feet, but withal brisk of movement; her face was remarkable for
nothing but a grave good-humour. She wore a broad-brimmed straw hat,
and her gardening gloves showed how she was occupied. Something of
shyness appeared in the mutual greeting of brother and sister.

"Of course, you got my letter this morning?" said Will.

"Yes."

"Mr. Turnbull is coming up to-night."

"I'm glad of that," said Jane thoughtfully, rubbing her gloves
together to shake off moist earth.

"Of course he'll prophesy disaster, and plunge you both into the
depths of discouragement. But I don't mind that. 1 feel so confident
myself that I want some one to speak on the other side. He'll have
to make inquiries, of course.--Where's mother?"

The question was answered by Mrs. Warburton herself, who at that
moment came forth from the house; a tall, graceful woman,
prematurely white-headed, and enfeebled by ill-health. Between her
and Jane there was little resemblance of feature; Will, on the other
hand, had inherited her oval face, arched brows and sensitive mouth.
Emotion had touched her cheek with the faintest glow, but ordinarily
it was pale as her hand. Nothing, however, of the invalid declared
itself in her tone or language; the voice, soft and musical, might
have been that of a young woman, and its vivacity was only less than
that which marked the speech of her son.