on a low stool by her grandmother's side. There she sat, holding
her hand, and leaning her elbow on her knee. Ralph thought he had
never seen anything so lovely in his life--an observation entirely
correct. The old lady was clad in a dress of some dark stiff
material, softer than brocade, which, like herself, was more
beautiful in its age than even in youth. Folds of snowy lawn
covered her breast and fell softly about her neck, fastened there
by a plain black pin. Her face was like a portrait by Henry
Raeburn, so beautifully venerable and sweet. The twinkle in her
brown eyes alone told of the forceful and restless spirit which
was imprisoned within. She had been reading a new volume of the
Great Unknown which the Lady Elizabeth had sent her over from the
Big House of Greatorix. She had laid it down on the entry of the
young man. Now she turned sharp upon him.

"Let me look at ye, Maister Ralph Peden. Whaur gat ye the 'Ralph'?
That's nae westland Whig name. Aye, aye, I mind--what's comin' o'
my memory? Yer grandfaither was auld Ralph Gilchrist; but ye dinna
tak' after the Gilchrists--na, na, there was no ane o' them weel
faured--muckle moo'd [large-mouthed] Gilchrists they ca'ed them.
It'll be your faither that you favour."

And she turned him about for inspection with her hand.

"Grandmother--" began Winsome, anxious lest she should say
something to offend the guest of the house. But the lady did not
heed her gentle monition.

"Was't you that ran awa' frae a bonny lass yestreen?" she queried,
sudden as a flash of summer lightning.