Mrs Black was a woman of sedate character and considerable knowledge for her station in life—especially in regard to Scripture. Like her son she was naturally grave and thoughtful, with a strong tendency to analyse, and to inquire into the nature and causes of things. Unlike Andrew, however, all her principles and her creed were fixed and well defined—at least in her own mind, for she held it to be the bounden duty of every Christian to be ready at all times to give a “reason” for the hope that is in him, as well as for every opinion that he holds. Her natural kindness was somewhat concealed by slight austerity of manner.

 

She was seated, one evening, plying her ever active needle, at the same small window which overlooked the churchyard. The declining sun was throwing dark shadows across the graves. A ray of it gleamed on a corner of the particular tombstone which, being built against her house, slightly encroached upon her window. No one was with the old woman save a large cat, to whom she was in the habit of addressing occasional remarks of a miscellaneous nature, as if to relieve the tedium of solitude with the fiction of intercourse.

 

“Ay, pussie,” she said, “ye may weel wash yer face an’ purr, for there’s nae fear o’ you bein’ dragged before Airchbishop Sherp to hae yer thoombs screwed, or yer legs squeezed in the—”

 

She stopped abruptly, for heavy footsteps were heard on the spiral stair, and next moment Will Wallace entered.

 

“Well, Mrs Black,” he said, sitting down in front of her, “it’s all settled with Bruce. I’m engaged to work at his forge, and have already begun business.”

 

“So I see, an’ ye look business-like,” answered the old woman, with a very slight smile, and a significant glance at our hero’s costume.

 

A considerable change had indeed taken place in the personal appearance of Will Wallace since his arrival in Edinburgh, for in place of the shepherd’s garb, with which he had started from the “bonnie hills of Galloway,” he wore the leathern apron and other habiliments of a blacksmith. Moreover his hair had been allowed to grow in luxuriant natural curls about his head, and as the sun had bronzed him during his residence with Black, and a young beard and moustache had begun to assert themselves in premature vigour, his whole aspect was that of a grand heroic edition of his former self.

 

“Yes, the moment I told your friend,” said Wallace, “that you had sent me to him, and that I was one of those who had good reason to conceal myself from observation, he gave me a hearty shake of the hand and accepted my offer of service; all the more that, having already some knowledge of his craft, I did not require teaching. So he gave me an apron and set me to work at once. I came straight from the forge just as I left off work to see what you would think of my disguise.”

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