Phemy went seldom to the castle, but the young laird and she met pretty often: there was solitude¹ enough in that country for an army of lovers. Once or twice Gordon, at Phemy’s entreaty², went and took tea with her at her father’s, and was cordially received by the schoolmaster, who had no sense of impropriety in their strolling out together afterward³, leaving him well content with the company of his books. Before this had happened twice, all the town was talking about it, and predicting evil. Phemy heard nothing and feared nothing; but if feeling had been weather and talk tempest, she would have been glad enough to keep within. So rapidly, however, did the whirlwind of tongues extend its giration that within half a week it reached Kirsty, and cast her into great trouble: her poor silly defenceless Phemy, the child of her friend, was in danger from the son of her father’s friend! Her father could do nothing, for Francis would not listen to him, therefore she herself must do something! She could not sit still and look on at the devil’s work! Having always been on terms of sacred intimacy⁴ with her mother, she knew more of the dangers of the world, while she was far safer from them, than such girls as their natural guardians⁵ watch instead of fortifying⁶, and understood perfectly⁷ that an unwise man is not to be trusted with a foolish girl. She felt, therefore, that inaction on her part would be faithlessness to the teaching of her mother, as well as treachery to her father, whose friend’s son was in peril⁸ of doing a fearful wrong to one to whom he owed almost a brother’s protection for his schoolmaster’s sake. She did not believe that Francis meant Phemy any harm, but she was certain he thought too much of himself ever to marry her, and were the poor child’s feelings to go for nothing? She had no hope that Phemy would listen to expostulation from her, but she must in fairness, before she did anything, have some speech with her!

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