It seems strange to say of this colourless and ineffectual woman, but she was a true enthusiast, and might have made the sunshine and the glory of a cloister.
Perhaps none but Archie knew she could be eloquent; perhaps none but he had seen her--her colour raised, her hands clasped or quivering--glow with gentle ardour.

There is a corner of the policy of Hermiston, where you come suddenly in view of the summit of Black Fell, sometimes like the mere grass top of a hill, sometimes (and this is her own expression) like a precious jewel in the heavens.

On such days, upon the sudden view of it, her hand would tighten on the child's fingers, her voice rise like a song.

"_I to the hills_!" she would repeat.

"And O, Erchie, are nae these like the hills of Naphtali ?" and her tears would flow.
Upon an impressionable child the effect of this continual and pretty accompaniment to life was deep.