His hostess saw these movements with satisfaction: he had appeased her personal indignation, but her soul was not hospitable towards him, and the devil in her was gratified with the sight of his discomposure: she hankered after talion, not waited on penitence.

Her eyes sought those of Grizzie.
"Gang to the door, Grizzie," she said, "an' see what the nicht's like.

I'm thinkin' by the cry o' the win', it 'll be a wull mirk again .-- What think ye, laird ?" Her son looked up from his book, where he had been beholding a large breadth of light on the spiritual sky, and answered, somewhat abstractedly, but with the gentle politeness he always showed her.
"I should not wonder if it came on to snow again!" Lord Mergwain shifted uneasily.

Grizzie returned from her inspection of the weather.
"It's black theroot, an' dingin' 'oot, wi' great thuds o' win'," she said, quite unaware as usual of the style of her utterance.
"God bless me!" murmured his lordship, "what an abominable country!" "Had we not better go to the drawing-room, my lord ?" said the laird.

"I think, Grizzie," he went on, "you must get supper early.
-- And, Grizzie," he added, rising, "mind you bring Lady Joan a cup of tea--if your mistress will excuse her," he concluded, with a glance to his mother.
Mistress Warlock was longing for a talk with Grizzie, and had no wish for Lady Joan's presence at tea.
"An old woman is bare company for a young one, Cosmo," she said.
His lordship sat as if he did not mean to move.
"Will you not come, Lord Mergwain ?" said the laird.