She watched him at first with a total suspension of thought.

She held her thought as a person holds his breathing.

Then she consented to recognise him.

"He'll no be coming here, he canna be; it's no possible." And there began to grow upon her a subdued choking suspense.

He _was_ coming; his hesitations had quite ceased, his step grew firm and swift; no doubt remained; and the question loomed up before her instant: what was she to do?
It was all very well to say that her brother was a laird himself: it was all very well to speak of casual intermarriages and to count cousinship, like Auntie Kirstie.