will be happy here," mused Biddy.

That to her mind was the only thing on earth that really mattered,
practically the only thing for which she ever troubled her Maker. Her own
wants were all amalgamated in this one great desire of her heart--that
her darling's poor torn spirit should be made happy. She had wholly
ceased to remember that she had ever wanted anything else. It was for
Miss Isabel that she desired the best rooms, the best carriages,
the best of everything. Even her love for Master Scott--poor dear young
man!--depended largely upon the faculty he possessed for consoling and
interesting Miss Isabel. Anyone who did that earned Biddy's undying
respect and gratitude. Of the rest of the world--save for a passing
disapproval--she was scarcely aware. Nothing else mattered in the same
way. In fact nothing else really mattered at all.

Ah! A movement from the bed at last! Her quick ears, ever on the alert,
warned her on the instant. She turned from the window with such
mother-love shining in her old brown face under its severe white cap as
made it as beautiful in its way as the paradise without.

"Why, Miss Isabel darlint, how you've slept then!" she said, in the soft,
crooning voice which was kept for this one beloved being alone.

Two white arms were stretched wide outside the bed. Two dark eyes,
mysteriously shadowed and sunken, looked up to hers.

"Has he gone already, Biddy?" a low voice asked.

"Only a little way, darlint. He's just round the corner," said Biddy
tenderly. "Will ye wait a minute while I give ye your tay?"

There was a spirit-kettle singing merrily in the room. She busied herself
about it, her withered face intent over the task.

The white arms fell upon the blue travelling-rug that Biddy had spread
with loving care outside the bed the night before to add to her
mistress's comfort. "When did he go, Biddy?" the low voice asked, and
there was a furtive quality in the question as if it were designed for
none but Biddy's ears. "Did he--did he leave no message?"

"Ah, to be sure!" said Biddy, turning her face for a moment. "And the
likes of me to have forgotten it! He sent ye his best love, darlint, and
ye were to eat a fine breakfast before ye went out."

The sad eyes smiled at her from the bed, half-gratified,
half-incredulous, like the eyes of a lonely child who listens to a
fairy-tale. "It was like him to think of that, Biddy. But--I wish he had
stayed a little longer. I must get up and