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Project Gutenberg's The Orphans of Glen Elder, by Margaret Murray Robertson This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Orphans of Glen Elder Author: Margaret Murray Robertson Illustrator: G.E. Robertson Release Date: February 3, 2009 [EBook #27983] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ORPHANS OF GLEN ELDER *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England The Orphans of Glen Elder, by Margaret Murray Robertson. CHAPTER ONE. AUNT JANET'S VISIT. "Up to the fifth landing, and then straight on. You canna miss the door." For a moment the person thus addressed stood gazing up into the darkness of the narrow staircase, and then turned wearily to the steep ascent. No wonder she was weary; for at the dawn of that long August day, now closing so dimly over the smoky town, her feet had pressed the purple heather on the hills that skirt the little village of Kirklands. A neighbouring farmer had driven her part of the way, but she had walked since then seven-and-twenty miles of the distance that lay between her and her home. But it was not weariness alone that deepened the shadow on her brow as she passed slowly upwards. Uncertainty with regard to the welfare of dear friends had long been taking the form of anxious fears; and now her fears were rapidly changing into a certainty of evil. Her heart sickened within her as she breathed the hot, stifling air; for she knew that her only brother's orphan children had breathed no other air than that during the long, hot weeks of summer. At length she reached the door to which she had been directed; and, as she stood for a moment before it, the prayer that had often risen in her heart that day, burst, in strong, brief words, from her lips. There was no sound in the room, and it was some time before her eyes became accustomed to the dim light around her. Then the glimpse she caught, through the half-open door, of one or two familiar objects,--the desk which had been her father's, and the high-backed chair of carved oak in which her mother used to sit so many, many years ago,--assured her that she had reached her journey's end. On a low bed, just opposite the door
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