, but as one listened it took to itself words,--always the
same words, repeated again and again--

"My lassie! My Lizzie! Oh, my lassie!"

"Nay, dearie, nay! You mustna give way. She's better off. You must be
strong. We'll bear it together."

It was Mr Macalister who spoke; but Margot hardly recognised the voice,
hardly recognised the face, which, for all its pallor and quiver of
pain, was yet strong and calm. All trace of the peevish discontent that
had hung like a cloud over the man had vanished like a mist; his bowed
back seemed to have straightened itself and grown erect; the whining
voice was composed and full of courage. He had forgotten his nerves in
the presence of a great calamity; nay, more than that--he had forgotten
himself; his one care and anxiety was for his wife!

The tears smarted in Margot's eyes; she ran forward, dropped on her
knees before the chair, and clasped her strong young arms round the
swaying figure, steadying it with loving, gentle pressure. The wan eyes
stared at her unrecognisingly for a moment, then, at the sight of her
girlish beauty, old memories returned, and the tears began to rain.

"Lizzie's gone! Lizzie's gone! I'll never see her again. All in a
moment, and me so far away. My little Lizzie!... I canna bear it!..."

"She never suffered, mother. She knew nothing about it. It's better
for her than a long, painful illness. You must be thankful for her
sake." Mr Macalister looked down at Margot, and bravely essayed an
explanation. "It was an accident. We've just heard. Instantaneous,
they say. The mother's sore upset, but she's a brave woman. She'll
bear it bravely for all our sakes. We'll need to get back to Glasgow."

"Yes. I'll help! I'll pack for her. Don't trouble about anything.
I'll see that it is all right. You'll let me help you, dear, won't
you?" Margot put up a tender hand, to straighten the cap on the poor,
dishevelled head; and something in the simple, daughterly action seemed
to reach the poor woman's heart, and bring with it the first touch of
calmness. She sat up and looked blankly from side to side.

"I--I'm sorry! I shouldna give way. I never lost a child before, you
see, and Lizzie was such a one for her mother. I wrote to her only last
night. She leaves two bairnies of her own, but they are so young.
They'll never remember her!" The pitiful trembling began again,
whereupon George Elgood's hand held out a glass of water, and