They spoke no more, but walked silently side by side, until they drew

near to the inn, when suddenly the silence of the Glen was broken by a

strange, unaccustomed sound. What was it? Whence did it come? From

some animal surely; some animal in pain or fear, piteously making known

its needs! It could not be the moan of human woe! Yet even as she

passionately denied the thought, Margot recognised in her heart that it

was true, and darting quickly forward made her way into the inn parlour.

The messenger still stood outside the door, waiting in stolid patience

for instructions, and by his side was Mrs McNab, wiping floury hands in

her apron, in evident perturbation of spirit.

On the plush-bedecked sofa in the corner of the parlour the half-

inanimate form of Mrs Macalister swayed helplessly to and fro, while on

either side stood two men--her husband and George Elgood--looking on in

helpless, masculine fashion. Her cap had fallen back from her head, her

ruddy face was bleached to a livid grey, from her lips came from time to

time that pitiful, hopeless wail. At first it seemed to have no

definite sound, 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."




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