d into white, the dark forest with its sunny glades
and long retreating vistas, the hills, and rocks, and clouds, and
waterfalls, that had risen among them at the watcher's will, changed to
dull grey ashes, and the dim dawn of the summer morning, gleamed in at
last upon the weary sleeper. The baby still nestled in her arms, the
golden hair of the child gleaming among the dark curls of the elder
sister as their cheeks lay close together. Graeme moaned and murmured
in her sleep, and clasped the baby closer, but she did not wake till
Janet's voice aroused her. There were no tears on her face now, but it
was very white, and her voice was low and changed.

"Miss Graeme, you are to go to your mamma; she's wantin' you. But mind
you are to be quiet, and think o' your father."

Taking the child in her arms, she turned her back upon the startled
girl. Chilled and stiff from her uneasy posture, Graeme strove to rise,
and stumbling, caught at Janet's arm.

"Mamma is better Janet," she asked eagerly. Janet kept her working face
out of sight, and, in a little, answered hoarsely,--

"Ay, she'll soon be better, whatever becomes of the rest of us. But,
mind, you are to be quiet, Miss Graeme."

Chilled and trembling, Graeme crept up-stairs and through the dim
passages to her mother's room. The curtains had been drawn back, and
the daylight streamed into the room. But the forgotten candles still
glimmered on the table. There were several people in the room, standing
sad and silent around the bed. They moved away as she drew near. Then
Graeme saw her mother's white face on the pillow, and her father bending
over her. Even in the awe and dread that smote on her heart like death,
she remembered that she must be quiet, and, coming close to the pillow,
she said softly,--

"Mother."

The dying eyes came back from their wandering, and fastened on her
darling's face, and the white lips opened with a smile.

"Graeme--my own love--I am going away--and they will have no one but
you. And I have so much to say to you."

So much to say! With only strength to ask, "God guide my darling ever!"
and the dying eyes closed, and the smile lingered upon the pale lips,
and in the silence that came next, one thought fixed itself on the heart
of the awe-stricken girl, never to be effaced. Her father and his
motherless children had none but her to care for them now.

CHAPTER TWO.

"It's a' ye ken! Gotten ower it, indeed!" and Jane