ster softly many times.

"It won't be long. And, Graeme--I shall see our mother first--and you
must have patience, and wait. We shall all get safe home at last--I am
quite, _quite_ sure of that."

A step was heard at the door, and Mrs Snow entered.

"Weel, bairns!" was all she said, as she sat down beside them. She saw
that they were both much moved, and she laid her kind hand caressingly
on the hair of the eldest sister, as though she knew she was the one who
needed comforting.

"Have the bairns come?" asked Menie.

"No, dear, I bade them bide till I went down the brae again. Do you
want them home?"

"Oh no! I only wondered why I didna hear them."

The wind howled drearily about the house, and they listened to it for a
time in silence.

"It's no' like spring to-night, Janet," said Menie.

"No, dear, it's as wintry a night as we have had this while. But the
wind is changing to the south now, and we'll soon see the bare hills
again."

"Yes; I hope so," said Menie, softly.

"Are you wearying for the spring, dear?"

"Whiles I weary." But the longing in those "bonny e'en" was for no
earthly spring, Janet well knew.

"I aye mind the time when I gathered the snowdrops and daisies, and the
one rose, on my mother's birthday. It was long before this time of the
year--and it seems long to wait for spring."

"Ay, I mind; but that was in the sheltered garden at the Ebba. There
were no flowers blooming on the bare hills in Scotland then more than
here. You mustna begin to weary for the spring yet. You'll get down
the brae soon, maybe, and then you winna weary."

Menie made no answer, but a spasm passed over the face of Graeme. The
same thought was on the mind of all the three. When Menie went down the
brae again, it must be with eyelids closed, and with hands folded on a
heart at rest forever.

"Janet, when will Sandy come? Have you got a letter yet?"

"Yes; I got a letter to-day. It winna be long now."

"Oh! I hope not. I want to see him and your mother. I want them to
see me, too. Sandy would hardly mind me, if he didna come till
afterwards."

"Miss Graeme, my dear," said Mrs Snow, hoarsely, "go ben and sit with
your father a while. It will rest you, and I'll bide with Menie here."

Graeme rose, and kissing her sister, softly went away. Not into the
study, however, but out into the darkness, where the March wind moaned
so drearily among the leafless elms, that she might weep out the t