eed eager, to render assistance to her aunt
when it was required; but as soon as she was free again she returned to
the low stool beside the bed on which her mother lay.

The time was passed by Archie in alternate fits of violent weeping and
depression almost amounting to stupor. Lilias tried hard to perform the
promise made to her dying mother. She put aside her own sorrow to
soothe his. She read to him; she sang to him; and when he would listen
to neither reading nor singing, she would murmur such words of comfort
as her mother had spoken to her; and their burden always was, "They are
so happy now. They have found such rest and peace; and it will be but a
little while, and then we shall be with them there."

And then, when he grew quiet and listened to her, she would try to meet
his wistful looks with a smile; but when he was quiet or asleep, she
always returned to the place beside her dead mother.

But they bore her mother away at last; and then for a moment Lilias'
strength and courage forsook her. The cry of her desolate heart would
no longer be hushed.

"Oh, mother! mother!"

Even the sound of her brother's weeping had not power, for a time, to
recall her from the indulgence of her grief.

On the morning of her sister's death, Mrs Blair had written to a
friend, asking him to make arrangements for conveying the orphans to her
humble home; and they were to leave the town on the day succeeding that
of the funeral. Little was left to be done. A few articles of
furniture were to be disposed of, a few trifles, heirlooms in the family
for several generations, were to be taken with them; and it was with a
feeling of relief that Mrs Blair welcomed the honest carrier of
Kirklands who was on the morrow to convey them away from the unhealthy
town to the free fresh air of their native hills. Only one thing more
remained to be done, and the afternoon was nearly over before Mrs Blair
found courage to speak of it.

"Lilias, if you are not too weary, I should like you to go out for me to
Dr Gordon's, love, if it will not be too much for you."

"I'm not weary, aunt. I'll go, if you wish." But she grew very pale,
remembering the last time she had gone there.

"Lilias," said her aunt, drawing her towards her, and kissing her
fondly, "you have been my own brave, patient lassie to-day. You have
not forgotten your mother's words?"

"Oh, aunt, I wish to be patient, indeed I do. But I fear I am not
really patient a