ger or reproach to Jeff; even greeting him with a
certain degree of kindness. The poor boy was alone in the sitting-room
turning over the pages of an old _Graphic_. His eyes bore traces of
recent tears.

"And how is your mother getting on, Jeff? I hope we shall be able to
take her back to Scotland to-morrow."

"To-morrow, Uncle Hugh? oh, no! She is very ill--much worse than we
thought. Perhaps she will be ill a long time. The doctor is here now.
The railway tried her so much. She has fainted thrice since we got
here."

All Jeff's stoical fortitude broke down when he began to speak--the
tears could not be kept back, and he sobbed bitterly.

"Uncle Hugh, what shall I do? She does not look like the mother she
used to be! She cannot walk across the room or even sit up."

Mr. Colquhoun had not realized anything seriously the matter with his
sister-in-law, and this was the first intimation he had received of her
critical condition.

By and by, when he had seen the doctor, he was made to recognize the
gravity of the case. There was very little hope of the gentle mother's
recovery. All the anticipations of convalescence in Scotland, and a
reconciliation at Loch Lossie, were at an end. He remembered his
wife's last injunction, "Be sure you bring Mary down here at once, and
don't have any excuses."

Alas! poor Mary would never travel any more to her old home. Her days
of rest were at hand.

Uncle Hugh was very gentle and considerate towards Jeff that night and
during the ensuing days that dragged so slowly. The boy could hardly
be persuaded to leave the house for half an hour, and always hurried
back with feverish impatience after the shortest absence. He came in
mostly laden with primroses and violets--her favourite flowers; often
going into two or three shops to get them, never sufficiently satisfied
with their freshness.

One night Jeff had gone to bed earlier than usual, for he mostly
lingered about the passages or wandered restlessly from room to room
till it was late. This evening he had been greatly comforted by some
fancied improvement in the poor invalid's appearance.

"Mother darling, you are better--say you are better to-night, and that
you will soon be well enough to go back to Loch Lossie," he said as he
hung over her at saying "good-night."

She smiled fondly upon him.

"You wish me to get better so very much, Jeff, I almost feel as if I
must."

"You must, you must," he repeated veh