how could she have put such a question to
Mr. Hamilton? and yet how kindly he had answered! A sudden recollection
of Irish dark-gray eyes with black lashes came to my mind; I knew Mr.
Hamilton was a connoisseur of beauty. I had often heard him describe
people, and point out their physical defects with the keenest criticism;
he was singularly fastidious on this point; but, in spite of my
humiliation, I was glad to know that he had spoken so gently. He had told
the truth simply, that was all: at least he had owned I was true; I must
content myself with this tribute to my honesty.

But it was some days before I could recall Elspeth's words without a
sensation of prickly heat: it is strange how painfully these little
pin-pricks to our vanity affect us. I was angry with myself for
remembering them, and yet they rankled, in spite of Elspeth's quaint
and homely consolation. Alas! I was not better than my fellows: Ursula
Garston was not the strong-minded woman that Miss Darrell called her.

But when I next met Mr. Hamilton I had other thoughts to engross me, for
Elspeth was dying, and we were standing together by her bedside. I had
not sent for Mr. Hamilton, for I knew that he could do nothing more for
her; but he had met one of the children in the village, and on hearing
the end was approaching had come at once to render me any help in his
power. Perhaps he thought I should like to have him there.

Elspeth's pinched wrinkled face brightened as she heard his voice. 'Ay,
doctor, I am glad to know you are there; you have been naught but kind
to me all these years, and now, thanks to this bairn, I am dying like
a lady. The Lord bless you both! and He will,--He will!' with feeble
earnestness.

I bent down and kissed her cold cheek. 'Never mind us, Elspeth: only tell
us that all is well with you. You are not afraid, dear granny?'

'What's to fear, my bairn, with the Lord holding my hand?--and He will
not let go; ah no, He will never let go! Ay, I have come to the dark
river, but it will not do more than wet my feet. I'll be carried over,
for I am old and weak,--old and weak, my dearie.' These were her last
words, and half an hour afterwards the change came, and Elspeth's
sightless eyes were opened to the light of immortality.

That night I took up a little worn copy of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ that
I had had from childhood, and opened it at a favourite passage, where
Christian and his companion are talking with the shining one