"Faither," murmured Mysie, brokenly and weakly, "oh, faither, I've come
back. Jist let me lie here near you. I jist want you to clap my held, to
lean against you, an' gang to sleep. Are you angry wi' me, faither? Are
you--" and Mysie's eyes closed in a faint, as she lay limp against his
knee.
Just then the door opened and Mrs. Sinclair came in. She always came in,
after she had got everyone in the house to bed, to see how Matthew felt.
It was her first errand in the morning and her last before retiring at
night. She was generally the last visitor, and the door was always
locked and barred when she went away.
"Oh, Nellie, come awa' in," said Matthew. "You're a God's send this
nicht. I'm glad to see you. Mysie's jist cam' back, an' she has fented.
Gie's a bit haun' wi' her to get her into bed. Puir thing. She's fair
done up," and Matthew tried to raise up the prostrate figure of his
bairn; but sank back too weak, and too overcome to do anything.
"Dinna you trouble yourself, Matthew," said Mrs. Sinclair, gathering the
prostrate girl in her arms and raising her up on her knee like a child.
"Bring some dry claes. Jenny, an' get some warm watter bottles in the
bed.
Pages:
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367