Davie came in before the supper was over. Katie nodded cheerfully, but did not speak till they were both in the kitchen.

"Well?" said Davie.

"She is no worse. I think she seems better. She has eaten a wee bit of bread, but mother says you cannot always tell by that. We must just wait."

It was a long and anxious night to these two. It was well that grannie should sleep, but in her utter weakness it was also necessary that she should have nourishment often. She had grown sick of the sight of everything in the way of food, and she had had her choice of whatever the best housewives of Gershom could supply. For days she had only taken a little milk, and to-night she seemed to take it with relish. In a little she woke and spoke:

"Are you no' coming to your bed, Dawvid? It is time surely."

Her clasp of his hand loosened as Katie offered the milk to her lips.

The old man rose, but he had been sitting in an uneasy posture, and tottered as he moved to the door.

"Grandfather," said Davie, "lie down on the other side. It will be better for you and grannie too. Come grandfather. Katie, lay the pillow straight."

"But I might disturb her--and I might fall asleep."

But he yielded.

"She would like it, grandfather, and we can waken you if you fall asleep."

So the two old people slumbered together, and Katie had to steal away to weep a few tears in the dark while her brother watched beside them, and they did not dare to ask themselves whether they hoped or feared in the stillness that fell on them.

"They say this is the old squire's last night," whispered Davie at last.

"I saw Ben coming out as I pa.s.sed."

"Maybe no," said Katie, who was determined to be hopeful to-night.

"They have said that before. Maybe he'll win through this time too."

"Ay. But he is an old man, and it must come soon."

Now and then they exchanged a word or two, and Katie put the cup to her grandmother's lips, and the night wore on. Whether their grandfather slept or not they could not tell, but he made no movement that could disturb her, and he still held her hand, to keep her from "slipping away," as she had said.

Once the mother came in and looked, but she only said she was sleeping quietly, and they made her lie down again. Toward morning Katie brought a quilt and a pillow, and Davie lay down on the floor beside the bed, and Katie prayed and waited for the dawn.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

POOR OLD SQUIRE.

Betsey Holt had not found the old squire so low as she expected to find him when she went to his house after leaving Mr Fleming's, and seeing him comfortable, and apparently no weaker than she had seen him before, she hesitated as to what she ought to do.

"There will be nights when you will need me more cousin," said she, "and I think--"

But Elizabeth's face made her pause.

"Dear cousin, stay with me to-night. No, I do not think he is going to die to-night, though Dr Wainwright thought it could not be long. But do stay with me, cousin. I seem to be alone and good for nothing."

"You are tired, and no wonder. You look sick. Yes, I'll stay. I think, on the whole, I'd better."

Betsey did not say that it was Mrs Fleming she had been thinking of when she hesitated. She took off her bonnet and prepared to stay.

"I made up my mind to be here to-night as soon as I heard that your father wasn't well. I thought once I'd go home and come back after sundown, but it doesn't matter about going. They'll know why I stay, and I guess likely Ben will come along over after milking is done."

"Is there no one we could get to help your mother and Cynthia for a few days? I would send anywhere for help to them if you could only stay with me till--"

"Oh, I guess they'll get along, and Hepsey Bean is near by. If they get into a fix they can send for her. I'll stay anyway. Isn't your brother Clifton round?"

"No, he went to the city yesterday; he left before we thought my father worse. I hope he will be home to-morrow."

"Well, I hope he will, and I guess he'd better stay a spell next time he comes."

Elizabeth had been up for the night, and after a visit to her father, who was still sleeping quietly, Betsey persuaded her to go and lie down, promising to call her at the turn of the night, or sooner if there should be any change. Elizabeth was glad to go, for she was very tired.

"I feel so safe in leaving him with you, cousin," said Elizabeth, the tears starting in her eyes. "You must not think that I am always so-- downhearted, but I feel as if I might give way--as if I might lay a little of my burden on you, and--"

"And so you may, with no _if_ about it, only there is a better place to lay it, as you don't need me to tell you by this time. She thinks she knows what trouble is, and perhaps she does," continued Betsey as she followed Elizabeth with her thoughts. "For trouble is just as folks take it, and she has been pretty tenderly dealt with hitherto. But I guess she is not one that trouble can do any real harm to. The Lord sees it all, and she is in His hand, and I needn't worry about her.

She'll be kept safe through it all."

But she gave a good many thoughts to Elizabeth's possible troubles as she sat there alone. Before the "turn of the night" Elizabeth came down rested and refreshed, she said. Jacob came in and sat a while, but scarcely a word was spoken. He offered to stay, but it was not necessary, his sister said.

"No! When is Clifton coming back?" asked he.

"To-morrow, I hope," said Elizabeth.

"He must not go away again."

"No. Not for a time."

Elizabeth's rest and refreshment "did not seem to amount to much,"

Betsey thought as she watched her sitting in the firelight after Jacob went away. Not many people had ever seen on Elizabeth's face the look it wore now. She seemed to have forgotten that there was any one to see. Except that she raised her head now and then to listen for sounds in her father's room, she sat perfectly motionless, "limp and hopeless,"

Betsey said to herself, and after a little she said aloud:

"Cousin Lizzie, you are not going to be 'swallowed up of overmuch sorrow,' are you? That would be rebellion, and there is no deeper deep of misery to a Christian than that."

Elizabeth looked up startled.

"I don't think I rebel, but--"

"You have been expecting this for a good while. Your father is a very old man now, Lizzie."

"He is all I have got."

"You said that to me before, but that is not so. He isn't all you've got by many."

"He is the only one who has needed me ever. When he is gone, there will not be one left in the world who might not do without me as well as not, though perhaps there are one or two who might not think so for a little while."

"Well, that may be said of most folks, I guess, but of you with less truth than of most."