That had been the one thought of every person in and about the house,—“What will Heather do; what will Mrs. Dudley say!” The very regret for Lally seemed merged in dread of her mother’s sufferings. How should any one face Heather and tell her Lally’s life was still problematical? Who should prove brave enough to break the tidings to her, and look upon her agony? Through the whole of this suspense and anxiety the younger Dudleys had passed; but how was Heather to understand everything in a moment? The only certainty she comprehended was that her darling had been left to get into danger—that she had almost lost her child; and so she cried aloud in her terror and her anger,— “Was there not one of you that could have seen to her—not one amongst you all?” They never answered her—they could not tell her then how it had come to pass; they were so thankful at even a chance of life being given to the child, that they did not mind the mother’s reproaches, though it seemed strange to them to see Heather angry. There are times when it appears a less weighty trouble to behold a friend angry than sorry; and so they bore her blame in silence, and made way for her to pass out, only remarking— “She is very ill, remember; had you not almost better stay downstairs for a little time longer?” As if she did not hear their words, Heather walked blindly across the hall, groping her way to the staircase. When Alick would have taken her by the arm, she thrust his proffered help aside, and guiding herself by the balusters managed somehow to reach the first floor. There she paused, and put her hand to her head, seemingly trying to remember something. “She is in your room,” Alick said, thinking she wished to know where the child lay; but it was not that; as she tried to move forward again, she tottered, and, had Alick not caught her, would have fallen. “Lay her on my bed,” Agnes whispered; and Alick accordingly carried his burden into one of the pleasant chambers, the windows of which, however, now looked forth on lifeless trees and bare brown branches, waving mournfully to and fro in the night, as the autumn wind rushed across the deserted fields and over the Hollow. CHAPTER IV. POOR LALLY. Time and tide, we are assured, wait for no man; which, though a truth, is but a portion of one, since happy would we be if, in this world, time and tide were the only things that refused to delay their departure for our convenience. There are many circumstances of our daily lives against which it would be as vain to appeal—to which it would serve quite as good a purpose to cry aloud for mercy, as the typical hour and tide. For the first time in his life, Alick Dudley realised this fact, when he found he must depart for London, and leave Heather in the very midst of her trouble, with no one at hand to “see after her,” so the lad expressed himself. “I will,” said Agnes, reassuringly.