Now and then a sound in the room above would make them pause and listen--for, indeed, at any moment they might all be called to witness the exit of the departing soul. Bell’s steps in the kitchen, which were unsubduable in point of sound, ran through all the more gentle stir of this melancholy assembly. Bell was crying over her work, pausing now and then to go into a corner, and wipe the tears from her cheeks; but she could not make her footsteps light, or diminish the heaviness of her shoes. There was a little additional bustle when the strangers arrived, and Margaret and her child, who were wrapped up in cloaks and shawls, were taken into the kitchen to have their wraps taken off, and to be warmed and comforted. Edgar gave his own dripping coat to Bell, and stole upstairs out of “the family,” in which he was not much at home. Little Jeanie had just left her grandmother’s room on some necessary errand, when he appeared at the top of the stair. She gave a low cry, and the little tray she was carrying trembled in her hands. Her eyes were large with watching, and her cheeks pale, and the sudden sight of him was almost more than the poor little heart could bear; but, after a moment’s silence, Jeanie, with an effort, recovered that command of herself which is indispensable to women. “Oh! but she’ll be glad--glad to see you!” she cried--“it’s you she’s aye cried for night and day.” Edgar stood still and held her hand, looking into the soft little face, in which he saw only a tender sorrow, not harsh or despairing, but deep and quiet. “Before even I speak of her,” he said, “my dear little Jeanie, let me say how happy I am to hear about your brother--he is safe after all.” Jeanie’s countenance was moved, like the loch under the wind. Her great eyes, diluted with sorrow, swelled full; a pathetic smile came upon her lips. “He was dead, and is alive again,” she said softly; “he was lost and is found.” “And now you will not be alone, whatever happens,” said Edgar. I don’t know what mixture of poignant pain came over the grateful gleam in little Jeanie’s face. She drew her hand from him, and hastened downstairs. “What does it matter to him, what does it matter to anyone, how lonely I am?” was the thought that went through her simple heart. Only one creature in the world had ever cared, chiefly, above everything else, for Jeanie’s happiness, and that one was dying, not to be detained by any anxious hold. Jeanie, simple as she was, knew better than to believe that anything her brother could give her would make up for what she was about to lose.