"Oh, well, we thought we would just call for you, as we are idle folk the noo--and see what like ye wer! It will be a sore change for ye, I'm thinking," she added. "Yes, it was very sudden." "And she made no will--nor left you a penny piece." "No; but she meant to do so." "There's justice in the Lord's sight!" declared this daughter of the Covenanters with a lifted hand, "and He cut her off before she could will the whole of my children's heritage to a stranger!" This was not a gracious speech. Her listener coloured vividly, but made no reply. "I'm real sorry for you, but you have had a good day and a fine education, and I suppose ye have gran' acquaintance?" "Yes, I have some friends." "And ye have plans, maybe?" "Yes; I shall remain with Mrs. Melville for a time, and then join my own family in India." "Oh, so you are an Indian!" exclaimed Mrs. Gowdy. "Well, to think of that, now, and you so fair! Mrs. James, I've always heard, was awfu' swarthy." "My parents are English. I was brought home when I was quite small." "Aye, aye; so ye were," assented her visitor. "I mind it all. Mr. Middlemass has been talking to me, and he wants us to make you an allowance. But you have your own folk, and I see no call to that!" Verona was about to speak. "Whist, now," interrupted her visitor, "of course your clothes and jewels and presents are your own." Then she paused and added: "Mrs. James Gowdy had gran' gowns and laces and diamonds, and her belongings will be coming to _me_." Verona assented with a bow. "I've agreed to pay your passage out, and give you three hundred pounds." Verona could not immediately trust her voice. She would have rejoiced to decline this liberal charity, but was keenly aware that it would be her sole means of joining her parents. Should she refuse the dole? "No," urged common-sense, "accept the crumb." And again she bowed in acquiescence. Maggie, who had never once opened her lips, sat glowering at this English girl with a gaze of hard enmity, endeavouring to impress on her memory her manner of doing her hair, of moving, speaking and looking. Yes, she might for all the world be some great lady, and yet she was nothing but a beggar, on whom her mother had just bestowed a fortune. "And now I think we must be going," said Mrs. Gowdy as she rose stiffly, shook out her gown, and offered a large, black-gloved member, the fingers of which were at least an inch too long. Jean Gowdy was a kind-hearted, motherly soul, and as she held Verona's hand she squeezed it and said: "Good-bye, miss; I know it's an awful come-down for you, and an uprise for _us_. You have a lucky face, and I wish you well." Maggie merely bestowed a quick nod of condescension, the two men a couple of admiring stares as they shuffled out of the room in the wake of their women-folk.