"It's all very well, but Mrs. Landor doesn't know what life means with such an income as ours," sighed Mrs. Mackenzie. "If she did, she might have a right to speak. If her husband died to-morrow, it wouldn't make a farthing's difference to her comforts. And if Colin were to break down, we should just be at the end of everything. It's bad enough now, trying to make both ends meet and never able to get a quarter of the things we need. Of course, it is quite right to have a proper amount of trust, but all the same one must be anxious. Mrs. Landor would in my place, whatever she may say now. And there's nobody to understand, nor to be the least help to me. Colin never will talk over things till he has made up his mind what to do, and Euphrasia is wrapped up in her own concerns. I did think Mrs. Landor would give me a little sympathy, but she is no better than anybody else. I might just as well have kept it all to myself . . . Why, there's Colin coming home now! What can be the matter? O dear!" Mrs. Mackenzie ran to the front door and flung it open in a tremor of alarm. A tall man of somewhat solid build, not amounting to stoutness, came slowly up the little garden. His face, albeit by no means handsome, had good strong outlines, but the complexion at this moment showed an unnatural pallor. "Colin! What has brought you back? Do tell me—quick! Is anything the matter? I am so frightened! Oh, make haste and speak! I know something is dreadfully wrong." "Nothing for you to be frightened about, my dear. I am merely—a little out of sorts to-day." He spoke with a touch of breathlessness, as if the walk home had been too fatiguing. "I'll be all right presently." Making his way past her into the small drawing-room, he sat down in his favourite arm-chair. [Illustration] CHAPTER II EUPHRASIA'S PLANS "BUT what is the matter? What is wrong?" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie. "Why have you come home at this hour?" "Dr. North was there: and he said I should be better for an afternoon's rest. Where is Euphrasia?" "How should I know, Colin? Girls are so restless. She is out somewhere walking with Flo. But I'm so unhappy about you! I know you are going to be ill. I am quite sure of it." "My dear, I hope not. Pray do not talk so before the children. I am not quite up to the mark just now, perhaps." Then a smile dawned, as two girls came quickly in—the elder eighteen in age, the younger a mere child of thirteen, and an exceedingly pretty child. Nobody ever called Euphrasia pretty. She had blunt manners, and irregular features, and no particular complexion. But, in Mr. Mackenzie's opinion, all defects were compensated for by the peculiar stedfast gleam of her gray eyes; a gleam which, in childhood, had made suitable the pet name of "Little Eyebright." The name clung to her still, though she was "little" no longer, but of good medium height and rounded proportions.