"And father!" exclaimed Doris. "Oh, how miserable he must be! For it is his fault, you know, and the knowledge of that must be so dreadful." "I cannot understand his doing it," said Susan, looking deeply pained. "Such a high-minded, honourable gentleman as he always seemed. Your poor mother! your poor mother!" she repeated. "What must she be feeling." "It’s bad for me, too," said Doris, "to be deserted, to be left behind like this." "Aye, dearie, it is," sighed the old servant, looking at her with great affection. "But you must remember, ’When my father and mother forsake me then the Lord taketh me up.’" "I don’t feel as if He takes _me_ up," sobbed Doris, whose mind was too full of trouble to receive any comfort just then. "Father and mother _might_ have kissed me and said good-bye! Oh, it was cruel, cruel to steal away when I was asleep!" And again she cried as if her heart would break. Susan endeavoured to calm her, but for some time in vain. At last, however, the old servant, glancing at the small clock on the mantelpiece, exclaimed: "We _must_ prepare to meet the visitors who are coming! Miss Doris, rouse yourself, be brave; we have our work to do now--afterwards we can weep." Susan brushed away her own tears as she spoke, and, drawing herself up, added in her more usual, matter-of-fact tone, "I should like to have this letter, or at least the part of it containing that message to me, so that I may be able to show it to those who may question my right to sell the furniture, etc." "I can’t spare the letter," replied Doris, "but I will tear off the half sheet containing the message to you." "Yes, do, dearie, and write your mother’s name after it, and your own, too." "Very well," said Doris, "I will write my own name beside mother’s--then it will be seen that I have written hers for her." She did so, adding "pro" before writing her mother’s, and then Susan took the half sheet and went to prepare for the coming guests. An hour afterwards, as Doris was mechanically arranging the drawing-room in the way her mother always liked to have it when visitors were expected, Bernard Cameron entered unannounced. "Doris!" he exclaimed, coming up to her with outstretched hands. "My dear Doris, what has happened? Crying? Why, darling, what is the matter?" "Oh, Bernard! Bernard!" She could not tell him for her tears; but the touch of his cool, strong hand was comforting, and she clung to it for a moment. He soothed her gently until she was able to speak and tell him what had happened since she parted from him the night before, then she allowed him to read her mother’s letter.