“I will kill you!” cried her sister passionately, turning on her, clenching her little fist in Matilda’s face. “You fool! hold your ridiculous tongue when the servants come in; cry as much as you please; you can do that. It will make them think you can feel, though you have a heart as hard--Cry! if you can’t do anything else. Thank you very much,” she said, turning round suddenly and changing her tone in the twinkling of an eye. It was Mrs. Simpson herself who had entered, attended by a maid with a tray. The housekeeper was deeply in want of some counteracting excitement, and she knew that the two babies on the floor were the only representatives of the house, though their mother did not. She came in with a jug of cream in her hand, very solemn and tearful, ready to weep at a moment’s notice, yet eager to explain, and tell the sad story--full of natural womanly interest about the children, as well as anxiety touching the little heir and his mother. In short, the housekeeper was like most other people--she had good, maternal motives, and she had an alloy of interested ones. Had the young widow been a poor woman, Mrs. Simpson’s kindness would have been more disinterested; but in the present circumstances, it was impossible not to recollect that the young woman crying on the sofa, who looked so innocent and childish in her sorrow, might be the future mistress of the house, and have everything in her hand. “Oh, mem!” said Mrs. Simpson; “what is there we wadna do--every one in the house--for poor Mr. Chairlie’s lady, and thae two bonnie bairns! Oh, Mistress Chairles! dinna break your heart like that! there’s plenty cause; but think on your two bonnie lads that will live to be a credit to everyone belonging to them, and a’ the hope now that we have in this distressed house. Oh, get her to take some tea; get her to lie down and rest! So young and so bonnie, and her man taken from her, and a home-coming like this!” “My sister is very tired,” said Verna; “indeed, as you say, it is a very sad home-coming. She cannot thank you to-day, you kind woman; but to-morrow I hope she will be better. We have had a terrible journey. And she feels it so much,” added the quick-witted creature, seeing Mrs. Simpson’s eye linger upon Matilda’s coloured gown, “having no mourning to come in; no widow’s cap. You must tell me afterwards whether there is a dress-maker here whom we can have. What did you say, dear? will you try some tea? Cry! you fool!” she whispered fiercely, turning aside to her sister, “and don’t speak.” “But, Verna--a cap!” Once more Matilda put on that piteous look; her lips quivered; large tears rolled down her cheek; she put her hand up to her pretty light hair. “Yes, that is the first thing,” said the wiser sister. “Will you please send for the dress-maker? Perhaps we can get her a cap in the village. That is all she thinks of; she would not like to see dear Miss Heriot without her cap.”