And in that time of supreme anxiety and sorrow the lonely girl thought of her only kinsman, Roland Lindsay--the friend of her childhood and early girlhood--the merry, handsome, dark-haired fellow, who taught her to ride and row and fish, and whom she loved still with a soft yet passionate affection, that was strong as in the old days, for all that had come and gone between them. Would he ever return--return to her and be as he had been before--before Annot Drummond came? Another and a fatal stroke came speedily and mercifully; the long-suspended sword had fallen at last, and the old soldier was summoned to his last home! A few days after saw Hester prostrate in her own bed and in the hands of the doctors, her rich dark-brown hair shorn short from her throbbing temples, feverish and faint, with dim eyes and pallid lips that murmured unconsciously of past times, of the distant and the dead--of her parents, of camps and cantonments far away; of little brothers and sisters who were in heaven; of green meadows, of garden flowers and summer evenings, when she and Roland had rambled together; and then of Egypt and the war in the deserts by the Nile. After a time, when the early days of February came, when the mellow-voiced merle and the speckle-breasted mavis were heard in the woods by the Esk; when the silver-edged gowans starred the grassy banks, and the newly-dug earth gave forth a refreshing odour, and everywhere there were pleasant and hopeful signs that the dreary reign of winter was nearly over, Hester became conscious of her surroundings, but at first only partially so. 'Maude,' said she, in a weak voice to a watcher, 'dear Maude--are you there?' 'Yes,' replied the cousin, drawing the sick girl's head upon her bosom. 'Oh, Hester--my poor darling, how ill you have been!' 'Ill--I ill? I thought it was papa,' she said, with dilated eyes. 'Is he well now?' 'Yes,' replied Maude, in a choking voice, 'well--very well; but drink this, dearest.' 'Where is papa--can I see him? Will you or the doctor take me to him?' 'He is not here,' began the perplexed Maude. 'Not here; where then?' 'You must wait, Hester, till you are well and strong--well and strong; you must not speak or think--but eat.' Then a feeble smile that made Maude's tender heart ache stole over Hester's pale face. 'Where _is_ papa?' the latter exclaimed suddenly, with a shrill ring of hysterics in her voice. 'Ah--I know--I remember now,' she added, with a smile, 'he is dead--dead!' 'Born again, rather say, my darling,' whispered poor Maude, choked with tears, as she nestled Hester's face in her neck. 'Dead--dead; and I am alone in the world!' moaned Hester, as a hot shower of tears relieved her, and she turned her face to the wall, while convulsive sobs shook her shoulders. In time she was able to leave her bed--to feel herself well, if weak--deplorably weak, and knew that she had resolutely and inexorably to face the world of life.