After all, it seemed best that he should go first to Barbara Traill's. She would give him a cup of tea, and while he drank it he could send one of Glumm's little lads with a message to Nanna. There was nothing of cowardice in this determination; it was rather that access of reverential love which, as it draws nearer, puts its own desire and will at the feet of the beloved one. Barbara's door stood open, and she was putting fresh fuel under the hanging tea-kettle. The smell of the peat smoke was homely and pleasant to David; he sniffed it eagerly as he called out: "Well, then, mother, good morning!" She raised herself quickly, and turned her broad, kind face to him. A strange shadow crossed it when she saw David, but she answered affectionately: "Well, then, David, here we meet again!" Then she hastened the morning meal, and as she did so asked question after question about his welfare and adventures, until David said a little impatiently: "There is enough of this talk, mother. Speak to me now of Nanna Sinclair. Is she well?" "Your aunt Sabiston is dead. There was a great funeral, I can tell you that. She has left all her money to the kirk and the societies; and a white stone as high as two men has come from Aberdeen for her grave. Well, so it is. And you must know, also, that my son has married himself, and not to my liking, and so he has gone from me; and your room is empty and ready, if you wish it so; and--" "Yes, yes, Barbara! Keep your room for me, and I will pay the price of it." "I will do that gladly; and as for the price, we shall have no words about that." "All this is well enough, but, mother! mother! what is there to hide from me? Speak with a straight tongue. Where is Nanna?" Then Barbara said plainly, "Nanna is dead." With a cry of amazed anguish David leaped to his feet, instinctively covering his ears with his hands, for he could not bear such words to enter them. "_Dead!_" he whispered; and Barbara saw him reeling and swaying like a tottering pillar. She pushed a chair toward him, and was thankful that he had strength left to take its support. But she made no outcry, and called in none of the neighbors. Quietly she stood a little way off, while David, in a death-like silence, fought away the swooning, drowning wave which was making his heart stand still and his limbs fail him. For she knew the nature of the suffering man--knew that when he came to himself there would be none but God could intermeddle in his heart's bitterness and loss. After a sharp struggle David opened his eyes, and Barbara gave him a drink of cold water; but she offered neither advice nor consolation. Only when David said, "I am sick, mother, and I will go to my room and lie down on my bed," she answered: "My dear lad, that is the right way. Sleep, if sleep you can."