“Come awa’ than; and maybe the Lord ’ill gie ye a word o’ comfort for the mistress, for she taks on terrible aboot her. It braks my hert to see her!” “The hert o’ baith king and cobbler’s i’ the ae han’ o’ the Lord,” answered the soutar solemnly; “and gien my hert indite onything, my tongue ’ill be ready to speyk the same.” He followed the farmer—who trode softly, as if he feared disturbing the sleeper—upon whom even the sudden silences of the world would break no more. Mr. Blatherwick led the way to the parlour, and through it to a closet behind, used as the guest-chamber. There, on a little white bed with dimity curtains, lay the form of Isobel. The eyes of the soutar, in whom had lingered yet a hope, at once revealed that he saw she was indeed gone to return no more. Her lovely little face, although its beautiful eyes were closed, was even lovelier than before; but her arms and hands lay straight by her sides; their work was gone from them; no voice would call her any more! she might sleep on, and take her rest! “I had but to lay them straucht,” sobbed her mistress; “her een she had closed hersel as she drappit! Eh, but she _was_ a bonny lassie—and a guid!—hardly less nor ain bairn to me!” “And to me as weel!” supplemented Peter, with a choked sob. “And no ance had I paid her a penny wage!” cried Marion, with sudden remorseful reminiscence. “She’ll never think o’ wages noo!” said her husband. “We’ll sen’ them to the hospital, and that’ll ease yer min’, Mirran!” “Eh, she was a dacent, mensefu, richt lo’able cratur!” cried Marion. “She never _said_ naething to jeedge by, but I hae a glimmer o’ houp ’at she _may_ ha’ been ane o’ the Lord’s ain.” “Is that a’ ye can say, mem?” interposed the soutar. “Surely ye wadna daur imaigine her drappit oot o’ _his_ han’s!” “Na,” returned Marion; “but I wad richt fain ken her fair intil them! Wha is there to assure ’s o’ her faith i’ the atonement?” “Deed, I kenna, and I carena, mem! I houp she had faith i’ naething, thing nor thoucht, but the Lord himsel! Alive or deid, we’re in his han’s wha dee’d for us, revealin his Father til ’s,” said the soutar; “—and gien she didna ken Him afore, she wull noo! The holy All-in-All be wi’ her i’ the dark, or whatever comes!—O God, haud up her heid, and latna the watters gang ower her!”