“Traivel!” cried Mary; “naebody cares for a long road gin it brings us hame; an' Lily wes coontin' she would come up wi' the Drumtochty fouk on the first Friday o' laist August. A' wes cleanin' up the place for a month tae hae 't snod, but she didna come, an' a'm fearin' she 'ill no be here again; a' hed a feelin' frae the beginnin' a' wud never see Lily again. “Her letter cam on a Thursday afternoon when I was beginnin' tae air the sheets for her bed, an' when Posty gave it, I got a turn. “Lily's no comin,' sit doon,” a' sed. “Scarlet fever broke oot amang the bairns in the family, an' she thocht it her duty tae stay and help, for the hoose wes fu' o' nurses, an' the cairryin' wes by ordinar.” “It wes a sacrifice,” said Jamie. “Lily never eneuch cared for hersel; the wark wud tell on her a 'll warrant.” “Ma opeenion is that she's never got the better o' that month, an, Jamie, a' hevna likit her letters a' winter. It 's little she says aboot hersel, but she 's hed a hoast (cough) for sax months, an' a' gither her breath 's failin'. “Jamie, a' hevna said it tae a livin' soul, but a 've hed a warnin' no langer back than laist nicht. Lily's deein', an' it wes London 'at hes killed her. “Ye 'ill gae tae see her, Jamie; ye aye were a gude friend tae Lily, an' she likit ye weel. Write hoo she is, an' bring her back wi' you gin she can traivel, that a' may see her again, if it be the Lord's wull.” “Dinna be feared o' that, Mary; a'll no come back withoot Lily,” and Jamie's air of resolution was some consolation. Before he left, Jamie visited a sheltered nook in Tochty woods, and when he inquired for Lily Grant next day at the door of a London West-End house, there was a bunch of fresh primroses in his hand. “Disna live here noo, did ye say? then what hae ye dune wi' Lily? a' maun get tae the boddom o' this,” and Jamie passed into the hall, the majestic personage at the door having no strength left to resist. “Tell yir mistress this meenut that a freend hes come frae Drumtochty tae ask news of Lily Grant, an' wull wait till he gets them,” and Jamie's personality was so irresistible that the personage counselled an immediate audience. “Grant's father, I suppose?” began Lily's mistress, with suspicious fluency. “No? Ah, then, some relative, no doubt? how good of you to call, and so convenient, too, for I wanted to see some of her family. She was an excellent servant, and so nice in the house; the others were quite devoted to her. But I never thought her strong. Don't you think London is trying to country-girls?” Jamie did not offer any opinion. “One of the children caught that horrid scarlet fever, and in the beginning of August, of all times, when we were going down to Scotland. Some of the servants had left, and the child had to be nursed here; there was lots of work, and it fell on Grant. “She was going at that very time to her home--Drum something or other; or was it Ben?--it's always the one or the other when it isn't Mac.”