‘That’s ’cause ye canna help it,’ replied James boldly, ‘for he’s dead--he’s in a soun’ soun’ sleep--nobody but an angel wi’ the last trumpet at his vera lug is able to waken him--and Mary and me, and mamma--we’re a’ gaun to lie down and die too, for there’s nobody now in the world that cares for us.’ ‘I care for you, my lambie, and I’ll be kind to you; I’ll be as kind as your father.’ It would appear that these words had been spoken affectionately, for the little girl, forgetful of her hurt, returned, and placed herself between his knees; but her brother still stood aloof. ‘But will ye be kind to mamma?’ said the boy, with an eager and suspicious look. ‘That I will,’ was the answer. ‘She’ll ne’er again hae to blame me--nor hae reason to be sorrowful on my account.’ ‘But were nae ye ance papa’s papa?’ rejoined the child, still more suspiciously. The old man felt the full force of all that was meant by these simple expressions, and he drew his hand hastily over his eyes to wipe away the rising tears. ‘And will ye never trust me?’ said he sorrowfully to the child, who, melted by the tone in which it was uttered, advanced two or three steps towards him. ‘Aye, if ye’ll say as sure’s death that ye’ll no hurt me.’ ‘Then I do say as sure’s death,’ exclaimed Claud fervently, and held out his hand, which the child, running forward, caught in his, and was in the same moment folded to his grandfather’s bosom. Leddy Plealands had, in the meantime, been told who was her visitor, and being anxious, for many reasons, to see him at this crisis, opened the door. Feeble, pale, and delicate, the venerable gentlewoman was startled at seeing a sight she so little expected, and stood several minutes with the door in her hand before she entered. ‘Come in,’ said Claud to her--‘come in--I hae something to say to you anent thir bairns--Something maun be done for them and their mother; and I would fain tak counsel wi’ you concerning ’t. Bell Fatherlans is o’ oure frush a heart to thole wi’ the dinging and fyke o’ our house, or I would tak them a’ hame to Grippy; but ye maun devise some method wi’ her to mak their loss as light in worldly circumstances as my means will alloo; and whatsoever you and her ’gree upon Mr. Keelevin will see executed baith by deed and paction.’ ‘Is’t possible that ye’re sincere, Mr. Walkinshaw?’ replied the old lady. Claud made no answer, but, disconsolately, shook his head. ‘This is a mercy past hope, if ye’re really sincere.’ ‘I am sincere,’ said the stern old man, severely; ‘and I speak wi’ humiliation and contrition. I hae borne the rebuke of thir babies, and their suspicion has spoken sermons of reproaches to my cowed spirit and broken heart.’ ‘What have ye done?’ inquired the Lady, surprised at his vehemence--‘what have ye done to make you speak in such a way, Mr. Walkinshaw?’