The discomfited four passed out of the room again. The women were
weeping; the men were shaking their heads.

It was just then that the new servant passed into the sick-room, bearing
candles in her hands.

'Jeanie, Jeanie Trim,' whispered the old lady. The whisper had a
sprightly yet mysterious tone in it; the withered fingers were put out
as if to twitch the passing skirt as the housemaid went by.

The girl turned and bent a look--strong, helpful, and kindly--upon this
fine ruin of womanhood. The girl had wit 'Yes, ma'am?' she answered
blithely.

'I'll speak with ye, Jeanie, when this woman goes away; it's her that my
mither's put to spy on me.'

The nurse retired into the shadow of the wardrobe.

'She's away now,' said the maid.

'Jeanie, is it Mr. Kinnaird?'

'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we
speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.

'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come
again!'

The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee,