“My dears, I have wonderful news for you!” he announced.

Elizabeth, warned by her mother of the impending announcement, and already in the latter’s confidence regarding the long-distance conversation with Nan Brent, interrupted him.  She was a born actress.

“Oh, do tell us quickly, daddy dear,” she gushed, and flew to throw her arms round his neck.  Over his shoulder she winked at Jane and her mother and grimaced knowingly.

“Donald’s going to pull through.  The doctors feel certain he’ll take in the slack on his life-line, now that the Brent girl has suddenly turned up.  In fact, the lad has been holding his own since he received a telegram from her some days back.  I didn’t tell you about that, my dears, not being desirous of worrying you; and since it was no doings of mine, I saw it could not be helped, and we’d have to make the best of it.”

“Oh, daddy!  How could you?  That’s perfectly dreadful news!” the artful Elizabeth cried, while her mother raised her eyes resignedly upward and clasped her hands so tightly that they trembled.  The Laird thought his wife sought comfort from above; had he known that she had just delivered a sincere vote of thanks, he would not have hugged her to his heart, as he forthwith proceeded to do.

“Now, now, Nellie, my dear,” he soothed her, “it’s all for the best.  Don’t cross your bridges before you come to them.  Wait till I tell you everything.  That fox, Daney, had the common sense to call the girl on the telephone and explain the situation; he induced her to come out here and tease that soft-hearted moonstruck son of ours back to life.  And when Donald’s strong enough to stand alone—­by Jupiter, that’s exactly how he’s going to stand!—­We’re not the slightest bit compromised, my dears.  The McKaye family is absolutely in the clear.  The girl has done this solely for Donald’s sake.”

“Hector McKaye,” Jane declared, “you’ve really got to do something very handsome for Andrew Daney.”

“Yes, indeed,” Elizabeth cooed.

“Dear, capable, faithful Andrew!” Mrs. McKaye sighed.

“Ah, he’s a canny lad, is Andrew,” old Hector declared happily.  “He took smart care not to compromise me, for well he knows my code.  When I rejected his suggestion that I send for the lass, Andrew knew why without asking foolish questions.  Well, he realized that if I should ask her to come and save my son, I would not be unfair enough to tell her later that she was not a fit wife for that son.  As a matter o’ manly principle, I would have had to withdraw my opposition, and Donald could wed her if he liked and with my blessing, for all the bitter cost.  I did not build The Dreamerie with the thought that Donald would bring a wife like this Brent lass home to live in it, but—­God be thanked!—­the puir bairn loves him too well to ruin him—­”