“Faither,” murmured Mysie, brokenly and weakly, “oh, faither, I’ve come back.  Jist let me lie here near you.  I jist want you to clap my held, to lean against you, an’ gang to sleep.  Are you angry wi’ me, faither?  Are you—­” and Mysie’s eyes closed in a faint, as she lay limp against his knee.

Just then the door opened and Mrs. Sinclair came in.  She always came in, after she had got everyone in the house to bed, to see how Matthew felt.  It was her first errand in the morning and her last before retiring at night.  She was generally the last visitor, and the door was always locked and barred when she went away.

“Oh, Nellie, come awa’ in,” said Matthew.  “You’re a God’s send this nicht.  I’m glad to see you.  Mysie’s jist cam’ back, an’ she has fented.  Gie’s a bit haun’ wi’ her to get her into bed.  Puir thing.  She’s fair done up,” and Matthew tried to raise up the prostrate figure of his bairn; but sank back too weak, and too overcome to do anything.

“Dinna you trouble yourself, Matthew,” said Mrs. Sinclair, gathering the prostrate girl in her arms and raising her up on her knee like a child.  “Bring some dry claes.  Jenny, an’ get some warm watter bottles in the bed.  Puir thing, she’s in an awfu’ state.  She’s a’ tremblin’ an’ maun hae been awfu’ ill,” and she worked with and stripped the wet clothes from the girl and soon had her in bed, but in spite of all her efforts Mysie remained unconscious.  She then left to get the doctor summoned, leaving the sorrowing parents to look after the girl till she returned.

When she did come back, Matthew was in bed and his condition very much worse.  The excitement had been too much for him in his weakened state and he lay exhausted, crying like a child.

Soon the doctor came and did all in his power.  At the end of an hour Mysie’s eyes opened and she looked about her.

“Where’s my faither?” she asked weakly.  “Oh, I’m gled I’m hame.”

“He’s in bed,” answered Mrs. Sinclair.  “An’ you’re no’ to talk the nicht, Mysie.  Jist lie still, like a good lass, an’ drink this, an’ in the mornin’ you’ll may be a bit better.”  And Mysie drank, and with a sigh of happy contentment, she turned her face to the wall, glad she was now at home—­home with her wounded spirit and broken life.

The soft easy chaff bed gave her more of rest and satisfaction than if it had been eiderdown.  She traced as of old the roses upon the cheap paper with which the box bed was papered, and which had been her mother’s pride when it was put on.  Mysie watched the twining and intertwining of the roses, as they reached upward toward the ceiling through a maze of woodbine and red carnations, and noted that the curtains upon the bed were the same as they were when she had last slept there.

The old wag-at-the-wa’ clock which had belonged to her grandfather, wheezed wearily from the corner and the shrill eerie call of a courting cat outside broke familiarly upon her ear.  Thus surrounded by the sights and sounds of old, a glad contentment in her heart, she soon dozed off into a deep sleep.