Her husband had been a young Scotchman, well-born, finely educated, and possessed of ample means, whom she had met when a girl travelling abroad with her parents, and her brief wedded life had been spent in beautiful Edinburgh, her husband’s native city.  Very soon after Margery’s birth came the terrible grief of her husband’s death, and lonely Elizabeth Douglas came across the sea, bringing her two fatherless children to make a home for herself and them among her girlhood friends.

Malcom, a well-developed, manly young fellow, has just graduated from the Boston Latin School.  As he stands beside his mother we see the military drill he has undergone in his fine carriage, straight shoulders, and erect head.  He has the Scotch complexion, an abundance of fair hair, and frank, steady eyes that win him the instant trust and friendship of all who look into them.  Though full of a boy’s enthusiasm and fun, yet he seems older than he is, as is usually the case with boys left fatherless who early feel a certain manly responsibility for the mother and sisters.

Proud and fond indeed is Malcom Douglas of his mother and “little Madge,” as he calls her, who, petite and slender, with sunny, flowing curls, the sweetest of blue eyes, and a pure, childlike face, stands, with parted lips, flushed with animation, by her mother’s side.  Margery is, as she looks, gentle and lovable.  Not yet has she ever known the weight of the slightest burden of care, but has been as free and happy as the birds, as she has lived in her beautiful home with her mother and brother.

Barbara and Bettina stand a little apart from the others, with clasped hands and dim eyes, as the shore, the home-shore, is fast receding from their sight.  They are alike, and yet unlike.  People always say “Barbara and Bettina,” never “Bettina and Barbara.”  They are of the same height, each with brown hair and eyes.

Barbara’s figure is a little fuller and more womanly, her hair has caught the faintest auburn hue, her eyes have a more brilliant sparkle, and the color on her cheeks glows more steadily.  She looks at strangers with a quiet self-possession, and questions others rather than thinks of herself being questioned.  As a child she always fought her own and her sister’s battles, and would do the same to-day did occasion demand.

Bettina is more timid and self-conscious; her dreamy eyes and quickly coming and going color betray a keen sensitiveness to thought and impressions.

Both are beautiful, and more than one of their fellow-passengers look at the sisters with interest as they stand together, so absorbed in feeling that they take no note of what is passing about them.  Just now both are thinking of the same thing—­a conversation held with their father as the trio sat in a corner of the car just before reaching New York.

Dr. Burnett had explained to them just how he had been enabled to meet the expense of their coming travel.