“She may think herself lucky he has not answered,” said Ermine; “he has always been rather unreasonably angry with her for making the introduction.”

“That is the reason he has not,” added Alison, “for he is certainly not far off.  He has been over almost every day to inquire, and played German tactics all Saturday afternoon with Francis to our great relief.  But I have stayed away long enough.”

“I will walk back with you, Ailie.  I must see the good little heroine of the most incredible part of the story.”

Lady Temple looked a good deal paler than when he had last seen her, and her eyelids still showed that they had long arrears of sleep to make up; but she came down with outstretched hands and a sunny smile.  “They are so much better, and I am so glad you were not at home in the worst of it.”

“And I am sorry to have deserted you.”

“Oh, no, no, it was much better that you should be away.  We should all have wanted you, and that would have been dangerous, and dear, dear Miss Williams did all that could be done.  Do you know, it taught me that you were right when you told me I ought never to rest till the boys learnt to obey, for obedience’ sake, at a word.  It showed what a bad mother I am, for I am sure if dear Conrade had been like what he was last year, even she could not have saved him,” said Fanny, her eyes full of tears.

Then came her details, to which he listened, as ever, like the brotherly friend he was, and there was a good deal said about restoring the little ones, who were still at Gowanbrae, to which he would by no means as yet consent, though Fanny owned herself to have time now to pine for her Stephana, and to “hear how dismal it is to have a silent nursery.”

“Yes, it has been a fearful time.  We little guessed how much risk you ran when you went to the rescue.”

“Dear Con, when he thought—­when we thought he could not get better, said I was not to mind that, and I don’t,” said Fanny.  “I thought it was right, and though I did not know this would come of it, yet you see God has been very merciful, and brought both of my boys out of this dreadful illness, and I dare say it will do them good all their lives now it is over.  I am sure it will to me, for I shall always be more thankful.”

“Everything does you good,” he said.

“And another thing,” she added, eagerly, “it has made me know that dear Miss Williams so much better.  She was so good, so wonderfully good, to come away from her sister to us.  I thought she was quite gone the first day, and that I was alone with my poor Francie, and presently there she was by my side, giving me strength and hope by her very look.  I want to have her for good, I want to make her my sister!  She would teach the boys still, for nobody else could make them good, but if ever her sister could spare her, she must never go away again.”

“You had better see what she says,” replied the Colonel, with suppressed emotion.