"Don't you know? It was too horrible. Her husband was such a bright genial man, that the house was a popular one, and always filled with visitors. The two children were idolised by their parents. Harry was five, like his mother in looks, but a daring little scamp. He was a little spoilt, being the only son and heir, and Sunnie was just a year younger. It was just about this time of year—I have heard it all from Leslie—and one afternoon Uncle George said he wanted Aunt Helen to come out for a drive."
"She had a headache, and was very comfortable over the fire with a book, so she declined. Then, the children clamoured to go with him, and at first Aunt Helen refused to let them. But Uncle George won her over. Harry stamped into the room before he went, and his noise got upon her nerves. She looked up hastily. 'Oh, do run along,' she said. 'I shall be thankful to get rid of you.'"
"Those were her last words to him. The horse bolted, and dashed over a low stone wall. Uncle George and Harry were killed on the spot. Sunnie was brought back, crippled for life. That is Aunt Helen's story."
"Oh, poor woman!" gasped Jean. "How awful! No wonder she is so grave."
"It has turned her to stone. Sunnie is her only comfort. But think of the pity of it! Strathglen is the biggest estate in the county, and Sunnie is the heir or heiress to it. My aunt has given up all hospitality, and lives alone. Leslie and I are the only ones who have an entrance here."
Mrs. Gordon stopped all further conversation on this subject by coming into the room, but Jean's heart was filled with a great aching pity for her. When she wished her good-night, she said a little wistfully—
"I hope I shall not disappoint you by my painting, Mrs. Gordon. I will do my very best."
"Norah Talbot assured me of your capability," said Mrs. Gordon quietly. "You are young and bright, so Sunnie will be happy with you. She is a difficult child with her strong likes and dislikes, but she seems to have taken a liking to you."
Jean's sleep was disturbed that night by dreams of the bereft wife and mother. She had not as yet seen much of life's troubles, and this seemed the most pitiful story that she had ever heard.