“Has he failed, father?”
“Joost ruined and bankrupt, my lassie, and Helen won’t have a penny to call her own—a proud, stuck-up—”
“Hush, father! I cannot bear it,” cried Grey, with spirit. “Helen Perowne is my friend and schoolfellow, and surely she is in trouble enough to ask our sympathy and not our blame!”
“Why, how now, lassie!” cried the old man angrily. “Ay, but ye’re quite right,” he said, checking himself. “We ought to pity them, and not jump upon ’em when they’re down. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my bairnie—quite recht.”
“Oh, Mr Stuart, how shocking; and just when he is so ill and cast down! Grey, my child, I must go and see if I can be of help to him. Will you stay with your father?”
“Ay, she’ll stay, and you may too, Mrs Bolter, for Perowne has gone across to the Residency, and before now they’re awa’ up the river to try and find his poor lassie. Ye’re quite recht, Grey, my child; and if they find her and bring her back, stop wi’ her and comfort her, and do the best ye can. I’m sorry for them, for we’re none o’ us pairfect. But this is verra gude whuskee, Mrs Bolter. When do ye expect the Doctor home?”
“I don’t know, Mr Stuart,” she said, sadly. “Soon, I hope; but when he does come back he’ll have to go after the expedition. It’s very sad to be a doctor’s wife.”
“To be wife to some doctors,” said old Stuart, laughing; “but not to our Bolter. Eh, but ye’re a lucky wumman to get him. If ye hadn’t taken him, I believe I should have made him marry my lassie here. There, I must be for going though, for my hands are full. I’m trying to save a few hundreds for poor Perowne out of the wreck.”
“When shall I see you again, father?” said Grey, clinging to him affectionately.
“Oh, heaps o’ times, my bairnie, when ye don’t expect it. I’m always looking out after ye, but I know ye’re all recht wi’ Mrs Bolter here, so do all ye can.”