Mr. Walkingshaw was evidently weakening. He lay back with his eyes closed till they were all assembled, and then Andrew, who seemed to have the entire management of the melancholy ceremony, stepped up to the bedside and, with lowered eyelids, murmured—
"They are all here now."
Mr. Walkingshaw opened his eyes.
"I'm likely to be taken," he said in a weak voice. "Andrew'll have told you."
He paused: and one little stifled sob was heard, too gentle to catch his ear. It came from Jean.
"I'd just like to say a word to you all before I go. I've tried my best to do my duty by my children and my sister and my kinsfolk."
At this specific inclusion of herself the sympathetic widow could keep silence no longer.
"Indeed you have, Heriot!" she murmured.
"Hush!" said Andrew sternly.
"Let them say what they feel, Andrew," said his father, with a glance of melancholy kindness at the widow. "It's natural enough."