The old lady appeared relieved when the spinster was out of her sight. 'I don't know ye, gentlemen, but perhaps now my mither's not here, ye'll tell me who it was that rang the door-bell a while since.'
The men hesitated. They were neither of them ready with inventions.
She leaned towards the doctor, strangely excited. 'Was it Mr. Kinnaird?' she whispered.
The doctor supposed her to be frightened. 'No, no,' he said in cheerful tones; 'you're mistaken—it wasn't Kinnaird.'
She leaned back pettishly. 'Tak' away the broth; I'll no' tak' it!'
The discomfited four passed out of the room again. The women were weeping; the men were shaking their heads.
It was just then that the new servant passed into the sick-room, bearing candles in her hands.
'Jeanie, Jeanie Trim,' whispered the old lady. The whisper had a sprightly yet mysterious tone in it; the withered fingers were put out as if to twitch the passing skirt as the housemaid went by.
The girl turned and bent a look—strong, helpful, and kindly—upon this fine ruin of womanhood. The girl had wit 'Yes, ma'am?' she answered blithely.
'I'll speak with ye, Jeanie, when this woman goes away; it's her that my mither's put to spy on me.'