“I am trying, Aunt Janet,” said Lilias, looking up with a wavering smile on her lips, almost sadder to see than tears, as her aunt could not help thinking. She said no more, but kissed her and let her go.
It was with a grave face and slow step that Lilias took her way to Dr Gordon’s house. When she was fairly in the street, a wild desire seized her to go to the place where her father and mother lay, and she took a few rapid steps in that direction. It was not in the narrow kirk-yard seen from their window, but quite away in another part of the town, nearer to the place where they used to live, and Lilias paused before she had gone far, for she doubted if it would be right to venture down at that hour. She stood still a moment.
“I shall not see them. They are not there. I must have patience.” And she turned slowly back again.
It was growing dark in the room in which, for a few minutes, she waited for Dr Gordon, and through the half-open door she caught a glimpse of a pleasant parlour, echoing with the music of voices. Happy, cheerful voices they were; but Lilias’s heart grew sadder as she listened, and when at last Dr Gordon appeared, it was with difficulty that she could restrain her tears.
Speaking very fast, as if she were afraid that her voice would fail her, she said: “We are going away, sir, to-morrow with my aunt, Mrs Blair, and she sent me with this to you.”
The doctor took what the child held towards him, but instantly replaced it in her hands.
“And so that was your aunt I saw the other day?” said he.
“Yes; Aunt Janet Blair, our father’s sister. We are going to live with her in the country, and it’s far away; and, if you please, sir, would you come and see Archie again? My aunt didn’t bid me ask you, but it would be such a comfort if you would.” And she looked up beseechingly into his face.
“Yes, surely, with a good will,” said Dr Gordon heartily; “and to-night, too, it must be, if you are going to-morrow. No, no, my lassie,” he added, as Lilias made another attempt to place the money in his hand. “I have not yet eaten orphans’ bread, and I’m not going to begin now.”
“But my aunt sent it, sir; and she was not always poor; and I think she would like you to take it.”