How difficult life was to her just now, and the fears for Margaret came to her in fuller force than ever.
Jean came into the room, her big Bible under her arm, her eyes shining with a look of content and peace. She noticed Grace's troubled expression, and she stroked her long hair.
"My bairn," she said, "it's a troublous world at times I know."
"It is all sent for the best," said Grace, giving utterance to the platitude nearest her lips at the moment.
"Oh! do not say that. You must na say that. We make evil to ourselves, God does not send it."
"He allows it," murmured Grace.
"Bairn, I ask you, and answer from your own conscience: Who brought all this weary trouble upon us?"
She stood like an inspired sybil, her brown face and homely features lighted by a Divine truth, and Grace, looking up, conscience-stricken, could only answer the truth, slowly and solemnly,
"It was I, Jean, I myself."