"Poor Kate! Tell me, how is your mother?"
"No' well at all. The doctor was in this morning, and he's coming up again later, but he says there is nothing he can do. She's just worn out, and can you wonder? Many a time I've been fair vexed to see her toilin' with lodgers; but you see we had just ma pay, and a woman's pay is no' much to keep a house on, and she wanted to make a few shillings extra. And, Miss Seton, d'ye know what she's been doing a' these years? Scraping and hoarding every penny she could, and laying it away, to pay ma passage to America. Ma sister Maggie's there, ye know, and when she's gone she says I'm to go to Maggie. A' these years she's toiled with this before her. She had such a spirit, she would never give in." Kate wiped her eyes with her apron. "Come in and see ma mother."
"Oh, I don't think so. She oughtn't to see anyone when she is so ill."
"The doctor says it makes no difference, and she'll be vexed no' to see you. I told her you were in. She had aye a notion of you."
"If you think I won't do her harm, I should love to see her," said Elizabeth, getting up; and Kate led the way to the kitchen. The fog had thickened, and the windows in the little eyrie of a kitchen glimmered coldly opaque. From far beneath came the sounds of the railway.
Mrs. Veitch lay high on her pillows, her busy hands folded. She had given in at last.
Elizabeth thought she was sleeping, but she opened her eyes, and, seeing her visitor, smiled slightly.
"Are ye collectin' the day?" she asked.
"No," Elizabeth said, leaning forward and speaking very gently. "I don't want any money to-day. I came to ask for you. I am so sorry you are ill."
Mrs. Veitch looked at her with that curious appraising look that very sick people sometimes give one.