The elder sat gazing at her, open-mouthed, leaning forward, his hands on his knees. But his daughter, with the quick sympathy of woman, held out her arms.
"My puir lassie!" she said. She had once lost a bairn, her only one.
And Elspeth wept on her bosom.
The daughter waved her father to the door with one hand.
"She will tell me easier!" she said.
And straightway the old man went out into the dark.
* * * * *
It did not take long to tell, with Allan Syme lying so near to the gates of death. Almost in less time than it needs to write it, Elspeth was arrayed, so far at least as outer seeming went, in the garments of her sex. A basket was filled with the necessities which were kept ready for such an emergency in every house.
"Come, father," the loving wife cried at the door; "I will tell you as we gang!"
And before she had won third way through her story, John Allanson had taken Elspeth's hand in his.