The laird turned to the right, and through a door into a room which had
but one small window hidden by bookcases. Naturally it smelled musty, of
old books and decayed bindings, an odor not unpleasant to some nostrils.
He closed the door behind him, placed a chair for his daughter, and set
himself in another by a deal table, upon which were books and papers.

"This is a sore trial, Alexa!" he said with a sigh.

"It is indeed, father--for the poor young man!" she returned.

"True; but it would be selfish indeed to regard the greatness of his
suffering as rendering our trial the less. It is to us a more serious
matter than you seem to think. It will cost much more than, in the
present state of my finances, I can afford to pay. You little think--"

"But, father," interrupted Alexa, "how could we help it?"

"He might have been carried elsewhere!"

"With me standing there! Surely not, father! Even Andrew Ingram offered
to receive him."

"Why did he not take him then?"

"The doctor wouldn't hear of it. And I wouldn't hear of it either."

"It was ill-considered, Lexy. But what's done is done--though, alas! not
paid for."

"We must take the luck as it comes, father!"