"It's sure that it's awful news of some sort," returned Judith; "and
the mistress said to me that all was over now. They be all in there,
but you two," pointing with her finger to the parlour on the left of
the hall; "and you had better go in to them. Master Hamish--"

"Well?" returned Hamish, in a tone of abstraction.

"You must every one of you just make the best of it, and comfort the
poor master. You are young and strong; while he--you know what _he_ is.
You, in special, Master Hamish, for you're the eldest born, and were
the first of 'em that I ever nursed upon my knee."

"Of course--of course," he hastily replied. "But, oh, Judith! you don't
know half the ill this must bring upon us! Come along, Charley; let us
hear the worst."

Laying his arm with an affectionate gesture round the boy's neck,
Hamish drew him towards the parlour. It was a square, light, cheerful
room. Not the best room: that was on the other side the hall. On a
sofa, underneath the window, reclined Mr. Channing, his head and
shoulders partly raised by cushions. His illness had continued long,
and now, it was feared, had become chronic. A remarkably fine specimen
of manhood he must have been in his day, his countenance one of
thoughtful goodness, pleasant to look upon. Arthur, the second son, had
inherited its thoughtfulness, its expression of goodness; James, its
beauty; but there was a great likeness between all the four sons.
Arthur, only nineteen, was nearly as tall as his brother. He stood
bending over the arm of his father's sofa. Tom, looking very blank and
cross, sat at the table, his elbows leaning on it. Mrs. Channing's