Mrs. Donnington did not seem particularly
encouraged by the example of Queen Esther
and Andrew's animosity to the Hebrews, but
resolved to do her best for the future fortunes
of her favourite herself. But not much was
in her power. For some days she was busy
assorting her drawers, and tying up various
parcels. Then she wrote several letters with
her own hand, directing them to various
practitioners of the law in Bedford Row, and
other precincts of Themis; but when the
answers came, they seemed to convey no
pleasant intelligence. She increased,
however, in her kindness to Bessy, as if to make
up for some involuntary wrong; and, whether
from disappointment at not being able to
carry out some scheme in Bessy's favour, or
from some other cause, the lady became
gradually unwell, her walks in the garden grew
less frequent, her weakness increased, and
when September came, and Walter arrived to
say farewell, she was confined to her chair.
His stay was to be limited to a fortnight.
The excitement of his arrival, and the expectation
of his departure, combined to increase
her illness, so that, as Adam Miller expressed
it, "the end was unco' near." The young
people were, as usual, blind to the symptoms
of decay; and how great was their surprise,
it is needless to say, when they were
summoned, one evening, to the sufferer's
bedroom, and ushered by Andrew into what he
called "the chamber o' the great King." The
great King was indeed there in all his
majesty —and with a blessing on Walter, and
with her hand locked in Bessy Miller's, the
grand old lady died.

Oh! there was such surmising, and guessing,
and wondering, within the next few days,
as never had been heard of in Bank Row.
Nay, they extended beyond Bank Row. There
were curious persons in Alloa and Stirling
itself, who marvelled at the incidents as they
gradually evolved themselves after the death.
Lawyers from England arrived and took
inventories of the furniture. Many people
thought they were Commissioners under the
Great Seal, who were going to dispose of the
famous carpet, and the rug, and the embroidered
chairs, and the rich-hung beds, to some
foreign potentate, and so to diminish the
national debt. Even in Edinburgh, the gentlemen
of the robe, in the absence of any business
of their own, discussed the character of
the deceased, and the legal effect of certain
covenants which it was alleged she had
entered into to pay off her late husband's debts,
and for that purpose had conveyed to certain
trustees her pension from the East India
Company as general's widow, and reduced her
establishment to the dimensions we have seen
it at Daisy Hope. Discussions took place as
to whether her personalty was included in the
conveyance; such as rings, necklaces, and
even her wearing apparel. Bets, also, to a
small amount, were plentifully laid on the
question of what Court would have jurisdiction
in this important case. But the law seemed
to settle itself without the intervention of a
single wig; for the gentlemen from London
carried off all the furniture, and after paying
Andrew Miller all that was due for board and
lodging, took themselves off, as if in a hurry
to escape from so tumble-down a mansion, and
so solitary a place. But Walter had seen the
parcels which his mother had so carefully tied
up. They were addressed to Bessy; and on
going away, after the funeral, wretched and
broken-hearted, he took his mother's ring
from his pocket — a beautiful amethyst
surounded by small pearls, and put it on Bessy's
finger — a mile too large for her tiny hand, and
kissed her cheek with the tenderness of a
brother, and disappeared at a great pace on
the Stirling road.

And what became of Bessy Miller? She
opened the parcels when her grief allowed,
and saw they were gowns of silk and satin,
and shawls of beautiful colours; and she
determined never to part with them unless under
the pressure of extreme want; and cherished
them as memorials of her kindest friend, often
taking them out, and gazing at them with
tears in her eyes, and looking back on the
two last years as the happiest and saddest of
her life. Ah! Bessy! prepare yourself for
more grief still—don't you see how weak your
father grows? how deeply he pants for breath?
how disinclined he is for exertion? And the
house is falling to ruin faster than ever. The
rains of October have forced their way through
the roof. In the room where the grand old
lady died there is a pool of water on the floor,
the door has nearly dropped from its hinges,
parts of the ceiling have fallen down in the
drawing-room, the garden is covered with
weeds. Surely, there is a cloud of some great
misfortune overhanging Daisy Hope. How
she waited on her father! How she read to
him in the Bible, and repeated the metrical
Psalms, and smoothed his pillow, and
comforted him, and attended to everything; and
how she watched him one terrible January
night, when the river came roaring down,
and the cold wind was howling among the
rocking chimneys, and the fire was burning
fitfully upon the hearth, and old Andrew was
dying in the recess-bed in the kitchen, and how
she listened for his breath amid the pauses of
the storm, and saw the heaving of the
bedclothes in the uncertain light, and then, how
the sudden great silence fell upon her heart,
when, after a few words of prayer for his little
daughter, the good man ceased to breathe,
and nothing was heard more but the plash of
rain upon the window, and the occasional lap
of the peat flame, as it flickered up the chimney.
And Bessy closed her father's eyes, and
knelt down by the side of the bed. And she
is only twelve years old, and very desolate.
Poor Bessy Miller!

But the prophecy of old Andrew soon
came true, and friends were raised up for
the orphan in very unexpected quarters.