The two elderly gentlemen were very kind and tender to her, and the clergyman regarded her with a curious interest, having had a brief outline of her story from Mr. Fordyce. But it was noticeable that she preferred Walter's company, that she spoke oftenest to him; and when the lawyer and the minister went into the inn to have some refreshment while waiting for the train, the two young people walked up the road to Mossgiel. Walter was very gloomy and downcast, and she, quick to notice it, asked the cause.
'You know it quite well,' he said abruptly. 'I suppose you are going away to these grand folks to-night, and there's an end of me.'
'An end of you, Walter! What do you mean?' she asked, with a puzzled air.
'Just what I say. When you turn your back on Colquhoun Street, it's bound to be for ever. You'll be West, I East. There's no comings and goings between the two.'
'I think you are very unkind to speak like that, and silly as well,' she said quickly.
'Maybe, but it's true all the same,' he answered, with a slight touch of bitterness.
'And you deserve to be punished for it,' she continued, with her quaint dignity; 'only I cannot quite make up my mind how to punish you, or, indeed, to do it at all to-day. Look, Walter,' she stopped him on the brow of the hill, with a light touch on his arm which thrilled him as it had never yet done, and sent the blood to his face.
'See, away over there, almost as far as you can see, on yon little hill where the trees are so green and lovely, is Bourhill, where the Grahams used to live. I told you how Uncle Abel said papa had such a desire to buy it. If I were a rich woman I think I should buy Bourhill.'
'So you will. I wish I could give it to you,' cried Walter quickly.
'Do you? You are very good. You have always been so good and kind to me, Walter,' she said dreamily. 'Yes, that is Bourhill; and just think, you can see the sea from it—the real sea, which I have never seen in my life.'