“Well, dear aunt, let me hear it.”
“'Tis anent the worldly gear that I will leave behind me. I have been aye careful of the good things Heaven lent me.”
—She paused; but Olive, not quite knowing what to say, said nothing at all Mrs. Flora continued:
“God has given me great length of days—I have seen the young grow auld, and the auld perish. Some I would fain have chosen to come after me, have gone away before me; some have enough, and need no more. Of all my kith and kin there is none to whom the bit siller can do good, but my niece Olive, and Harold Gwynne. Does that grieve ye, lassie? Nay, his right is no like yours. But he comes of blood that was sib to ours. Alison Balfour was a Gordon by the mother's side.”
As Mrs. Flora uttered the name, Olive felt a movement in the left hand that lay on her neck; the aged fingers were fluttering to and fro over the diamond ring. She looked up, but there was perfect serenity on the face. And, turning back, she prayed that the like peace might come to her in time.
“Before ye came,” continued Mrs. Flora, “I thought to make Harold my heir, and that he should take the name of Gordon—for dearly I loved that name in auld lang syne. Ah, lassie! even in this world God can wipe away all tears from our eyes, so that we may look clearly forth unto the eternal land.”
“Amen, amen!” murmured Olive Rothesay—ay, though while she uttered the prayer, her own tears blindingly rose. But her aunt's soft cold hand glided silently on her drooped head, pressing its throbbings into peace.
“I am wae to think,” continued the old lady, “that ye are the last of the Rothesay line. The name must end, even should Olive marry.”
“I shall never marry, Aunt Flora! I shall live as you have done—God make my life equally worthy!”
“Is it so? I thought it was different. Then, Olive, my child! may God comfort thee with his peace.”