She must throw one, too; at least, she could do that!
Her composure was almost terrible. She picked up a little moss-grown quartz pebble, and, going down, laid it where she judged those folded hands of his must rest.
"That's my heart, Duke!" she said. "It's cold--cold as a stone."
Steps behind her made her turn. It was Andrew Fraser, his lean face all blistered with the tears he had shed.
"My puir lammie!" he said. "I thocht I might find you here when you werna at the hoose, and the woman was wae to know what had become o' you."
The very warmth of his sympathy roused antagonism.
"I was just going back. Do you want me?"
He looked at her almost pitifully.
"It'll be no comfort tae you to ken that I'm as fu o' grief as you, Marrion. But I had tae see ye before we left. I got leave till the last. Oh, my lassie, is there naethin' I can do for you?"
She shook her head.