The season was now approaching the nominal commencement of summer, but the morning was very cold. He went to the window. Air and earth had the look of a black frost—the most ungenial, the most killing of weathers. Alas! that was his father’s breathing: his bronchitis was worse! He made haste to fetch fuel and light the fire, then leaving him still asleep, went down stairs. He was earlier than usual, and Grizzie was later; only Aggie was in the kitchen. Her grandfather was worse also. Everything pointed to severer straitening and stronger necessity: this must be how God was letting him know what he had to do!
He sat down and suddenly, for a moment, felt as if he were sitting on the opposite bank of the Warlock river, looking up at the house where he was born and had spent his days—now the property of another, and closed to him forever! Within those walls he could not order the removal of a straw! could not chop a stick to warm his father! “The will of God be done!” he said, and the vision was gone.
Aggie was busy getting his porridge ready—which Cosmo had by this time learned to eat without any accompaniment—and he bethought himself that here was a chance of questioning her before Grizzie should appear.
“Come, Aggie,” he said abruptly, “I want to ken what for Grizzie was in sic a terror aboot her pock last nicht. I’m thinkin’ I hae a richt to ken.”
“I wish ye wadna speir,” returned Aggie, after but a moment’s pause.
“Aggie,” said Cosmo, “gien ye tell me it’s nane o’ my business, I winna speir again.”
“Ye are guid, Cosmo, efter the w’y I behaved to ye last nicht,” she answered, with a tremble in her voice.
“Dinna think o’ ’t nae mair, Aggie. To me it is as gien it had never been. My hert’s the same to ye as afore—an’ justly. I believe I un’erstan’ ye whiles ’maist as weel as ye du yersel’.”
“I houp whiles ye un’erstan’ me better,” answered Aggie. “Sair do I m’urn ’at the shaidow o’ that lee ever crossed my min’.”
“It was but a shaidow,” said Cosmo.