“Yes, yes.”
“That will left all his wealth to your little daughter—in case of her death it would revert to his brother, a man who lived by his wits, a betting man, a man of the world, yet poor. Then, lady, that child was lost—she had wandered away from her maid and had fallen into a disused pit, where the body was found a month afterwards, recognisable only by the clothes she wore.”
Peggy stopped. The soul voice had ceased to prompt her.
“I can tell no more,” she said. “All your future seems dark and misty.”
“Ay, child, and dark will it be when my sight goes—quite dark. I shall then have but the past to dwell on. Would it had been a happier one! But,” she added, “you have read my hand aright. I hope you will come here again often before you go, and that you will write to me. Down in that clump of trees is a marble tablet, and under it the remains of the child I loved so dearly. Good-bye, little one. Mind you come again to-morrow. Bring your beautiful dog and your little cold Kammie.”
And so Peggy said “Good-night.” The lady kissed her beautiful hair, and though she could not tell why, the tears came with a rush to Peggy’s eyes as she did so.
Johnnie himself came to meet her, as the shades of evening were now falling and the boy was anxious. Peggy sighed sadly as she was told that Father Fitzroy had ordered an early start for next day. Father Fitzroy must be obeyed.
And Peggy had no time then to call on the gentle, white-haired lady. But the meeting was one she would never, never forget.