will now be able to do for you what she has so often longed to do. She is going to the main—perhaps to Edinburgh; she will see Mr Hope, and others of your friends; and tell your story. She will—”
“She will not have anything of the sort to do,” interrupted Lady Carse. “I shall go and do it myself. I told her, some time since, that whenever she quitted this island I would not be left behind. I shall do my own business myself, if you please.”
“That is well,” interposed the pastor; “because I promised the steward, passed my solemn word to him, as a condition of my departure, that it should never become known through me or mine that Lady Carse had ever been seen by any of us. I entirely approve of Lady Carse managing her own affairs.”
Annie found means to declare solemnly to Mrs Ruthven her conviction that no such promise could be binding on her, and that it was her bounden duty to spare no effort for the poor lady’s release.
She was persuaded that Mrs Ruthven thought and felt with her; and that something effectual would at last be done.
The children now most needed her consolations.
“Do not be afraid,” she said cheerfully to them. “I shall never forget you. I shall think of you every day. Whenever you see a sea-bird winging over this way, send me your love: and when I see our birds go south, I will send my love to you.”
“And whenever,” said Helsa, “you see a light over the sea, you will think of Widow Fleming’s lamp, won’t you?”
“And whenever,” said Lady Carse, with a solemnity which froze up the children’s tears, and made them look in her face, “whenever, in this world or the next, you see a quiet angel keeping watch over a sinful, unhappy mortal, you may think of Widow Fleming and me. Will you?”