“We thought you were unconscious, Jamie; I 'm glad you can still take an interest in things.”
“There 's been a gey lot o' havers (nonsense) gaein' in this hoose the laist twal 'oors, but a' didna let on; na, na, a' enjoyed it.”
Kirsty Stewart came to share the night watch with Elspeth, but neither presumed till nearly daybreak, when Kirsty declared, with the just weight of her medical authority, that all was over.
“He hes the look, an' his hands are as cold as ice; feel his feet, wumman.”
“A' canna find them,” said Elspeth, making timid explorations.
“They used tae be on the end o' ma legs,” remarked Jamie, as if uncertain where they might now be placed.
Elspeth started back and looked at him, but his eyes were closed, and he gave no other sign of consciousness.
“A 'll no meddle wi' him again,” said Elspeth, solemnly, “though a' sit here for a week; he's a queer body, Jamie; he gied his ain wy a' his life, an' tak ma word for't, Kirsty, he 'ill hae his ain wy o' deein'.”
When the first ray shot through the window and trembled on the bed, Jamie raised himself and listened. He shaded his eyes with his hand, as if he were watching for some one and could not see clearly for excess of light.
“Menie,” he cried suddenly, with a new voice, “a 've keepit oor tryst.”