The mysterious thousand pounds were spent—all save a little sum; but the last of her father's smaller debts had been paid, and his last days soothed by many a comfort. So Alison preferred to leave Chilcote—for ever, and Archie pressed her sorely to accept, in whole or in part, his carefully treasured 'three hunner pounds,' but pressed her in vain.
Memories of the Beguinage and of sweet Sister Lisette came over her now; but no—no—even if they would take her there for what her hands might do, it would seem like a relinquishment of Bevil Goring and life too.
'I am sure, Archie, I could teach little children—give lessons in music or something in London,' said she.
'And I'll gang to London too, missie.'
'For what purpose?'
'Odd's sake, missie, to tak' care o' ye.'
'Poor, dear Archie!' said the girl, softly, with a sob in her slender white throat.
Accompanied by this retainer, she paid a farewell visit to the churchyard of Chilcote Vicarage, where, amid the bright sunshine of spring, the earth seemed at its fairest, and the quaint, old, picturesque fane of the Norman days, moss-green, ivy-grown, and tree-shaded, was casting its shadows across 'God's Acre.'
She laid a chaplet of flowers, woven by her own loving hands and watered by her tears, on her father's grave—that spot which to her no sunshine could brighten—the spot where he lay, without a stone as yet, the last of an old, old warlike and historic race; and then she prayed for the dead—a prayer, it is said, never offered up in vain; for though the petition may be refused, still the petitioner may be rewarded in some fashion for the generous and unselfish prompting, and we are told it is good to pray for them, that they may be loosed from their sins. So Alison prayed by her father's grave, while her faithful follower, who stood thereby hat in hand, had his mind full of prayerful thoughts that could take no form of utterance, for Archie was a true-blue Presbyterian, and knew not how to pray for those who could no longer do so for themselves; and then the pair crossed the churchyard stile in silence and passed away.
Old, wrinkled, sour-visaged Archie Auchindoir, with keen grey eyes, white hair, and saturnine cast of features, was a strange 'Squire o' the Dames,' or Escudero (as the Spaniards would have it), for a handsome young girl, albeit that she was in the deepest mourning; but no one could be more kind, loving, and reverential, for poor Archie loved the very ground his young mistress trod, and watched over her as a father would have done.