I found her in the low, dim room, looking to the west, where she was wont to sit in winter. A great fire crackled cheerily on the hearth, and many little devices about the place showed a woman's hand. Holly, with scarlet berries, put colour into the sombre walls, and Marjory herself, brighter than any flower, made the firelight dull in the contrast; so fair she looked, as she greeted me, with her bright hair and unfathomable eyes.
"I have come to see you for the last time, Marjory," I said; "to-morrow I set out on my travels."
"I am vexed that you are going away," and she looked at me sadly; "it will be lonely in Tweeddale without you."
"My dear lass, I will not be long. Two years at the longest, and then I will be home to you, and travel no more. What say you, Marjory?"
"Your will be done, John. Yet I would I could have gone with you."
"I would you could, my dear," I said. "But that might scarce be. You would not like, I think, to sail on rough seas, or bide among towns and colleges. You love the woods too well."
"Wherever you were," said she, with her eyes drooped, "I would be content to be."
"But Marjory, lass," I spoke up cheerfully, for I feared to make her sad, "you would not like me to stay at home, when the world is so wide, and so many brave things to be seen."
"No, no. I have no love for folks who bide in the house like children. I would have you go and do gallantly, and come home full of fine tales. But where do you mean to go, and how will you pass your time?"
"Oh," said I, "I go first to Rotterdam, where I may reside for a while. Then I purpose to visit the college at Leyden, to study; for I would fain spend some portion of my time profitably. After that I know not what I will do, but be sure that I will be home within the two years. For, though I am blithe to set out, I doubt not that I will be blither to come back again."