The nurse retired into the shadow of the wardrobe.
'She's away now,' said the maid.
'Jeanie, is it Mr. Kinnaird?'
'Well, now, would you like it to be Mr. Kinnaird?' The maid spoke as we speak to a familiar friend when we have joyful news.
'Oh, Jeanie Trim, ye know well that I've longed sair for him to come again!'
The maid set down her candles, and knelt down by the old dame's knee, looking up with playful face.
'Well, now, I'll tell ye something. He came to see ye this afternoon.'
'Did he, Jeanie?' The withered face became all wreathed with smiles; the old eyes danced with joy. 'What did ye say to him?'
'Oh, well, I just said'—hesitation—'I said he was to come back again to-morrow.'
'My father doesn't know that he's been here?' There was apprehension in the whisper.