Marjory had risen from his side in a noiseless ghostly way, and had crossed the path under the limes to a door in the wall, which led into the other garden. She disappeared in the darkness, while he sat wondering, and immediately after he heard her speak.
“You are asking after the family. You are sorry for us in our trouble. You may go, Sandy. I want to speak to her myself. Will you tell me if—you want anything?”
“Nothing,” said the other voice, with sudden and evident self-restraint. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, mem. I meant nothing but to ask a question on my road as I passed.”
“But you knew my poor brother?”
“I’ve seen a Maister Heriot, that was said to come frae Fife.”
“Will you come in?” said Marjory.
“I thank ye, mem, but I’ve nae time to waste. My errand’s dune. I’ve a long road before me.”
“If you will come with me I will let you out another way, which is shorter,” said Marjory, in a conciliatory tone.
There was a momentary pause, and after some hesitating answer, Fanshawe heard the door of the other garden shut, and saw two figures come back instead of one. The new-comer was shorter than Marjory. Her dress was tucked up as if for walking; but there was not light enough to distinguish her face. I think Marjory, in the new interest which possessed her, had forgotten Fanshawe. To his infinite surprise, he saw her grasp the hand of the country lass as she closed the little door in the wall, and heard her ask eagerly, in a half-whispering voice,
“Are you Isabell?”