“Asked Mary? What? And she told you, my lady? She should not have told you; unless she consented, and I doubt that,” said the old lord.
“He told me, and she refused him. She was not blate to refuse my Richard. Should I say anything about it?” asked my lady, leaning heavily on her old lord’s arm, for the path was steep and tried them both.
Lord Eskside laughed, his eyes twinkling under his eyebrows. “They’re quits now, or more,” he said; “and I would not say but something might come of it yet.”
The avenue was very steep; it tried them both as they went up slowly leaning on each other. When they stopped to take breath, they both spoke, the same thought coming to their minds at the same moment. “The house will be dull without Val,” Lady Eskside said with a sigh. “When the bairns are gone, the house grows quiet,” said her husband. Then they set forth again and climbed the last turn to their own door, holding each other up with kind mutual pressure of their old arms. Both of them were beyond the measure of man’s years on earth. “The bairns come and the bairns go—but, thank God, you and me are still together, Catherine,” said the old lord.
THE END.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS.