'Like enough,' she answered, quietly, as one that has not strength to argue, but yet holds the contrary opinion. 'Done, at least, is Marjorie's task. I journey forth to take my wages. Fare you well.'
She turned her face a little outward so that she could look upon the sea and the Fife Lomonds.
'A dearer shore,' she said, softly, and then she started a little, quickly as if she had waked from sleep.
'Where am I?' she asked.
But ere we could answer—even Nell, who stood close beside her and stroked her brow with a soft hand, she went on,—
'Oh, what am I saying? I was thinking on our garden at Culzean, with its rose walks and the sweet dreaming scent of the sea?'
She looked up at me, as it had been almost archly, yet so as almost to break my heart.
'Launcelot, lad,' she said, 'hast thou thy gage that I gave thee there? Ye thought me once to be sweet. And I liked you, laddie, I liked you—with something just an inch on the hither side of loving. But now Nelly will love thee a mile on the further side. Come you, Nell,' she said, beckoning her, 'brave, sweet sister! Let not thy sharp tongue longer injure thy warm heart. Give me your hand, little sister Nelly. Where is it? I cannot see—for the bright shining light.'
And finding Nell's hand she put it into mine across the bed.
'Good-night, bairns,' she said, 'even so keep them till the world ends!'