For a long time I stood sadly enough looking after her. And I grant that my heart was like lead within me. My spirit had no power in it. I cried out to God to let me die. For it was scarce a fair thing that she should have spoken that word now when it was too late.
CHAPTER XXV.
BEHIND THE BROOM.
But this 30th of December had yet more in store for me. The minting die was yet to be dinted deeper into my heart.
For, as I turned me about to go back the way I came, there by the copse side, where the broom grew highest, stood Jean Gemmell, with a face suddenly drawn thin, grey-white and wan like the melting snow.
“Jean!” I cried, “what do ye there?”
She tried to smile, but her eyes had a fixed and glassy look, and she seemed to be mastering herself so that she might speak.
I think that she had a speech prepared in her heart, for several times she strove to begin, and the words were always the same. But at last all that she could say was no more than this, “You love her?”
And with a little hand she pointed to where the Lady Mary had disappeared. I could see it shaking like a willow leaf as she held it out.
“Jean,” said I, kindly as I could, “what brought you so far from home on such a bitter day? It is not fit. You will get your death of cold.”
“I have gotten my death,” she said, with a little gasping laugh, “I have gotten my sentence. Do not I take it well?”