Then seeing me (as it appeared) for the first time, she came forward and took my hand simply, and with a pleasant open frankness.
“You will come in and rest, will you not?” she said. “Are you here on business with my father?”
“Nay,” said I, smiling at her; “I have no business save that of bidding you farewell.”
“Farewell!” cried she, dropping the needle-work she held in her hand, “why farewell?”
“I go far away to a new and untried work. I know not when nor how I shall return.”
She gave a little quick shivering gasp, as if she had been about to speak.
“At the least, come in and see my mother,” she said, and led the way within.
But when we had gone into the long oaken chamber naught of the Lady of Earlstoun was to be seen. And the laird himself cried up to Mary to entertain me till he should speak to his grieve over at the cottage.
In the living room of Earlstoun was peace and the abiding pleasant sense of on ordered home. As soon as she had shut the door the lass turned upon me.
“You have truly given up your parish?” she said, holding her hands before her with the fingers clasped firmly together.