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The constant terror of his mind was lest some further accident should befall her. Between class and class he would go to a window, from which, when he had thrown up its lower sash, dim with the scratches of names, he could see one end of his own white cottage, and the little pathway, between lines of gilvers, coming down from the porch.
She held it a moment as if expecting him to say something, but he only raised his hat. His face was white as marble. He will speak yet, she thought. Over the gateway to the churchyard there was an arch of flowers and evergreens, with an inscription in coloured letters: "God bless the happy pair." The sloping path going down as to a dell was strewn with gilvers and slips of fuchsia.
I had chosen a bed of annuals because they were bright and fragrant, and was beginning to cut some "gilvers" when Nessy MacLeod, who had been watching from a window, came bouncing down me. "Mary O'Neill, how dare you?" cried Nessy. "You wilful, wicked, underhand little vixen, what will your Aunt Bridget say? Don't you know this is Betsy Beauty's bed, and nobody else is to touch it?"
In one hand she carried a huge bunch of sweet-smelling gilvers. A group of girl companions came to see her off, and there was much giggling and chatter and general excitement. "Are you forgetting the pouch and pipe, Emma?" "Let me see; am I? No; it's here in my frock." "Well, you'll be coming together by the coach at nine, it's like?" "It's like we will, Liza, if the steamer isn't late."
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