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Then the street door opened, and some one went out, and it seemed to Graeme a long time before she heard another sound. Then Janet came in again, and this time she seemed to have forgotten that there was any one to see her, for she was wringing her hands, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Graeme's heart stood still, and her white lips could scarcely utter a sound.
I thought I might be contented with such a view of these prodigies as might quickly consign them to the limbo of men's machinations; yet somehow or other perhaps the Burgundy bottle, if it could have spoken, like that of Asmodeus, might have helped the solution I got dreamy, and of course foolish, raising objections against my own conclusions, and instituting an alter ego to argue against myself for Graeme's theory.
"Never mind, gentlemen I can manage thank you." There were two persons with him, Charlie Millar was one of them. "Hush, Harry. Be quiet, man. Are you mad? You will waken your sister." The light which someone held behind them, flushed for a moment on Graeme's pale face. "Oh! Miss Elliott," said Charles, "I tried to keep him with me. He is mad, I think. Be quiet, Harry."
Think of the joy of that meeting, Graeme!" Graeme's head drooped down on the table. If she had spoken a word, it must have been with a great burst of weeping. She trembled from head to foot in her effort to keep herself quiet. Her father watched her for a moment. "Graeme, you are not grudging your sister to such blessedness?" "Not now, papa," whispered she, heavily. "I am almost willing now."
And that we should have been a' frae hame, too, ane and a' upon the hill Odd, an we had been at hame, Will Graeme's stamach shouldna hae wanted its morning; but it's biding him, is it na, Hobbie?"
And above the rush of wind and rain, in the short pauses between the thunder-peals, the hoarse roar of the waves along the black bastions of Brecqhou grew louder and louder in their ears. Graeme's face grew somewhat anxious, as he stood at the window and peered westward as far as he could see, and found nothing but fury and blackness there.
She came into Graeme's room and sat down for a few minutes of quiet, just as she usually did. She did not stay very long, but she did not hurry away as though she wished to be alone, and her mind was full of the velvet jacket still, it seemed, though she did not speak quite so eagerly about it as she had done at first.
"Ah! you are not to commit yourself, I see. Well, you are quite right. She is a harmless little person, I believe, and may turn out very well if withdrawn from the influence of her stepmother." Something in Graeme's manner stopped the voluble lady more effectually than words could have done, and a rather abrupt turn was given to the conversation. But Graeme could not forget it.
By and by, he rose and went out, and when he came back, he held an open book on his hand, and on one of its open pages lay a spray of withered ivy, gathered, he said, from the kirkyard wall, from a great branch that hung down over the spot where their mother lay. And when he had laid it down on Graeme's lap, he turned and went out again. "I mind the spot well," said Mrs Snow, softly.
This was the real farewell; for, though in the early light of the next morning two hundred men stood silent about the stage, and then as it moved out waved their hats and yelled madly, this was the last touch they had of her hand. Her place was up on the driver's seat between Abe and Mr. Craig, who held little Marjorie on his knee. The rest of the guard of honour were to follow with Graeme's team.
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