She felt as if she were talking to Osmond himself, and as if his idea of great world spaces and inevitable meetings made it certain for them to part without loss. Grannie was thinking. She gave a little sigh. "What is it?" asked Rose. "Osmond likes you very much, doesn't he?" asked the old lady. "It isn't exactly liking. We understand each other. He is different from anybody." "Yes." "He understands me almost before I speak. It is comfortable to be with him." "Yes. And the boy finds it comfortable to be with you." "Oh, yes! It is because it is so exactly alike for us both. That is why we are so contented together." "He will miss you when you are gone." "Oh, but not as I shall miss him! He is so sure of things. He knows so well when the cord between us is holding. But I shall doubt. I shall want to hear his voice." Grannie sighed again. She was a happy old woman in her certainties; but sometimes she felt tired, with the gentle lassitude of the old. She had been with Osmond through every step of his difficult way, and she had hoped some tragedies would be spared them both. Much as she believed in ultimate good fortune, she had to shrink from his desiring woman's love. Yet this was to be. A little jealous doubt of the girl crept into her troubled heart. Was she light of love, a lady of enchantments who could appear out of nowhere and make all these strange happenings seem commonplace until her fickle destiny should snatch her away again, leaving hurt and mourning hearts behind? Grannie was humbly conscious that there were many things outside her world, exotic flowers of life her upland pastures did not breed. That they were poison flowers she could not well believe; but when her dear boy tasted the essence of them, she had to pause and sternly think it over, whether it was well. "My dear," she said, "you must be honest with him." The gentle voice had steel in it. "Honest? With Osmond? How should I be anything else? What reason--why, grannie!" "Osmond is not like other men." "He is better. He is like a spirit." "No. He is only a man that's had heavy loads to carry. You mustn't be cruel to him." "Grannie, I never heard you speak like that. You have been so kind." "I am kind now, but Osmond is my boy. Do you feel to him as you did to Tom Fulton?" "Oh!" It was a cry of pain. "What has Tom Fulton to do with it, to do with me?" the girl asked, in that hurt surprise. "All I want is to forget him. He made himself beautiful to me because he lied to me. The things I loved he said he loved--and then he laughed at them. But Osmond--what has Osmond to do with Tom Fulton?" "You have made Osmond love you," said grannie. "That's all." The chamber was very still. Rose could hear the ticking of grannie's watch beside her on the stand. Presently she spoke in a wondering tone. "Love me? Grannie, is it that?" "What did you think it was?" "I didn't think. I thought it was something greater."