She paused a little, and her eyes, as she looked at the sea, were very wide and wistful. ’It is a hard saying that "Vengeance is His." I thought it would be sweet—sweet,’ she said, ’but now in the mouth it is bitter.’ ’Hush thee, Marjorie,’ whispered my Nell; ’it was the justice of God upon the murderers of our father.’ And I thought that she spoke well. But Marjorie waved her aside. ’Like enough,’ she answered, quietly, as one that has not strength to argue, but yet holds the contrary opinion. ’Done, at least, is Marjorie’s task. I journey forth to take my wages. Fare you well.’ She turned her face a little outward so that she could look upon the sea and the Fife Lomonds. ’A dearer shore,’ she said, softly, and then she started a little, quickly as if she had waked from sleep. ’Where am I?’ she asked. But ere we could answer—even Nell, who stood close beside her and stroked her brow with a soft hand, she went on,— ’Oh, what am I saying? I was thinking on our garden at Culzean, with its rose walks and the sweet dreaming scent of the sea?’ She looked up at me, as it had been almost archly, yet so as almost to break my heart. ’Launcelot, lad,’ she said, ’hast thou thy gage that I gave thee there? Ye thought me once to be sweet. And I liked you, laddie, I liked you—with something just an inch on the hither side of loving. But now Nelly will love thee a mile on the further side. Come you, Nell,’ she said, beckoning her, ’brave, sweet sister! Let not thy sharp tongue longer injure thy warm heart. Give me your hand, little sister Nelly. Where is it? I cannot see—for the bright shining light.’ And finding Nell’s hand she put it into mine across the bed. ’Good-night, bairns,’ she said, ’even so keep them till the world ends!’ Then for a short space she was silent, and when she spoke again it was very low, so that none save Nell and I could hear. But the words made us tingle as we caught them. ’Gilbert,’ she was saying in a whisper, clear and distinct, ’is it not sweet to walk thus hand in hand on the green meadows? Are not the spring flowers sweet, lad of my love? Shall I sing thee a song about them? For, though thou know’st it not, I can sing both high and low.’ Then she spoke as it had been liltingly and gladsomely. ’Gilbert, let me set this spray of the bonny birk above thine heart. Methinks it hath a strange look. I kenned not that it grew in this countryside.’ She broke into a weird lilt of song that sent the tears hasting to our eyes. But Marjorie was smiling as she never smiled on me, and that made me weep the more. _’It neither grew in syke nor ditch_ _Nor yet in any sheuch,_ _But at the gates o’ Paradise,_ _That birk grew fair eneuch.’_