The night that followed was quieter than the one preceding it and she sat up, having had a long rest, insisting that the doctor should go to bed; while her aunt’s mind ran on things which were for her ears alone, she did not wish for his presence. Towards morning he came in and forced her to leave the bedside, and, worn out, she slept on till it was almost noon. She awoke to find him standing over her. ‘Lady Eliza is conscious,’ he said, ‘and she is not suffering--at least, not in body. But she is very uneasy and anxious to see you. I fancy there is something on her mind. Do what you can to soothe her, Miss Raeburn, for I doubt if she will last the day; all we can hope for her now is an easy death.’ Lady Eliza lay with her eyes closed; as Cecilia entered she opened them and smiled. She went to the bed. ‘How tired you look,’ said Lady Eliza. ‘It will soon be over, my dear, and we shall have parted at last. Don’t cry, child. What a good girl you have been! Ah, my dear, I could die happy if it were not for you. I have nothing to leave you but a few pounds a year and my own belongings and the horses. Morphie will go to relations I have never seen. What am I to do for you? What are you to do? Oh, Cecilia! I should have laid by more. But I never thought of this--of dying like this--and I looked to your marrying. I have been a bad friend to you--I see that now that I come to lie here.’ ‘If you speak in that way you will break my heart,’ said Cecilia, covering her face with her hands. ‘Come close; come where I can see you. You must make me a promise,’ said Lady Eliza; ‘you must promise me that you will marry. Crauford Fordyce will come back--I know that he will, for Fullarton has told me so. I said it was useless, but that is different now. Cecilia, I can’t leave you like this, with no one to protect you and no money--promise me when he comes, that you will say yes.’ ‘Oh, aunt! oh, dear aunt!’ cried Cecilia. ‘Oh, not that, not that!’ ‘Promise me,’ urged Lady Eliza. ‘Oh, anything but that--do not ask me that! There is only one man in the world I can ever love. It is the same now as on the day he left.’ ‘Love is not for everybody,’ said Lady Eliza, slowly. ‘Some have to do without it all their lives.’ There was no sound in the room for a little time. ‘The world looks different now,’ began Lady Eliza again; ‘I don’t know if I was right to do as I did about Gilbert Sp--about Whanland. I am a wicked woman, my dear, and I cannot forgive--but you don’t know about that.’ ‘If he comes back, aunt--if he comes back?’ ‘But you cannot wait all your life for that. He is gone and he has said he will not come back. Put that away from you; I am thinking only of you--believe me, my darling. I beg of you, Cecilia, I pray you. You know I shall never be able to ask anything again, soon.’ ‘Give me time,’ she sobbed, terribly moved. ‘In a year, Cecilia--in a year?’