It was late one night when Cecilia, grudging every moment spent away from the bedside, saw that a change had come over her. She had been sleeping, more the sleep of exhaustion than of rest, and, as she awoke, the girl knew that their parting must be near. The doctor was due at any moment, for he slept at Morphie every night, going to his other patients in the day; he was a hard-worked man. She sat listening for his coming. The house was very quiet as she heard his wheels roll into the courtyard. His answer to her question was the one she expected; there was little time left. She ran out to the stable herself and sent a man on horseback to Fullarton. ‘Lose no time,’ she said, as she saw him turn away. When she re-entered the room the doctor looked at her with meaning eyes. ‘I feel very weak,’ said Lady Eliza, ‘don’t go far from me, my dear. Cecilia, is Fullarton here?’ ‘I have sent for him.’ She took her seat again within sight of the eyes that always sought her own; they were calm now and she knew that the chain which had held the passing soul back from peace was broken, for she had broken it with her own hand. Whatever the consequences, whatever she might be called upon to go through, she was glad. When the time should come to face the cost, she would find courage for it. ‘You do not wish to see the minister again?’ she asked, in a little time. He had visited Lady Eliza once. ‘There is no more to say. Cecilia, do you think I shall go before Fullarton comes?’ ‘I have told them to be quick. They have taken Rocket.’ ‘Oh--Rocket. I shall not see Rocket again. She was a good mare. But I must not think of that now; perhaps I have thought too much of horses.’ It was nearly an hour since her messenger had gone when Cecilia looked anxiously at the clock. The doctor had given Lady Eliza what stimulant she could swallow to keep her alive till Fullarton should come, and, though she could scarcely turn her head, her dying ears were listening for his step at the door. It came at last. ‘I am here, my lady,’ he whispered, as he took Cecilia’s place. ‘I have been wearying for you, Robert,’ she said, ‘it is time to say good-bye. You have been good to me.’ He slipped his arm under the pillow and raised her till her head leaned against his shoulder. She was past feeling pain. Instead of the wig she had always insisted upon wearing, a few light locks of her own grey hair strayed on her forehead from under the lace-edged scarf Cecilia had put round her, softening her face. She looked strangely young. Robert could not speak. ‘Eliza----’ he began, but his voice broke. ‘Be good to Cecilia, Fullarton. My little girl--if I had done differently----’ Cecilia rose from her knees and leaned over Fullarton to kiss her. ‘Aunt, I have promised. All will be well with me.’ ‘Yes, yes, I know. I am happy. Robert----’