She sat in the sun looking down the garden to the fruit-covered wall, her shady hat, which, owing, perhaps, to the wig beneath it, was seldom at the right angle, pulled over her eyes. No other lady of those days would have worn such headgear, but Lady Eliza made her own terms with fashion. All the hot part of the afternoon she had been working, for her garden produce interested her, and she was apt to do a great deal with her own hands which could more safely have been left to the gardeners. Cecilia, who was picking fruit, had forced her to rest while she finished the work, and her figure could be seen a little way off in a lattice of raspberry-bushes; the elder woman’s eyes followed her every movement. Whether she married Fordyce or whether she did not, the bare possibility seemed to bring the eventual separation nearer, and make it more inevitable. Lady Eliza had longed for such an event, prayed for it; but now that it had come she dreaded it too much. It was scarcely ever out of her mind. When her basket was full Cecilia came up the path and set it down before the bench. ‘There is not room for one more,’ she said lightly. ‘Sit down, child,’ said her companion; ‘you look quite tired. We have got plenty now. That will be--let me see--five baskets. I shall send two to Miss Robertson--she has only a small raspberry-bed--and the rest are for jam.’ ‘Then perhaps I had better go in and tell the cook, or she will put on all five to boil.’ ‘No, my dear, never mind; stay here. Cecilia, has it occurred to you that we may not be together very long?’ The idea was so unexpected that Cecilia was startled, and the blood left her face. For one moment she thought that Lady Eliza must have some terrible news to break, some suddenly-acquired knowledge of a mortal disease. ‘Why?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, aunt, what do you mean?’ ‘I suppose you will marry, Cecilia. In fact, you must some day.’ The blood came back rather violently. ‘Don’t let us think of that, ma’am,’ she said, turning away her head. ‘You do not want to leave me, Cecilia?’ The two women looked into each other’s eyes, and the younger laid her hand on that of her companion. The other seized it convulsively, a spasm of pain crossing her features. ‘My little girl,’ she said; ‘my darling!’