She patted me on the head pacifyingly as if I had been a fractious bairn that needed humouring. “Yes, yes, then,” she said, soothingly, “we shall be happy, you and I. What was it you said the other Sabbath day? I knew not what it meant then. But methinks I begin to understand now--‘passing the love of woman!’” The cough shook her, but she strove to hide it, going on quickly with her words like one who has no time to lose. “That is the way I love you, Quintin, ‘passing the love of women,’ Why, I do not even grudge you to her.” She smiled again, and said cheerfully, “Now we will call them in.” I was going to the door to do it according to her word, for that night we all obeyed her as though she had been the Queen. I was almost at the door when she rose all trembling to her feet and held out her arms entreatingly. “Quintin, Quintin, kiss me once,” she said, “once before they come.” I ran to her and kissed her on the brow. “Oh, not there! On the mouth. It is my right. I have paid for it!” she cried. And so I did. Then she drew down my head and set her lips to my ear. “I lied to you, laddie--yes, I lied. I _do_ grudge you to her. Oh, I _do_, I _do_!” And for the first time one mighty sob caught her by the throat and rent her. Nevertheless she straightened herself with her hand to her breast, like a wounded soldier who salutes his general ere he dies, and commanded her emotion. “Yes,” she said, looking upwards and speaking as if to one unseen, “I will play the game fairly; I have promised and I will not repine, nor go back on my word!” She turned to me, “It is not a time for bairn’s greeting. We are to be married, you and I, are we not? Call them in.” And she laughed a little bashfully and fitly as the folk came in and smiled to one and the other as they entered. Then to me she beckoned. “Come and hold my hand all the time. Clasp my fingers firmly. Do not let them go lest I slip away too soon, Quintin. I need your hand in mine--for to-night, Quintin, just only for this one night!” Even thus Jean Gemmell and I were married. * * * * * And after all was done I laid her on her bed, and she rested there till near the dawning with my hand firmly held in hers. Mostly her eyes were shut, but every now and then she would smile up at me like one that encourages another in a weary wait. Once she said, “Isn’t it sweet?” And then again, and near to the gloaming of the morn, she whispered, “It will not be long now, laddie mine?” Nor was it, for within an hour the soul of Jean Gemmell went out in one long loving look, and with the faintest murmur of her lips which only my ear could catch--“Passing the love of women,” she said, and again--“passing the love of women!” And it was my hand alone that spread the fair white cloth over her dead face which still had the smile upon it, and over the pale lips that she had asked me to kiss.