"
The sad eyes smiled at her from the bed, half-gratified,
half-incredulous, like the eyes of a lonely child who listens to a
fairy-tale. "It was like him to think of that, Biddy. But--I wish he had
stayed a little longer. I must get up and go and find him."
"Hasn't he been with ye through the night?" asked Biddy, bent again to
her task.
"Nearly all night long!" The answer came on a note of triumph, yet there
was also a note of challenge in it also.
"Then what more would ye have?" said Biddy wisely. "Leave him alone for a
bit, darlint! Husbands are better without their wives sometimes."
A low laugh came from the bed. "Oh, Biddy, I must tell him that! He would
love your _bon-mots_. Did he--did he say when he would be back?"
"That he did not," said Biddy, still absorbed over the kettle. "But
there's nothing in that at all. Ye can't be always expecting a man to
give account of himself. Now, mavourneen, I'll give ye your tay, and
ye'll be able to get up when ye feel like it. Ah! There's Master Scott!
And would ye like him to come in and have a cup with ye?"
Three soft knocks had sounded on the door. The woman in the bed raised
herself, and her hair fell in glory around her, hair that at twenty-five
had been raven-black, hair that at thirty-two was white as the snow
outside the window.
"Is that you, Stumpy dear? Come in! Come in!" she called.
Her voice was hollow and deep.
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