He was standing as she spoke to him in a close that had seemed the one he sought, and he turned to tell her where he was going.
“Oh yes,” said the woman, “I know her well. And you’ll be from the glen, and what’s your errand in the town to-day? You are from Drimfern? No, Ladyfield! It is a fine place Ladyfield; and how is the goodwife there?”
“God, and that is a pity too!” said the woman, content now that the news was hers. “You are in the very close you are looking for,” and she turned and hurried up the street to spread the news as fast as could be.
The boy turned away, angry with himself to have blurted out his news to the first stranger with the curiosity to question him, and halfway up the stairs he had to pause a little to get in the right mood for his errand. Then he went up the remaining steps and rapped at the door.
“Come in,” cried a frank and hearty woman’s voice. He put down the sneck with his thumb and pushed in the door and followed.
A little window facing the sea gave light to the interior, that would have been dull and mean but for the brilliant delf upon the dresser rack and the cleanliness of all things and the smiling faces of Jean Clerk and her sister. The hum of Jean’s wheel had filled the chamber as he entered; now it was stilled and the spinner sat with the wool pinched in her fingers, as she welcomed her little relative. Her sister--Aliset Dhu they called her, and if black she was, it had been long ago, for now her hair was like the drifted snow--stood behind her, looking up from her girdle where oaten bannocks toasted.
He stood with his bonnet in his hand. Against his will the grief of his loss swept over him more masterfully than it had yet done, for those two sisters had never been seen by him before except in the company of their relative the little old woman with a face like a nut, and the sobs that shook him were checked by no reflection of the play-actor. He was incapable of utterance.
“O my boy, my boy!” cried Jean Clerk. “Do I not know your story? I dreamt last night I saw a white horse galloping over Tombreck to Ladyfield and the rider of him had his face in his plaid. Peace with her, and her share of Paradise!”
And thus my hero, who thought so much upon the way of his message, had no need to convey it any way at all.