When she reached Clippenstrae, she found that she had been sent there.
Her aunt came from the inner room as she opened the door, and she knew
at once by her face that Death was in the house. For its expression
recalled the sad vision of her father's departure. Her great-uncle, the
little grey-headed old cottar in the Highland bonnet, lay dying???-in the
Highland bonnet still. He was going to "the land o' the Leal" (loyal),
the true-hearted, to wait for his wife, whose rheumatism was no chariot
of fire for swiftness, whatever it might be for pain, to bear her to
the "high countries." He has had nothing to do with our story, save
that once he made our Annie feel that she had a home. And to give that
feeling to another is worth living for, and justifies a place in any
story like mine.
Auntie Meg's grief appeared chiefly in her nose; but it was none the
less genuine for that, for her nature was chiefly nose. She led the way
into the death-room???-it could hardly be called the sick-room???-and Annie
followed. By the bedside sat, in a high-backed chair, an old woman with
more wrinkles in her face than moons in her life. She was perfectly
calm, and looked like one, already half-across the river, watching her
friend as he passed her towards the opposing bank.
Pages:
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734