"They were glad," was all I said.
There was also one brief query from Angus.
"Did she talk to you, bairnie?" he said.
I hesitated and stared at him quite a long time. Then I shook my head
and answered, slowly, "N-no."
Because I realized then, for the first time, that we had said no words
at all. But I had known what she wanted me to understand, and she had
known what I might have said to her if I had spoken--and no words were
needed. And it was better.
They took me home to the castle, and I was given my supper and put to
bed. Jean sat by me until I fell asleep; she was obliged to sit rather a
long time, because I was so happy with my memories of Wee Brown Elspeth
and the certainty that she would come again. It was not Jean's words
which had made me sure. I knew.
She came many times. Through all my childish years I knew that she
would come and play with me every few days--though I never saw the wild
troopers again or the big, lean man with the scar. Children who play
together are not very curious about one another, and I simply accepted
her with delight. Somehow I knew that she lived happily in a place not
far away. She could come and go, it seemed, without trouble. Sometimes
I found her--or she found me upon the moor; and often she appeared in
my nursery in the castle. When we were together Jean Braidfute seemed to
prefer that we should be alone, and was inclined to keep the under-nurse
occupied in other parts of the wing I lived in.
Pages:
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27