I ran back to bid Marjorie return with us to Culzean, where at least we could keep her safe. She stood where we had left her, looking at the place where her love had lain. The marks of the crossed spears and certain drops of blood alone remained on the snow.
At the sound of my voice she started as from a dream.
'Ah, Launcelot,' she said, looking at me strangely, as though I too had been dead and in a newer life had unexpectedly confronted her, 'do you think that I, who fear not fifty in the highway, fear one or two in the house of Auchendrayne? My work is not done there yet,' she added; 'till it be, there I shall bide.'
And with that she mounted and rode away. Never did I see a cavalcade ride home in such fashion after a victory. There was not a man of us from Culzean but went with his head hanging down like a little whipped cur. And when we told Sir Thomas he was like to break his heart, for he was a kindly man, and had ever a great affection for Bargany.
And Nell, when she heard it, went out and stopped the boys that played at ball and shouted in the tennis-court. Also, to keep them sober, she set them to learn their religion—of which, in common with all in that country side (save perhaps my master) they had great need.
But strange to tell, after the grief for Bargany's death was a little by-past among us, there befell the quietest and most gracious time that ever had been in the house of Culzean. It was like the coming of joy after the rain—the warm rain of pity which thawed our winter-frozen hearts.
Yet the things that happened during these months were many. First of all there was the marrying of my pretty cruel Kate to Robert Harburgh, who had at last gotten leave to depart from the Earl, and the down-sitting to settle on. So the day came that I had looked for to be so bitter to me, and lo! it was not bitter at all; for I stood beside Nell Kennedy in white, who was Kate Allison's best maid, and it was indeed a sight comely. Then it was that for the first time I honestly judged Nell to be more beautiful than her sister Marjorie, of which I have often thought since.
When all was over, and Nell and I had done racing and throwing of old shoes after them, as they rode away together to their well-furnished house of Chitterlintie, it chanced that she and I walked home together. We were silent a long while.
Then said I, 'Nell, do you remember how it was our daily use to quarrel?'
'And so it may be again,' she said, tossing her head.
'I wonder where the rope is, and the tow-steps that used to dangle from the White Tower?' she asked after a moment.
'They are e'en there yet,' I said, 'if it be that you desire to go and see your lad. But be more timely, I pray you, in your homecoming, for now you have no excuse in the way of sisters—'
Then I remembered, and was shamed. However, Nell paid no heed, but seemed to be thinking of something else.
'Nor have you now any excuse for going down by to Sandy the Grieve's,' she said, giving me tit for tat.
'Nell,' said I, 'we are very good friends, are we not?
'Ay,' said she, drily, 'brawly do I ken the reason of that.'
'And what may the reason be?' I asked of her.
'Just that I am all there is left,' she said, so quickly that I declare the saying took the wind from me, like a sudden blow where one's breath bides. Nor do I yet know the answer to that, for on the surface of the thing there was certainly some reason in what she said.
'Oh, I am not proud,' she went on, 'and you and I are good friends and good company. I am e'en content to be Mistress Do-no-better!'
'Nell,' said I, going nearer to her, and taking her hand, 'Nell, you and I are now to be more than that.'
But she drew her hand away with a jerk.
'Try a new way of it,' she said; 'I am not taking Mistress Katherine Allison's cast-off sweet speeches!'
So that base little wretch Kate Allison had been at the telling of tales!
After this I saw no better way out of the bog than to withdraw myself from her, and walk apart in that silent dignity, which, upon occasion, I have at my command.
'No, Launce,' she said, standing up with her hands behind her and her mouth pouted, 'you are a good lad enough, but simple. I knew that I would send you into the sulks. That was the reason I said it. If you take me for a sweet confection that melts in the mouth, you mistake me sorely!'
But I made no answer, not indeed having any to make, and so marched off by myself. Yet for all Nell's ill-treatment and scorning of me, I did not grieve any more for that minx Kate. For, as I was no long time in discovering, the pretty traitress had told Nell many of those sweet things I had said to her. I never imagined that girls told such speeches and love-makings the one to the other. I had aways believed that a lass kept her own secrets, and only told other people's. It was, indeed, most true what Nell had cast up to me. I was but a simple lad.