He
nodded to me, spread out on the floor two pairs of clean old blankets
having at their corners, "A.G., 1794," in large letters in red
worsted. These were the initials of Alison Graeme, and James may have
looked in at her from without--himself unseen but not unthought
of--when he was "wat, wat, and weary," and after having walked many a
mile over the hills, may have seen her sitting, while "a' the lave
were sleepin';" and by the firelight working her name on the blankets
for her ain James's bed.
He motioned Rab down, and taking his wife in his arms, laid her in the
blankets, and happed her carefully and firmly up, leaving the face
uncovered; and then lifting her, he nodded again sharply to me, and
with a resolved but utterly miserable face, strode along the passage,
and downstairs, followed by Rab. I followed with a light; but he
didn't need it. I went out, holding stupidly the candle in my hand in
the calm frosty air; we were soon at the gate. I could have helped
him, but I saw he was not to be meddled with, and he was strong, and
did not need it. He laid her down as tenderly, as safely, as he had
lifted her out ten days before--as tenderly as when he had her first
in his arms when she was only "A.G."--sorted her, leaving that
beautiful sealed face open to the heavens; and then taking Jess by the
head, he moved away. He did not notice me, neither did Rab, who
presided behind the cart.
I stood till they passed through the long shadow of the College, and
turned up Nicholson Street.
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