There, on a little white bed with dimity
curtains, lay the form of Isobel. The eyes of the soutar, in whom had
lingered yet a hope, at once revealed that he saw she was indeed gone to
return no more. Her lovely little face, although its beautiful eyes were
closed, was even lovelier than before; but her arms and hands lay straight
by her sides; their work was gone from them; no voice would call her any
more! she might sleep on, and take her rest!
"I had but to lay them straucht," sobbed her mistress; "her een she had
closed hersel as she drappit! Eh, but she _was_ a bonny lassie--and a
guid!--hardly less nor ain bairn to me!"
"And to me as weel!" supplemented Peter, with a choked sob.
"And no ance had I paid her a penny wage!" cried Marion, with sudden
remorseful reminiscence.
"She'll never think o' wages noo!" said her husband. "We'll sen' them to
the hospital, and that'll ease yer min', Mirran!"
"Eh, she was a dacent, mensefu, richt lo'able cratur!" cried Marion. "She
never _said_ naething to jeedge by, but I hae a glimmer o' houp 'at she
_may_ ha' been ane o' the Lord's ain.
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