Nevertheless the thought tormented her. She did not see any way out of the difficulty, and she was terribly afraid that Scott would be equally at a loss.
"I don't think I could bear it," she whispered to herself. "And yet--if he says so--if he says so--I suppose I must. I couldn't refuse--if he said so."
The soft opening of the door recalled her to the immediate present. She saw old Biddy's face with its watchful, guardian look peep stealthily in upon her.
"Ah, mavourneen!" she whispered fondly, coming forward. "And is it awake ye are? I've peeped round at ye this five times, and ye were sleeping like a new-born babe. Lie still, darlint, while I fetch ye a cup o' tay then!"
She was gone with the words, but in a very little she was back again with her own especial brew. She set her tray down by Dinah's side, but Dinah did not even look at it. She raised herself instead, and threw warm arms around the old woman's neck. "Oh, Biddy," she said, "Biddy, darling, I can't think what ever I'd do without you!"
Biddy uttered a sharp sob, and gathered her close. But in a moment, half-angrily, "And what is it that I'd be crying for at all?" she said. "Isn't my dear Miss Isabel safer with the Almighty than ever she was with me? Isn't she gone to the blessed saints in Paradise? And would I have her back? No, no! I'm not that selfish, Miss Dinah. I'm an old woman moreover, and be the same token me own time can't be so far off now."
But Dinah clung faster to her. "Please, Biddy, please--don't talk like that! I want you," she said.
"Ah, bless the dear lamb!" said Biddy, and tenderly kissed the upturned, pleading face. "Miss Isabel said ye would now. But when ye've got Master Scott to take care of ye, it's not old Biddy that ye'll be wanting any longer."
"I shall," Dinah vowed. "I shall. I shall always want my Biddy."
"And may the Lord Almighty bless ye for the word!" said Biddy.
When Dinah was dressed, a great shyness fell upon her, born partly of the still mystery of the presence of Death that wrapped the little house. She stood by the window of her room, looking forth, irresolute, over the evening sea.
The blinds were drawn only in the room of Death, for Scott had so decreed, and the air blew in sweet and fresh from the rippling water.