"It's no Erchie ?" "Bethankit, no!" exclaimed the woman, startled into a more natural tone.
"Na, na, it's no sae bad as that.

It's the mistress, my lord; she just fair flittit before my e'en.

She just gi'ed a sab and was by wi' it.
Eh, my bonny Miss Jeannie, that I mind sae weel!" And forth again upon that pouring tide of lamentation in which women of her class excel and over-abound.
Lord Hermiston sat in the saddle beholding her.

Then he seemed to recover command upon himself.
"Well, it's something of the suddenest," said he.

"But she was a dwaibly body from the first." And he rode home at a precipitate amble with Kirstie at his horse's heels.
Dressed as she was for her last walk, they had laid the dead lady on her bed.