Here, did the Lord send Miss Jean a present ?...

I doot he's aff for guid.

Weel, weel, guid-nicht." With a heightened colour Jean said good-night to her guests, separated Mhor from his train, and sent him with Jock to bed.
As she went upstairs, Bella Bathgate's words rang in her ears dismally: "I doot he's aff for guid." It was what she wanted, of course; she had told him so.

But she had half hoped that he might send her a letter or a little remembrance on Christmas Day.
Better not, perhaps, but it would have been something to keep.

She sometimes wondered if she had not dreamt the scene in the Hopetoun Woods, and only imagined the words that were constantly in her ears.