I want to go." She tried to smile a little as though at her own childish fancifulness but suddenly a heavy shining tear fell on her hand.

And her head dropped and she murmured, "I'm sorry, Dowie," as if it were a fault.
The Macaurs watched her from afar with their own special order of silent interest.

But the sight of the slowly flitting and each day frailer young body began to move them even to the length of low-uttered expression of fear and pity.
"Some days she fair frights me passing by so slow and thin in her bit black dress," Maggy said.

"She minds me o' a lost birdie fluttering about wi' a broken wing.

She's gey young she is, to be a widow woman--left like that." The doctor came up the moor road every day and talked more to Dowie than to his patient.