"Let us say good-by!" "Is it so?
Is it so ?" "Never make doubt of that! I want you to see that it is clean snapped--clean gone!" She gave him her hands.

They lay in his grasp untrembling, filled with a gathered strength.

He wrung them, bowed his head upon them, let them go.

They fell at her sides; then she raised them, drew the scarf over her head and, holding it as before, turned and went away up the path between the yellow stubble and the wall.

She walked quickly, dark clad; she was gone like a bird into a wood, like a branch of autumn leaves when the sea fog rolls in.
The laird of Glenfernie turned to his ancient house on the craggy hill....