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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"Weir of Hermiston"


Here she sat down and waited, and looked for a long time at these far-
away bright panes of glass. It amused her to have so extended a view,
she thought. It amused her to see the house of Hermiston - to see
"folk"; and there was an indistinguishable human unit, perhaps the
gardener, visibly sauntering on the gravel paths.
By the time the sun was down and all the easterly braes lay plunged in
clear shadow, she was aware of another figure coming up the path at a
most unequal rate of approach, now half running, now pausing and seeming
to hesitate. She watched him at first with a total suspension of
thought. She held her thought as a person holds his breathing. Then
she consented to recognise him. "He'll no be coming here, he canna be;
it's no possible." And there began to grow upon her a subdued choking
suspense. He WAS coming; his hesitations had quite ceased, his step
grew firm and swift; no doubt remained; and the question loomed up
before her instant: what was she to do? It was all very well to say
that her brother was a laird himself: it was all very well to speak of
casual intermarriages and to count cousinship, like Auntie Kirstie.


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