She was happier than she had been for months; she felt that there was
enough breath up here for her, and not even his laughing at her for
being "such a kid" could damp her enjoyment. Presently a new idea
occurred to her.
"Let's sleep up here!" she cried, and once again over-ruled his
objections, and dragged up the mattress and blankets.
The shadows of the chimneys were long across the roofs as she laid the
mattress down by the coping. The day had been hot with the clear, bright
heat of early summer. They sat on the mattress, smoking--an
accomplishment Marcella had learnt from him and practised rather
tentatively. She talked to him of Lashnagar, pouring into his ears
legend after legend of her people, until she came to the tale of the
spaewife and the coming of the ruin upon Lashnagar.
"Do you mean to have the cheek to say this is an ancestor of yours?" he
asked as, with glowing eyes and quickened breaths, she told him of the
twins born on Flodden Field and wrapt in their foemen's trappings. Had
he been less self-centred he could not have tried to hurt her by making
fun of her legends.
"Yes. She is my great, great, goodness knows how great grandmother. I'm
rather proud of her, but she takes some living up to. I often feel I
disappoint her. But if ever I feel flabby or lazy or tired of hard
things I switch my mind on to her.
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