Warlock o' Glenwarlock Part 67

't."

"It's ae thing to be ashamed 'cause ye hae dune wrang, an' anither to be ashamed 'cause ye're f'un' oot!"

"Ay; but there compa.s.sion comes in to fill up; an' whan ye treat a body wi' generosity, the hert wauks up to be worthy o' 't."

"Cosmo, ye ken maist aboot the guid in fowk, an' I ken maist aboot the ill," said Aggie.

Here the young woman who had been nearing them scarce observed while they talked, came up, and they turning to go back to Elsie, where she still stood motionless, followed them at her own pace behind.

"I beg yer pardon, Aggie," said Elsie, holding out her hand. "I was ill-natert, an' said the thing wasna true. My father says there isna a better gatherer i' the countryside nor yersel'." Aggie took her offered hand and said,

"Lat by-ganes be by-ganes. Be true to me an' I'll be true to you.

An' I winna lee whether or no."

Here the stranger joined them. She was a young woman in the garb of a peasant, but with something about her not belonging to the peasant. To the first glance she was more like a superior servant out for a holiday, but a second glance was bewildering. She stopped with a half timid but quiet look, then dropped her eyes with a flush.

"Will you please tell me if I am on the way to Castle Warlock?" she said, with a quiver about her mouth which made her like a child trying not to smile.

Cosmo had been gazing at her: she reminded him Very strangely of Joan; but the moment he heard her voice, which was as different from that of a Scotch peasant as Tennyson's verse is from that of Burns, he gave a cry, and was on his knees before her.

"Joan!" he gasped, and seizing her hand, drew it to his lips, and held it there.

She made no sound or movement. Her colour went and came. Her head drooped. She would have fallen, but Cosmo received her, and rising with her, as one might with a child in his arms, turned, and began to walk swiftly homeward.

Aggie had a short fierce struggle with her rising heart, then turned to Elsie, and said quietly,

"Ye see we're no want.i.t!"

"I see," returned Elsie. "But eh! she's a puir cratur."

"No sae puir!" answered Aggie. "Wad YE dress up like a gran' leddy to gang efter yer yoong man?"

"Ay wad I--fest eneuch!" answered Elsie with scorn.

Aggie saw her mistake.

"Did ye tak notice o' her han's?" she said.

"No, I didna."

"Ye never saw sic han's! Did ye tak notice o' her feet?"

"No, I didna."

"Ye never saw sic feet! Yon's ane 'at canna gather, nor stock, nor bin', but she's bonny a' throu', an' her v'ice is a sang, an'

she'll gang throu' fire an' waiter ohn blinkit for her love's sake.

Yon's the la.s.s for oor laird! The like o' you an' me sud trible heid nor hert aboot the likes o' HIM."

"Speyk for yersel', la.s.s," said Elsie.

"I tellt ye," returned Aggie, quietly but with something like scorn, "'at gien ye wad be true to me, I wad be true to you; but gie yersel'

airs, an' I say guid nicht, an' gang efter my fowk."

She turned and departed, leaving Elsie more annoyed than repentant: it may take a whole life to render a person capable of shame, not to say sorrow, for the meanest thing of many he has done.

And now, Aggie's heart lying stone-like within her as she followed Cosmo with his treasure, her brain was alive and active for his sake. Joan was herself again, Cosmo had set her down, and they were walking side by side. "What are they going to do?" thought Aggie.

"Are they going straight home together? Why does she come now the old laird is gone?" Such and many other questions she kept asking herself in her carefulness over Cosmo.

They pa.s.sed the turning Aggie would have taken to go home; she pa.s.sed it too, following them steadily.--That old Grizzie was no good! She must go home with them herself! If the reason for which she left the castle was a wise one, she must now, for the same reason, go back to it! Those two must not be there with n.o.body to make them feel comfortable and taken care of! They must not be left to feel awkward together! She must be a human atmosphere about them, to shield them, and make home for them! Love itself may be too lonely. It needs some reflection of its too lavish radiation.

--This was practically though not altogether in form what Agnes thought.

In the meantime, the first whelming joy-wave having retired, and life and thought resumed their operations, they had begun to talk.

"Where have you come from?" asked Cosmo.

"From Cairntod, the place I came from that wild winter night,"

answered Joan.

"But you are. . . . when were you. . . . how long. . . . have you been married?"

"MARRIED!" echoed Joan. "Cosmo, how could you!"

She looked up in his face wild and frightened.

"Well, you never wrote! and--"

"It was you never wrote!"

"_I_ did not, but my father did, and got no answer."

"I wrote again and again, and BEGGED for an answer, but none came.

If it hadn't been for the way I dreamed about you, I don't know what would have become of me!"

"The devil has been at old tricks, Joan!"

"Doubtless--and I fear I have hardly to discover his agent."

"And Mr. Jermyn?" said Cosmo, with a look half shy, half fearful, as if after all some bolt must be about to fall.

"I can tell you very little about him. I have scarcely seen him since he brought me the money."

"Then he didn't. . . . ?"

"Well, what didn't he?"

"I have no right to ask."

"Ask me ANYTHING."