"Stood to their votes, some of them," he said; "and some did not. And of those last, Cherry, I was one."
"You, Magnus?" The words came with such a cry that the young man felt as if he had been struck. Not another word followed, but he could see that she was trembling from head to foot.
"Do not mistake me," he said gently. "I did not disgrace myself in any open way, but I did take more than was good for me. For the first, and for the last time, the Lord being my witness and my help."
And now something in his words scattered the last show of Cherry's self-control. She exclaimed once more:
"Oh, Magnus!"
But then her head went down in her hands, and she cried as bitterly as only those women who rarely cry at all can do—silently, uncontrollably, shaken like a young willow by this sudden flood which had burst its bounds. Cherry could not stay the tears, could not look up nor speak.
And Magnus on his part ventured neither word nor touch, and after a minute or two no look. The sight of the dear head, bowed so low in its distress, was more than he could bear. He turned away, with a sort of groan, thinking of that miserable night with unmeasured scorn of himself. Not that he had by any means gone the length of many another man; no one had been obliged to call him to order or see him home. But he knew that both dignity and manhood had been tampered with, and the scorn was deep. Not even a poor storm flag out that night!
Would Cherry ever speak to him again?
And now he turned towards her once more. One long curly brown tress had slipped from the comb, and lay waving down at his side. Magnus looked at it, touched it softly, then turned away again.
There came a sound of steps and voices, and, too quick to be hindered, Cherry sprang to her feet and darted away; and Magnus was taken possession of by his two young sisters, one on either side.