She thought that she must be very ill indeed, and that she was seeing things double. For there in Rupert's hand, as he held it out to her, lay two rings, wrought of dull old silver in the shape of two hearts entwined. She stared at them blankly, and Rupert, who thought from her silence that she was still angry, hid his face in his arms.
But in that silence Merrylips began slowly to understand what had happened. She saw that Rupert, how or why she could not guess, had had a ring like hers and prized it dearly. No wonder, then, that when he had seen her handling such a ring he had thought her a little thief, until he had searched and found his own ring in its place. He was not wholly to blame, and until that hour he had been kind.
How glad she was to feel that she could forgive him! "Rupert!" she whispered, but so softly that he did not heed.
Then she dragged herself to him and put her two arms round his shoulders.
"Rupert!" she said again, and bent and kissed him.
He put his arms about her, and for a moment they clung to each other.
"Thou art the strangest lad, Tibbott!" choked Rupert. "But thou dost not bear me ill will? Indeed thou dost not?"
Merrylips nodded, as she settled herself beside him. She felt too weak to talk, but she was very happy.
For a moment Rupert too was silent, while he busied himself in tying Merrylips' ring once more upon the broken cord. But presently he said, in a humble voice:—
"Wilt thou tell me, Tibbott—if 'tis not a secret—how thou ever camest by this ring which is like mine own?"