“But did you never think there might be another way to keep the men off, and sink the name of MacGlowrie forever?” said Blair in a lower voice.
“I think we must be going back now,” said the widow timidly, withdrawing her hand, which Blair had again mysteriously got possession of in her confusion.
“But wait just a few minutes longer to keep me company,” said Blair pleadingly. “I came here to see a patient, and as there must have been some mistake in the message—I must try to discover it.”
“Oh! Is that all?” said the widow quickly. “Why?”—she flushed again and laughed faintly—“Well! I am that patient! I wanted to see you alone to explain everything, and I could think of no other way. I'm afraid I've got into the habit of thinking nothing of being somebody else.”
“I wish you would let me select who you should be,” said the doctor boldly.
“We really must go back—to the horses,” said the widow.
“Agreed—if we will ride home together.”
They did. And before the year was over, although they both remained, the name of MacGlowrie had passed out of Laurel Spring.