“Maybe, if one were to tak' your ain narrative for it, ye hae nae faults worse than mere failings! But this is na telling me why ye left my Leddy.”
Kate made no answer, but sat steadily watching the fire.
“Ye wad rayther, mayhap, that I asked hersel' aboot it! Well, be it so. And noo comes anither point. Do ye think that if your conduct has in any way given displeasure to your mistress, or offended those in whose service ye were,—do ye think, I say, that ye hae the right to involve me in your shame and disgrace?”
“Do you mean,” said she, calmly, “that I had no right to come here?”
“It 's just exactly what I mean; that if ye canna mak' friends for yoursel', ye ought not to turn away those whilk befriend your family.”
“But what was I to have done, then?” said she, gently. “There were circumstances that required—imperatively required me—to leave Lady Dorothea—”
“Let me hear them,” said he, breaking in, “It would lead me to speak of others than myself,—of events which are purely family matters,—were I to enter upon this theme. Besides,” said she, rising, “I am not, so far as I know, on my trial. There is not anything laid to my charge. I have no apologies to render.”
At this moment her stepmother appeared with a tray at the door, and seeing Henderson, endeavored to retire unobserved, but his quick eye had already detected her, and he cried out, “Come here,—ye canna do too much honor to a young leddy who has such a vara profound esteem for hersel'! Cake and wine! my faith! No but ye 'll deem it vara vulgar fare, after the dainties ye hae been used to! And yet, lassie, these are nae the habits here!”
“She has eaten nothing to-day!” meekly observed her stepmother.
“My fayther wad hae askit her hoo much has she earned the day?” said Henderson, severely.