“I have my marriage lines, father,” she answered quickly.
“Where were ye married?”
“Why, father, we——” began Jean hesitatingly.
“Was it in the Kirk?” he interrupted sternly.
“No,” she faltered. “It was——”
“Not in the Kirk?” he cried, his voice rising menacingly. “Who was the minister? Who married ye?”
“There was no minister, father.”
“Nae minister!” he exclaimed in horror.
“Wait, father, you don’t understand,” cried Jean quickly; “’twas a Scotch marriage; ye ken what that is—and,” she bowed her head guiltily, “why it is. And here are my lines signed by Robert acknowledging me as his wife.” She took from the bosom of her gown a folded paper which she handed to her father.