“Christine!” he exclaimed taking both her hands in his. “Is it indeed you!”
Just for one exquisite moment he forgot everything, was only conscious that she was beside him, and that they loved each other, with a love which surpassed even the first bliss of the early days of their betrothal. The next moment, with a horrible revulsion, he remembered the barrier that lay between them. Neither of them spoke; in the stillness they were each conscious of the clear birdlike whistle of an errand boy crossing the bridge. He had caught up one of the prettiest airs in “Haddon Hall”—“To thine own heart be true”!
“Hugh,” she said softly, “you told me if ever a time came when there was no one else who could help me more fitly that I was to come to you. I am driven almost desperate and I have come to claim your promise. Where can we talk quietly?”
“If you will not find it too cold I could row you up the river towards Charlcote,” he said. “Later in the week Stratford will be full of excursionists, but there is no one on the river this afternoon, we shall be quite unmolested.”
She thought this an excellent plan and let him help her into the boat and spread the plaid over her knees.
“It was by this dear old tartan that I recognised you, at least chiefly by that,” she said.
“Like its owner it has seen its best days,” said Macneillie with a smile. “But I have the same feeling for it that the fellow in Gounod’s song had for his old coat,
‘Mon viel ami
Ne nous séparons pas.’”
And he sighed a little as he remembered how in the days of their betrothal he had often taken her under his “plaidie.”