“Happen a look at a lass's grandmother—when tha conna get at th' lass hersen—is a bit o' comfort,” she added. “But don't tha go walkin' by here to look in at th' window too often. She would na think well o' that either.”
“Say! There's one thing I'm going to get off my chest before I go,” he announced, “just one thing. She can go where she likes and do what she likes, but I'm going to marry her when she's done it—unless something knocks me on the head and finishes me. I'm going to marry her.”
“Tha art, art tha?” laconically; but her eyes were still on his, and the something in their depths by no means diminished.
“I'm keeping up my end here, and it's no slouch of a job, but I'm not forgetting what she promised for one minute! And I'm not forgetting what her promise means,” he said obstinately.
“Tha'd like me to tell her that?” she said.
“If she doesn't know it, you telling her wouldn't cut any ice,” was his reply. “I'm saying it because I want you to know it, and because it does me good to say it out loud. I'm going to marry her.”
“That's for her and thee to settle,” she commented, impersonally.
“It is settled,” he answered. “There 's no way out of it. Will you shake hands with me again before I go?”
“Aye,” she consented, “I will.”
When she took his hand she held it a minute. Her own was warm, and there was no limpness about it. The secret which had seemed to conceal itself behind her eyes had some difficulty in keeping itself wholly in the background.