‘Gien ye lat her gang on to disgrace yer father, no to say yersel—and that by means o’ what’s yours and no hers, I’ll say mysel ’at ye’re a cooard.’
‘Come hame wi’ me and tak my pairt, and I’ll promise ye to du my best.’
‘Ye maun tak yer ain pairt; and ye maun tak her pairt tu against hersel.’
‘It’s no to be thoucht o’, Kirsty!’
‘Ye winna?’
‘I canna my lane. I winna try ’t. It wud be waur nor useless.’
Kirsty rose, turning her face homeward. Gordon sprang to his feet. She was already three yards from him.
‘Kirsty! Kirsty!’ he cried, going after her.
She went straight for home, never showing by turn of head, by hesitation of step, or by change of carriage, that she heard his voice or his feet behind her.
When they had thus gone two or three hundred yards, he quickened his pace, and laid his hand on her arm.