“What’s the maitter wi’ ye, Aggie?” said Cosmo, hastening to her in alarm, for her face was now white, and her head was hanging down.
“This is no to be borne!” she cried, and started to her feet. “—Cosmo, I tellt ye a lee.”
“Aggie!” cried Cosmo, dismayed, “ye never tellt me a lee i’ yer life.”
“Never afore,” she answered; “but I hae tellt ye ane noo—no to live through! Grizzie’s no gane to Muir o’ Warlock.”
“What care I whaur Grizzie’s gane!” rejoined Cosmo. “Tell me or no tell me as ye like.”
Aggie burst into tears.
“Haud yer tongue, Aggie,” said Cosmo, trying to soothe her, himself troubled with her trouble, for he too was sorry she should almost have told him a lie, and his heart was sore for her misery. Well he knew how she must suffer, having done a thing so foreign to her nature! “It could be little mair at the warst,” he went on, “than a slip o’ the wull, seein’ ye made sic haste to set it richt again. For mysel’, I s’ bainish the thoucht o’ the thing.”
“I thank ye, Cosmo. Ye wad aye du like the Lord himsel’. But there’s mair intil ’t. I dinna ken what to du or say. It’s a sair thing to stan’ ’atween twa, an’ no ken what to du ohn dune mischeef—maybe wrang!—There’s something it ’maist seems to me ye hae a richt to ken, but I canna be sure; an yet——”
She was interrupted by the hurried opening of the door. Grizzie came staggering in, with a face of terror.
“Tu wi’ the door!” she cried, almost speechless, and sank in her turn upon a chair, gasping for breath, and dropping at her feet a canvas bag, about the size of a pillow-case.