“She wadna, gien she hadna seen I was gaein’ straucht til her father!” returned Agnes.
“I daursay; but God only kens hoo to mak the true differ ’atween what we du o’ oorsel’s, an’ what we’re gart. We maun hae mercy, an’ i’ the meantime she’s ashamed eneuch. At least she has the luik o’ ’t.”
“It’s ae thing to be ashamed ’cause ye hae dune wrang, an’ anither to be ashamed ’cause ye’re f’un’ oot!”
“Ay; but there compassion comes in to fill up; an’ whan ye treat a body wi’ generosity, the hert wauks up to be worthy o’ ’t.”
“Cosmo, ye ken maist aboot the guid in fowk, an’ I ken maist aboot the ill,” said Aggie.
Here the young woman who had been nearing them scarce observed while they talked, came up, and they turning to go back to Elsie, where she still stood motionless, followed them at her own pace behind.
“I beg yer pardon, Aggie,” said Elsie, holding out her hand. “I was ill-natert, an’ said the thing wasna true. My father says there isna a better gatherer i’ the countryside nor yersel’.” Aggie took her offered hand and said,
“Lat by-ganes be by-ganes. Be true to me an’ I’ll be true to you. An’ I winna lee whether or no.”
Here the stranger joined them. She was a young woman in the garb of a peasant, but with something about her not belonging to the peasant. To the first glance she was more like a superior servant out for a holiday, but a second glance was bewildering. She stopped with a half timid but quiet look, then dropped her eyes with a flush.
“Will you please tell me if I am on the way to Castle Warlock?” she said, with a quiver about her mouth which made her like a child trying not to smile.