The Mackhai was silent for a few moments, as he sat struggling with his pride, and, as he saw Max watching him eagerly, he coloured.
The gentleman triumphed, and he said quietly and gravely,—
“My dear boy, I want you to try and forget what passed the other night, when, stung almost beyond endurance, I said words to you that no gentleman ought to have spoken toward one who was his guest, and more than guest, the companion and friend of his son. There, I apologise to you humbly. Will you forgive me?”
“Mr Mackhai!” cried Max, in a choking voice, as he seized the hand extended to him.
“Hah! that is frank and natural, my lad. Thank you. Now, shall we forget the past?”
Max nodded, but he could not trust himself to speak, while Kenneth ran round to the other side of the bed.
“And he is not to think of going, father?” he cried.
“I don’t say that, Ken,” replied his father. “Under all the circumstances, I can readily believe that Max would prefer to return to town; but I expressly forbid his hurrying away. Oblige me, Max, by staying with Kenneth till next Thursday, when I shall return. It will be dull for him alone.”
“Are you going away, father?”
“Yes; I start for Edinburgh at once, and as I shall not see you again, Max, I will say good-bye. You will be gone before I reach Dunroe in the evening.”