“Ay, Fletcher,” she said, “and will love him till all the seas run dry.”
The Laird gave her his hand, and with tears running down her cheeks, she took it.
“We still shall be friends,” he said.
“Yes,” she cried; “and, oh, forgive me if I have caused you grief. I am a poor, unhappy girl!”
“Every cloud,” said Fletcher, “has a silver lining.”
Then he touched her hand lightly with his lips, and next moment he was gone.