“Do you know that there is a stain on Kilmeny’s birth, Master?”
“I know that her mother was the innocent victim of a very sad mistake, Miss Gordon. I admit no real stain where there was no conscious wrong doing. Though, for that matter, even if there were, it would be no fault of Kilmeny’s and would make no difference to me as far as she is concerned.”
A sudden change swept over Janet Gordon’s face, quite marvelous in the transformation it wrought. Her grim mouth softened and a flood of repressed tenderness glorified her cold gray eyes.
“Well, then.” she said almost triumphantly, “since neither that nor her dumbness seems to be any drawback in your eyes I don’t see why you should not have the chance you want. Perhaps your world will say she is not good enough for you, but she is—she is”—this half defiantly. “She is a sweet and innocent and true-hearted lassie. She is bright and clever and she is not ill looking. Thomas, I say let the young man have his will.”
Thomas Gordon stood up, as if he considered the responsibility off his shoulders and the interview at an end.
“Very well, Janet, woman, since you think it is wise. And may God deal with him as he deals with her. Good evening, Master. I’ll see you again, and you are free to come and go as suits you. But I must go to my work now. I left my horses standing in the field.”
“I will go up and send Kilmeny down,” said Janet quietly.
She lighted the lamp on the table and left the room. A few minutes later Kilmeny came down. Eric rose and went to meet her eagerly, but she only put out her right hand with a pretty dignity and, while she looked into his face, she did not look into his eyes.
“You see I was right after all, Kilmeny,” he said, smiling. “Your uncle and aunt haven’t driven me away. On the contrary they have been very kind to me, and they say I may see you whenever and wherever I like.”
She smiled, and went over to the table to write on her slate.