“I am as certain of that fact as I am of my own identity.”
“Oh!” said the girl, with a gasp. She made a sudden dart forward, and seizing Hammond’s hand, squeezed it passionately between both her own.
“And Miss Oliphant does not think of you as a thief,” continued Hammond.
“I don’t know—I can’t say.”
“You have no right to be so unjust to her,” he replied, with fervour.
“I don’t care so much for the opinions of the others now,” said Prissie; “you believe in me.” She walked erect again; her footsteps were light as if she trod on air. “You are a very good man,” she said; “I would do anything for you—anything.”
Hammond smiled. Her innocence, her enthusiasm, her childishness were too apparent for him to take her words for more than they were worth.
“Do you know,” he said, after a pause, “that I am in a certain measure entitled to help you? In the first place, Miss Oliphant takes a great interest in you.”
“You are mistaken, she does not—not now.”
“I am not mistaken; she takes a great interest in you. Priscilla, you must have guessed—you have guessed—what Maggie Oliphant is to me; I should like, therefore, to help her friend. That is one tie between us; but there is another—Mr Hayes, your parish clergyman—”