"I… I ask your forgiveness. I was terribly mistaken, and when I think of the way I… I've treated you…"
"That kiss was delightful," he naughtily disclaimed.
She recollected more immediate passages, glanced down at her knee and stifled what he adjudged was a most adorable giggle.
"You say you have a message from Henry," she changed the subject abruptly. "And that he is innocent…? This is true? Oh, I do want to believe you!"
"I am morally certain that Henry no more killed your uncle than did I."
"Then say no more, at least not now," she interrupted joyfully. "First of all I must make amends to you, though you must confess that some of the things you have done and said were abominable. You had no right to kiss me."
"If you will remember," he contended, "I did it at the pistol point. How was I to know but what I would get shot if I didn't."
"Oh, hush, hush," she begged. "You must go with me now to the house. And you can tell me about Henry on the way."
Her eyes chanced upon the handkerchief she had flung so contemptuously aside. She ran to it and picked it up.
"Poor, ill-treated kerchief," she crooned to it. "To you also must I make amends. I shall myself launder you, and…" Her eyes lifted to Francis as she addressed him. "And return it to you, sir, fresh and sweet and all wrapped around my heart of gratitude…"