A low cry of anguish came from her white lips.
“Oh! may God pity me. I have been sorely wrong, or this would not have come to be my punishment.”
She drew herself away from him, but she made no movement to leave him. John hung his head before her.
“Allison, forgive my presumption, and give me a chance to win your love. Allison, I love you dearly.”
“Hush!” she whispered. “Come with me. I must speak to you. I have done wrong, but how could I ever have dreamed that you would give a thought to me?”
She laid her hand upon his arm.
“I am in sore trouble. Come with me somewhere—to your mother—for I must speak to you.”
“Not to my mother, if you have anything to say which will grieve her,” said John huskily.
“It might grieve her, but she would understand. She might be angry for a moment; but she is kind and good, and she would not think evil of me.”
They stood in silence for a minute or two. Then she said: