“Do ye ken Allie well?” asked Willie, looking up into his friend’s face.
John hesitated a moment.
“I cannot say that I have known her long, or seen her often. But I know that she has borne much trouble well and bravely, and that she must be strong. And I know that she has walked warily and done wisely in difficult places, so that all those who do know her well, respect her, and some few people love her dearly—my mother among the rest.”
“You must tell me all about her some time,” said Willie, with glistening eyes.
“Yes,” said John. Then he paused before he added:
“I think, Willie, in speaking of your sister to any one here, you should say nothing about her marriage, since it has not been a happy one.”
Willie withdrew his hand from John’s arm, and turned upon him with a face white with anger.
“Married! Happy! I’ll swear that he has never touched her hand, nor looked in her face, since that cursed day. Call you that marriage?”
“Thank God!” said John; “and may he never touch her hand, nor look upon her face. Gently, my friend, she is safe from him now.”
Then he led him back to the shadow of the apple-tree, and told him more about his sister. He told how she had lived at the manse, and how they had valued her there. He told of little Marjorie, whom her father and mother had intrusted to Allison’s care, and of the child’s love for her, and how Allison had been helped and comforted through her love for the child. She was quite safe now, so faraway in the South, and no one would harm her while she was in Mrs Esselmont’s care. John talked on till the lad had grown quiet again, and then they were called to tea.