Harry rose and walked about a while, with an air that seemed to be indignant; but if he was angry, he thought better of it, and in a little he came and sat down beside his sister again.
“I wish I could make you quite satisfied about me, Graeme.”
“I wish you could, dear. I will try to be so. I daresay you think me unreasonable, Harry. I know I am tired, and foolish, and all wrong,” said she, trying in vain to keep back her tears.
“You look at this moment as though you had very little hope in anything,” said Harry, with a touch of bitterness.
“Do I? Well, I am all wrong, I know. There ought to be hope and comfort too, if I sought them right. I will try to leave you in God’s keeping, Harry, the keeping of our father’s and our mother’s God.”
Harry threw himself on his knees beside her.
“Graeme, you are making yourself unhappy without cause. If you only knew! Such things are thought nothing of. If I disgraced myself the other night, there are few young men of our acquaintance who are not disgraced.”
Graeme put her hand upon his lips.
“But, Graeme, it is true. I must speak, I can’t bear to have you fretting, when there is no cause. Even Allan Ruthven thought nothing of it, at least, he—”
“Hush, Harry, you do not need Mr Ruthven to be a conscience to you. And it is not of the past I am thinking, but the future! How can I bear to think of you going the way so many have gone, knowing the danger all the greater because you feel yourself so safe. I am afraid for you, Harry.”