It was useless to speak, she knew that quite well. The words of another can never make danger real, to those who are assailed with poor Harry’s temptation. So she shut her lips close, as he rose from her side, and sat in silence; while he walked up and down the room. By and by he came back to her side, again.
“Graeme,” said he, gravely. “Indeed, you may trust me. The shame of that night shall never be renewed. You shall never have the same cause to be sorry for me, or ashamed of me again.”
She put her arms round his neck, and laid her head down on his shoulder, but she did not speak. It was not that she was altogether hopeless about her brother, but Harry understood it so.
“Graeme, what shall I say to you? How shall I give you courage—faith to trust me? Graeme, I promise, that till I see you again I shall not taste nor touch that which so degraded me in your eyes. I solemnly promise before God, Graeme.”
“Harry,” said his sister, “it is a vow—an oath, that you have taken.”
“Yes, and it shall be kept as such. Do you trust me, Graeme? Give me that comfort before I go away.”
“I trust you, Harry,” was all she had voice to say. She clasped him and kissed him, and by and by she prayed God to bless him, in words such as his mother might have used. And Harry vowed, with God’s help, to be true to himself and her. He did not speak the words again, but none the less was the vow registered in Heaven.
That was the real farewell between the brother and sister. Next morning there was little said by any one, and not a word by Graeme, but the last glimpse Harry had of home, showed his eldest sister’s face smiling and hopeful, saying as plainly as her words had said before,—
“Harry, I trust you quite.”