"You know I couldn't help it, Giff," she ended.
But he did not speak.
"It wasn't wrong," she said. "You see how it was,—you don't think it was wrong?"
"Yes, I do, Lois," he answered.
"Oh!" she cried; and then, "But you made me!"
"I?" he exclaimed, bewildered.
And then she told him how his acknowledgment of her fault drove her into a desire for atonement. "You know, you think I'm wrong pretty often," she added shyly; and then they mutually forgave each other.
"I suppose I did find a good deal of fault," Gifford admitted, humbly, "but it was always because I loved you."
"Oh!" said Lois.
But there was so much to say they might have talked until noon, except that, as they had neither of them breakfasted, and happiness and morning air are the best sort of tonics, they began to think of going to the rectory. Gifford had quite forgotten the business in Mercer which needed him so early.