"I did it," he said at last in a broken voice of confession. "I did think to help him best by making him get away from the old crowd and the regiment—but it was because I thought of the Service, too—and I judged him——!"
She waited, and she did not speak, but she slipped one of her hands into the pocket of his tweed coat and held on to it.
"I broke his life—he loved me better than that—" he began.
"Do you call a life that ended so—broken?"
He raised his face from his arm and looked at her.
"No—no—I didn't mean that—but think of my judging him! All last night it came back to me—I thought I was going stark mad." And he brushed away the tears clumsily.
"It all hurts so! But, by and by—" she looked straight out of the oriel window, and she spoke disjointedly, and somehow she thought of western Scotland, and his sword. "I knew when we got those letters from Argyll—when I got my letter—Rob wasn't coming back to us."
Stewart drew her to him.
"Oh! Cary, tell me that it doesn't mean to you all—all that it might have done! Lassie—tell me——"
She smiled a little.