“I am sorry that I cannot.”
“But ye maun. Ye dinna ken hoo yer takin’ awa’ concerned us and pit us aboot.”
“You forget I am a prisoner.”
“Prisoner! You are nae prisoner. You’re noo in oor hoose an’ you’ll just bide here an’ let thae Yankees gae awa.”
“I am afraid they would insist on taking me with them.”
“Hoots, man, I’ll haud ye. Maggie, do you ken Morton’s come?”
“Yes, mother; I saw him.”
“Weel, come ower and mak him stay an’ no gang back to be bullyragged by a wheen Yankees.”
Maggie made no reply, but turned to avoid the gaze of the Americans attracted by the scene at the door and her mother’s words. Morton also felt mortified at the situation. “Thank you, Mrs Forsyth, but I must go, and tell your husband and sons I have never forgot them and never will.” Eluding her grasp he followed Colonel Vanderberg, who stood outside the door with laughing countenance. He had not gone far when a swift step was heard behind and his name was uttered. Turning he saw Maggie, who held out her right hand. “Take this,” she said, “I may not see you—again.” There was a sob as she uttered the last word. He grasped what she held to him and before he could say a word she had turned and fled back to the house. Morton held the object up to the light of the nearest camp-fire. It was his signet-ring.