"But you might have followed; you might have asked what had become of me," she faltered.
"What was the use?" was the uncompromising answer, "I had a mother and sister to maintain. A wife is too expensive a luxury for a poor man, and I was poor enough, in all conscience. Well, so it is settled, and we understand each other at last, Faith?"
"Yes, I suppose so," she returned, softly.
The wooing had been brief and matter-of-fact on Dr. Stewart's side; but apparently he was quite satisfied with the result, for he walked on in a brisk, contented sort of way.
Faith walked beside him, dizzy, and with her head throbbing with nervous pain. She had forgotten all about her old brown hat and her waterproof. The low, grey skies still foreboded rain, and the wet pools shone under her feet; but if a miracle had transformed them into rosy wine she would scarcely have been more astonished. That he should have meant this all that time!
"And I thought you had forgotten, Dr. Stewart," she said presently, in the tone of one that craved forgiveness.
"Humph! you will find Angus more to your purpose," he returned, curtly. "How about Miss Charity and the readings now, Faith," with a merry twinkle.
"Cara! oh, what shall we do with her?" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in sudden despair. "It is I who have forgotten now. My poor Cara!"
"Leave Cara to me," was Dr. Stewart's only answer, as they turned their faces homeward.