"Run," she said, "run, lassie, while ye can. She doesna ken yet where ye bide."
So like a hunted hare Vara turned and ran. But when she reached the little wooden house, so trim and quiet, with its fragrant wood-yard about it, and the daisies and pansies in the little plots and diamond-shaped patches which Cleg had made, the bitterness of her heart broke up within her, like the breaking up of the fountains of the great deep.
Little Hugh came trotting to her, waving a red flag, the latest gift of the widower foreman, in his hand. "Vara, Vara," he cried, "Gavin can say 'Dadda,' and I nursed him good as gold all day."
The tears were running down Vara's face. She went in without power of speech and sat by the babe's cot. He was asleep, and she laid her wet cheek on the pillow beside his and sobbed. Hugh kept a little way off, not knowing what to make of the unknown sorrow. Then he came softly up to her, and gave her sleeve a little pull.
"Vara," he said, "here's a seetie."
For Hugh understood no sorrow which a sweetie would not make better.
"I can never go back to the Works," sobbed Vara. "I am disgraced before them all. I can never face them—never!"
About seven Cleg came over the waste ground joyfully, having disposed of his papers. He sat silent while Vara told him of the terrible evening at the gate of Hillside, and of all her shame and terror. Cleg whistled very softly to himself, as he always did when he was thinking deeply.
"Wait here this ae nicht," he said. "I am watching with anither man at the corner o' the Grange where they hae the road up. I'll think it oot in the shelter. Keep up your heart, Vara—we'll win through yet."
But Vara would not be comforted. She would not even raise her head to bid him say "Guid nicht."