“I ken I have—I ken I have!” she cried. “Oh, can you ever forgive me?”
“Only, Charlotte,” I answered nobly, “because I care for your happiness more than for my own!”
“Oh, Duncan, but you are good!” She threw herself into my arms. I really think she mistook me for Agnes Anne for the moment. But any consolations I applied were, as before, in the interests of Tam Gallaberry.
“I knew I was wicked and wrong all the time,” she said, “but when we walked out, you remember the dyke we used to lean against” (she glanced up at me with simple child-like eyes, tear-stained), “you must remember? Well, one of the stones was loose. And Tam used to put one letter there, and I took it out and slid it in my pocket, and put mine back the same! Agnes Anne was looking the other way, of course, and you—you——”
“Was otherwise employed than thinking of such deceit!” I said grandly.
“You were kissing me! And I let you—for Tam’s sake,” Charlotte murmured, smiling. “Otherwise the poor fellow would have had five miles to come that next day, and I could not bear that he should not find his letter!”
“No!” I answered dryly, “it would certainly have been a pity.”
She looked at me curiously.
“Do you know,” she said, “I always thought that you were playing, too!”
“Playing!” I exclaimed tragically. “Is it possible? Oh, Lottie!”