"I don't see how you are to mend them at present," said Käthchen. "If you had kept on as you began, in that friendly way, it might have been all very well; but then you grew indignant, and almost charged him with being the mischief-maker. And I must say I think he behaved with very great consideration and courtesy."
"Do you really think so?" said Mary, quickly—with her eyes still fixed on the post-office. And then she hesitated. And then she said: "Come, Käthchen, let us go back. I wish to make an apology to him——"
"Mary!" her friend protested. "How can you think of such a thing!"
"Oh, but you do not know. It is not about anything that has just happened. It is about the lake and the old castle. I quite forgot. And perhaps it is that that makes him so unforgiving. I must tell him that I am sorry."
But Käthchen shrank back.
"Make an apology for that?" said she. "You don't seem to understand, Mary. It is too serious for an apology. If you murder a man's father or mother, you can't go to him and say 'I am very sorry.'
"Will you go on to the house, then, Käthchen?" said Mary, simply. "I must put myself right with him—and after that he can be as disdainful as he chooses."
Of course Käthchen refused to be released; she went back with her; and just as they reached the little building, young Ross of Heimra came out. He had neither chart nor map in his hand now; whichever it had been, he had no doubt sent it away by post.
He seemed a little surprised; but was just as attentive and respectful as before.
"There was something I forgot to say," she began, with obvious embarrassment, "and—and it is difficult to say it. It was not till I came here that I knew what my uncle had done—about—about Loch Heimra—and Castle Heimra. Well, there are some injuries, my friend here says, that can never be repaired. I suppose that is so. But at least you will allow me to say that I am sorry—more deeply sorry than you can imagine perhaps——"