"
Again a long silence, and Peter felt he had got a heavy blow. A
sickening feeling of shame smote his heart at the knowledge hinted at--a
knowledge he had feared to learn.
"Is it--is it--am I the cause of it, Mysie? Is--is it--?" and his voice
was hoarse and dry and pained.
She nodded, and Peter knew beyond all doubt that he was the cause of the
misery.
Again a long silence fell between them, in which both seemed to live an
eternity of silence and pain. Then clearing his throat, Peter spoke.
"Mysie," he said, "there is only one thing to be done then," and there
was decision in his voice and a desire which meant that he was going to
rise to a height to which neither he nor Mysie ever expected he would
rise. "We must get married."
She looked at him, with eyes still wet, but searching his face keenly.
"Ay. It's a' richt sayin' that now, efter the thing's done," she said
bitterly.
"But it is the only thing, Mysie, that can be done," he replied quickly.
"I can't think of anything else."
"You should hae thought aboot that afore. It's nae use now," she said
bluntly.
"Why, Mysie," he asked in surprise. "Why is it no use? Wouldn't you like
to marry me?"
"No," she replied firmly.
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