"Mysie!" he exclaimed, jumping forward, "Guid God! where have you come
from? Where have you been?" and his hands were holding hers, and his
eyes greedily scanning her face as if he would look into her very soul,
and read the story of the last few months.
"Oh, Rob," she said, with a gasp, "I didna think I wad meet you here."
"Sit down," he said hurriedly, as he recovered himself. "Sit down and
rest. You're ill. What's the matter? Where have you been? Tell me all
about it!" There were tears in Mysie's eyes too, as she weakly sat down,
unable to do anything else. She had recognized him as he approached, and
had started up to get away; but he had also recognized her, and she was
too late.
"Hoo is my mither an' my faither?" she enquired, after a short silence,
as she tried to recover herself. "Hoo are they a' at hame?" the greedy
heart hunger for loved ones drove her to the impatient enquiry. "Did
they miss me muckle, Rob? Were they awfu' vexed at what I did? Tell me
a' aboot it then, I want to ken."
"But you must tell me first aboot yoursel', Mysie," he replied
evasively, searching in his mind the best way to adopt in telling her of
the things he knew would wound her.
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