"Come, Mysie," he urged, "you surely
can trust me. I have always been your friend, and I only wish now to
hear all about you. Why did you go away?"
She saw him look at her, and a quick flush overspread her thin, pale
cheeks as she detected his look. He had no need to ask further.
"Oh, Rob, I wish--I wish I had died a year syne!" and a wild burst of
sobbing came over her as she spoke.
"Dinna greet, Mysie," he said, as his hand reached out and began to
stroke her hair tenderly. Then after a short pause, "Wha was he, Mysie?
Tell me, an' I'll tear the black heart oot o' him!"
But Mysie only cried, uncontrollably, and hid her face in her hands; for
the homely doric on Robert's tongue touched her and it came readier to
him in moments like these, and the tender touch of his hand upon her
head gave her comfort, soothing her, and staying her grief, as a child
is quieted by the loving hand of a mother.
"I'll tell you a' aboot it, Rob," she said at last after a short time.
"An' I hope you'll no' tell onybody. There's naebody to blame but mysel'
for a' that has happened, an' I maun bear the punishment if there is
punishment gaun," and bit by bit, with many an effort to compose herself
as she spoke, she told him the whole sad story from beginning to end.
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