"I'm glad you've come, Rob,"
she panted. "I jist wanted to see you again--an'--an' tak' good-by wi'
you," and the quick catch in her words gripped his heart as he knelt
beside the bed, taking the thin hand between his while the tears started
from his eyes and fell upon the white bed cover.
"Oh, Mysie," he said brokenly. His voice refused to go further and he
bent his head upon the bed, trying hard to control himself and keep from
breaking down before her.
"I'm awfu' vexed, Rob," she said, after a while. "It was a' a mistak'
an' naebody's to blame. I ought to hae kent better mysel'," and she
paused again for breath. "I--I should hae kent better, that nae guid
could come--oot o' it--I was just carried awa'. Dinna ever blame
lasses--nor men either, when things happen. They--they canna help
themsel's--" and here again she paused for breath, gasping and fighting
at every word.
"It's a' a mistake, Rob, an' I think it's a' in the way folk look at
thae things." Another pause, while her chest heaved and panted. "Maybe
we dinna look at thae things richt," she again resumed. "We--we mak'
mistak's and canna help oorsel's; but God dinna mean it as--as a
mistak'.
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