"Is that you, Maggie?"

"Yes, sir. I want to speak a word wi' you. Will you come ben a minute?"

He responded at once to her desire--"What is it, Maggie?" he asked.

"If it please you, sir, I dinna want Davie to ken anything anent
to-night's ill-words and ill-wark."

"I think that is a very wise decision."

"No gude can come o' telling what's ill, and if you wad believe me, sir,
I'm vera, vera sorry, for my share in it."

Her eyelids were dropped, they trembled visibly, and there was a pathetic
trouble and humiliation in her beautiful face. Allan was sick with
restrained emotion. He longed to fold the trembling, wounded woman to his
heart. He fully believed that he had the power to kiss back the splendor
of beauty and joy into her pale face; and it would have been the greatest
felicity earth could grant him, to do so. Yet, for honor's sake, he
repressed the love and the longing in his heart, and stood almost cold and
unresponsive before her.

"I am vera, vera sorry," she repeated. "The man said words I couldna
thole, and sae--I struck him."

"I do not blame you, Maggie. It would be a delight to me to strike him as
he deserves to be struck. For your sake, I kept my hands off the wretch.
To-morrow, before all his mates, if you say so, I will punish him."