“It shall not end thus!” he cried.  “Let the past be past, Coquette, and the future ours.  Let us seek a new country for ourselves.  Let me take you away, and make for you a new world.  Why should we two be for ever miserable?  Coquette——­”

“I am afraid of you now,” she said, drawing back in fear.  “What are you?  Ah, I do see another face!” And, staggering, she fell insensible on the deck as the minister approached.

That night Lord Earlshope left the yacht, and this was his parting message, written on a slip of paper:  “I was mad last night.  I do not know what I said.  Forgive me, for I cannot forgive myself.”

A winter’s illness followed the strain of these emotional scenes, but with the spring Coquette resumed her morning moorland walks, and drank in new life from the warm, sweet breezes.  One morning, she came face to face with Lord Earlshope.  With only a second’s pause she stepped forward and offered him her hand.

“Have you really forgiven me?” he asked.

“That is all over,” she said, “and forgotten.  It does no good to bring it back.”

“How very good you are!  I have wandered all over Europe, feeling as though I had the brand of Cain on my forehead.”

“That is nonsense,” said Coquette.  “Your talk of Cain, your going away, your fears—­I do not understand it at all.”

“No,” said he.  “Nor would you ever understand without a series of explanations I have not the courage to make.”

“I do not understand,” she replied; “why all this secrecy—­all this mystery?”

“And I cannot tell you now,” he said.

“I wish not to have any more whys,” she said impatiently.  “Explanations, they never do good between friends.  I am satisfied if you come to the Manse and become as you were once.  That is sufficient.”

She tried hard to keep the conversation on the level of friendship; but when at last she turned to leave him, ere she knew, his arms were around her, and kisses were being showered on her forehead and on her lips.

“Let me go—­let me go!” she pleaded piteously.  “Oh, what have we done?”

“We have sealed our fate,” said he, with a haggard look.  “I have fought against this for many a day; but now, Coquette, won’t you look up and give me one kiss before we part?”

But her downcast face was pale and deathlike, and finally she said:  “I cannot speak to you now.  To-morrow, or next day—­perhaps we shall meet.”

The next day she met him again, and told him she was going to Glasgow with Lady Drum to see her cousin, the Whaup.

“I wonder,” said Earlshope, “if he hopes to win your love, and is working there with the intention of coming back and asking you to be his wife.”

“And if that will make him happy,” she said slowly and with absent eyes, “I will do that if he demands it.”

“You will marry him, and make him fancy that you love him?”