“I am not his enemy,” replied Grizel, loftily, “and if he has done a noble thing I am proud of him and will tell him so.”

“I would tell him so,” said the Dominie, “whether he had done it or not.”

“Do you mean,” she asked indignantly, “that you think he did not do it?”

“No, no, no,” he answered hurriedly; “or mercy’s sake, don’t tell him I think that.”  And then, as Tommy was out of ear-shot:  “But I see there is no necessity for my warning you against standing in his way again, Miss McQueen, for you are up in arms for him now.”

“I admire brave men,” she replied, “and he is one, is he not?”

“You’ll find him reasonable,” said the Dominie, drily.

But though it was thus that she defended Tommy when others hinted doubts, she had not yet said she was proud of him to the man who wanted most to hear it.  For one brief moment Grizel had exulted on learning that he and Captain Ure were one, and then suddenly, to all the emotions now running within her, a voice seemed to cry, “Halt!” and she fell to watching sharply the doer of noble deeds.  Her eyes were not wistful, nor were they contemptuous, but had Tommy been less elated with himself he might have seen that they were puzzled and suspicious.  To mistrust him in face of such evidence seemed half a shame; she was indignant with herself even while she did it; but she could not help doing it, the truth about Tommy was such a vital thing to Grizel.  She had known him so well, too well, up to a minute ago, and this was not the man she had known.

How unfair she was to Tommy while she watched!  When the old lady was on her knees thanking him, and every other lady was impressed by the feeling he showed, it seemed to Grizel that he was again in the arms of some such absurd sentiment as had mastered him in the Den.  When he behaved so charmingly about the gift she was almost sure he looked at her as he had looked in the old days before striding his legs and screaming out, “Oh, am I not a wonder?  I see by your face that you think me a wonder!” All the time he was so considerately putting those who had misjudged him at their ease she believed he did it considerately that they might say to each other, “How considerate he is!” When she misread Tommy in such comparative trifles as these, is it to be wondered that she went into the garden still tortured by a doubt about the essential?  It was nothing less than torture to her; when you discover what is in her mind, Tommy, you may console yourself with that.

He discovered what was in her mind as Mr. Cathro left her.  She felt shy, he thought, of coming to him after what had taken place, and, with the generous intention of showing that she was forgiven, he crossed good-naturedly to her.

“You were very severe, Grizel,” he said, “but don’t let that distress you for a moment; it served me right for not telling the truth at once.”

She did not flinch.  “Do we know the truth now?” she asked, looking at him steadfastly.  “I don’t want to hurt you—­you know that; but please tell me, did you really do it?  I mean, did you do it in the way we have been led to suppose?”