“That is what some other person calls you,” said Margaret archly.  “Do you know that he took twenty minutes to say good-night?  My dear,” she added hastily, misinterpreting Babbie’s silence, “I should have been sorry had he taken one second less.  Every tick of the clock was a gossip, telling me how he loves you.”

In the dim light a face that begged for pity was turned to Margaret.

“He does love you, Babbie?” she asked, suddenly doubtful.

Babbie turned away her face, then shook her head.

“But you love him?”

Again Babbie shook her head.

“Oh, my dear,” cried Margaret, in distress, “if this is so, are you not afraid to marry him?”

She knew now that Babbie was crying, but she did not know why Babbie could not look her in the face.

“There may be times,” Babbie said, most woeful that she had not married Rintoul, “when it is best to marry a man though we do not love him.”

“You are wrong, Babbie,” Margaret answered gravely; “if I know anything at all, it is that.”

“It may be best for others.”

“Do you mean for one other?” Margaret asked, and the girl bowed her head.  “Ah, Babbie, you speak like a child.”

“You do not understand.”

“I do not need to be told the circumstances to know this—­that if two people love each other, neither has any right to give the other up.”

Babbie turned impulsively to cast herself on the mercy of Gavin’s mother, but no word could she say; a hot tear fell from her eyes “upon the coverlet, and then she looked at the door, as if to run away.

“But I have been too inquisitive,” Margaret began; whereupon Babbie cried, “Oh no, no, no:  you are very good.  I have no one who cares whether I do right or wrong.”

“Your parents—­”

“I have had none since I was a child.”

“It is the more reason why I should be your friend,” Margaret said, taking the girl’s hand.

“You do not know what you are saying.  You cannot be my friend.”

“Yes, dear, I love you already.  You have a good face, Babbie, as well as a beautiful one.”

Babbie could remain in the room no longer.  She bade Margaret good-night and bent forward to kiss her; then drew back, like a Judas ashamed.

“Why did you not kiss me?” Margaret asked in surprise, but poor Babbie walked out of the room without answering.

Of what occurred at the manse on the following day until I reached it, I need tell little more.  When Babbie was tending Sam’l Farquharson’s child in the Tenements she learned of the flood in Glen Quharity, and that the greater part of the congregation had set off to the assistance of the farmers; but fearful as this made her for Gavin’s safety, she kept the new anxiety from his mother.  Deceived by another story of Jean’s, Margaret was the one happy person in the house.