But at the same moment, from behind me another hand, a rough little hand, but warm and firm and all alive, slipped into my left hand.

I knew it was Elsie Duff's, and the thought of how I had behaved to her rushed in upon me with a cold misery of shame.

I would have knelt at her feet, but I could not speak my sorrow before witnesses.

Therefore I kept hold of her hand and led her by it to the other end of the cottage, for there was a friendly gloom, the only light in the place coming from the glow--not flame--of a fire of peat and bark.

She came readily, whispering before I had time to open my mouth-- I'm sorry grannie's so hard to make it up." "I deserve it," I said.