Part 33 (2/2)
”Well, you can judge for yourself how I know. Andrew noticed the change in Ellen's manner the first time he saw her after she'd been staying with us. The only fellow she met in Edinburgh was yourself, so it must be some one in Perths.h.i.+re.”
The militant Highlander fell back in his chair with a gasp, and the light of battle died out of his eyes.
”Don't you agree with me?” asked his father.
”I--er--I don't know,” he stammered.
Mr. Walkingshaw had grown none the less shrewd as his weight of years was lightened.
”Eh?” he demanded quickly, ”what do you know about it? Be perfectly frank with me.”
”But why should you think that--er--I--”
”Tell me this--do you know of any one who's been paying attention to Ellen Berstoun?”
Poor Frank's color grew deeper and deeper.
”There--there was one fellow, I'm ashamed to say.”
”Ashamed? Why should you be ash--” Mr. Walkingshaw broke off suddenly and gazed at his son with very wide-open eyes. ”Frank--it was yourself!”
The treacherous brother hung his head. And then, in the depths of his penitence, he heard these extraordinary words--
”My dear, dear chap, this is almost too good to be true!”
”Too _good_!” gasped Frank.
”What did you do--kiss her?”
”No, no; not so bad as that!”
”You let her know, though? There's no mistake about that, eh?”
”I'm afraid I did.”
His father took his hand.
”She is yours,” said he.
”_Mine?_ But, my dear father, she is Andrew's!”
”She was; but he's such a perfect sumph, I'm thankful she's got quit of him.”
”What! Is it broken off?”
”It will be.”
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