as shamed as a dog stealing back after it had been whipped. She knew
she was shamed. He saw she knew it: the despairing rocking of her arms
proved it; yet she was coming back to him in little runs.

Pity, chivalry, oh, surely love itself, lifted him to his feet, and
all else passed out of him save an imperious desire to save her as
much humiliation as he could--to give her back a few of those garments
of pride and self-respect that had fallen from her. At least she
should not think that she had to come all the way to him. With a
stifled sob, he rose and ran up the path towards her.

"Grizel! it is you! My beloved! how could you leave me! Oh, Grizel, my
love, how could you misunderstand me so!"

She gave a glad cry. She sought feebly to hold him at arm's length, to
look at him watchfully, to read him as in the old days; but the old
days were gone. He strained her to him. Oh, surely it was love at
last! He thanked God that he loved at last.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW TOMMY SAVED THE FLAG

He loved at last, but had no time to exult just now, for he could not
rejoice with Tommy while his dear one drooped in shame. Ah, so well he
understood that she believed she had done the unpardonable thing in
woman, and that while she thought so she must remain a broken column.
It was a great task he saw before him--nothing less than to make her
think that what she had done was not shameful, but exquisite; that she
had not tarnished the flag of love, but glorified it. Artfulness, you
will see, was needed; but, remember, he was now using all his arts in
behalf of the woman he loved.

"You were so long in coming back to me, Grizel. The agony of it!"
"Did it seem long?" She spoke in a trembling voice, hiding her face in
him. She listened like one anxious to seize his answer as it left his
heart.

"So long," he answered, "that it seemed to me we must be old when we
met again. I saw a future without you stretching before me to the
grave, and I turned and ran from it."

"That is how I felt," she whispered.

"You!" Tommy cried, in excellent amazement.

"What else could have made me come?"

"I thought it was pity that had brought you--pity for me, Grizel. I
thought you had perhaps come back to be angry with me--"

"How could I be!" she cried.

"How could you help it, rather?" said he. "I was cruel, Grizel; I
spoke like a fool as well as like a dastard. But it was only anxiety
for Elspeth that made me do it. Dear one, be angry