de her infinitely lovely, the proud little head
held high, but the beautiful eyes dewy. "I have offended every one,
and I do not know why." Just then Alick came rambling by. She held out
her hand to him. Here at least was her friend and faithful follower.
He would not jeer at her nor laugh, nor yet look cross and angry, as
if she had done wrong. "Take me to papa," she said superbly, making as
if to withdraw her other hand from Edgar.

Alick's homely face brightened like the morning. "Certainly," he said.

"Certainly not," flashed Edgar proudly, taking both her hands in his
crosswise and grasping them even more firmly than before. "You are in
my charge, Miss Dundas, and I can give you up to no one else--not even
by your own desire."

Adelaide's slight cast became an unmistakable squint; the Fairbairn
girls fluttered, half frightened at the chance of a fracas; Alick
looked irresolute; Edgar looked haughty and displeased; Leam tragic
and proud, partly bewildered, partly distressed.

Then Edgar cut the whole thing short by taking her away in silence,
but like a whirlwind, saying, when half over the ground and well out
of hearing, "What have I done to you, Miss Dundas, that you should try
to throw me over like that?"

"You laughed at me," said Leam.

"Laughed at you? You are dreaming."

"You did," she persisted.

"Pardon me: I laughed because my little friend Adelaide was so cross
at your skating. It was fun to see her so angry."

"I saw no fun in it," Leam returned. "I only saw that she was angry
with me, and impertinent, and that then you laughed at me."

"I swear to you I did not," cried Edgar earnestly. "Will you believe
me? Tell me, Miss Dundas, that you exonerate me from such a charge.
Tell me that you are sure I did not laugh at you."

Leam looked at him with her large luminous eyes serious, questioning.
"If you say so, I must believe you," she answered slowly, "but I
thought you did."

"If you could read my heart, you would know I did not," he said
emphatically.

They were close on the bank now, where Mr. Dundas was walking with the
rector.

"Say you believe me," Edgar almost whispered in his rich musical
voice, so sweet and tender. "Say it, I beseech you! You do not know
how I shall suffer else."

She looked at him again. "I do," she said in the manner of a
surrender, the grave little smile which was her most eloquent
expression of pleasure stealing over her face.

"Thank you," said Edgar: "now