"I thank ye， Stephen，" said Eppy， touched with his goodness； "but there's nae necessity； we hae plenty."
She moved on， her apron still to her eyes. Kennedy followed her.
"Gien the yoong lord hae wranged ye ony gait，" he said from behind her， "an' gien there be ony amen's ye wad hae o' him，--"
She turned with a quickness that was fierce， and in the dim light Kennedy saw her eyes blazing.
"I want naething frae your han'， Stephen Kennedy，" she said. "My lord's naething to you--nor yet muckle to me！" she added， with sudden reaction and an outburst of self-pity， and again fell a weeping--and sobbing now.
With the timidity of a strong man before the girl he loves and therefore fears， Kennedy once more tried to comfort her， wiping her eyes with her apron. While he did so， a man， turning a corner quickly， came almost upon them. He started back， then came nearer， looked hard at them， and spoke. It was lord Forgue.
"Eppy！" he exclaimed， in a tone in which indignation blended with surprise.
Eppy gave a cry， and ran to him. He pushed her away.
"My lord，" said Kennedy， "the lass will nane o' me or mine. I sair doobt there's nane but yersel' can please her. But I sweir by God， my lord， gien ye du her ony wrang， I'll no rest， nicht nor day， till I hae made ye repent it."
"Go to the devil！" said Forgue； "there's an old crow， I suspect， yet to pluck between us！ For me you may take her， though. I don't go halves."
Eppy laid her hand timidly on his arm， but again he pushed her away.
"Oh， my lord！" she sobbed， and could say no more for weeping.
"How is it I find you here with this man？" he asked. "I don't want to be unfair to you， but it looks rather bad！"
"My lord，" said Kennedy.
"Hold your tongue； let her speak for herself."
"I had no tryst wi' him， my lord！ I never said come nigh me，" sobbed Eppy. "--Ye see what ye hae dune！" she cried， turning in anger on Kennedy， and her tears suddenly ceasing. "Never but ill hae ye brocht me！ What business had ye to come efter me this gait， makin' mischief 'atween my lord an' me？ Can a body no set fut ayont the door-sill， but they maun be followt o' them they wud see far eneuch！"
Kennedy turned and went， and Eppy with a fresh burst of tears turned to go also. But she had satisfied Forgue that there was nothing between them， and he was soon more successful than Kennedy in consoling her.
While absent he had been able enough to get on without her， but no sooner was he home than， in the weary lack of interest， the feelings which， half lamenting， half rejoicing， he had imagined extinct， began to revive， and he went to the town vaguely hoping to get a sight of Eppy. Coming upon her t阾e ？t阾e with her old lover， first a sense of unpardonable injury possessed him， and next the conviction that he was as madly in love with her as ever. The tide of old tenderness came throbbing and streaming back over the ghastly sands of jealousy， and ere they parted he had made with her an appointment to meet the next night in a more suitable spot.
Donal was seated by Andrew's bedside reading： he had now the opportunity of bringing many things before him such as the old man did not know to exist. Those last days of sickness and weakness were among the most blessed of his life； much that could not be done for many a good man with ten times his education， could be done for a man like Andrew Comin.
Eppy had done her best to remove all traces of emotion ere she re-entered the house； but she could not help the shining of her eyes： the joy-lamp relighted in her bosom shone through them： and Andrew looking up when she entered， Donal， seated with his back to her， at once knew her secret： her grandfather read it from her face， and Donal read it from his.
"She has seen Forgue！" he said to himself. "I hope the old man will die soon."
