She rose quickly and going to him said in a tense, rapid whisper, “Robert, my father knows all, but through no fault of mine. Some idle gossip reached his ear to-day, and when he returned home and learned my condition his rage was terrible. He cursed you like a madman, and would have done me bodily harm had I remained within sight. But I feared for my life, and fled before I had explained the truth to him. I have come to you to protect me.” He listened to her in stony silence. The blow had fallen so suddenly, so unexpectedly, it found him totally unprepared to ward off its paralyzing effects. He tried to speak, but the words refused to leave his parched tongue. He felt benumbed and cold, all the blood in his body seeming to have suddenly congealed. As he stood there with the eyes of all riveted upon him he felt like the veriest criminal that walked the earth. For a moment there was a tense silence. Jean stood there anxiously gazing into Robert’s stricken face, as he vainly strove to utter a sound. Mary had watched the little scene before her in growing wonder and alarm and now leaned back against the wall, her heart beating with some unknown, nameless fear. What did this highborn lady want with her laddie? she asked herself jealously. [Illustration: “‘She is my wife, mither.’”] Mrs. Burns stood grimly waiting for some explanation of the scene she had just witnessed, but had not heard nor understood. “Robert, my son,” she said finally, her voice cold and firm, “what does Squire Armour’s daughter want of ye?” There was no answer. “What is she to ye, Robert?” she sternly insisted. Slowly he raised his head. As she saw his wild and haggard face, from which all the life and youth had fled, she started back in horror, a startled exclamation on her lips. With a despairing, heart-broken look at Mary’s wondering face, he bowed his head and falteringly uttered the fatal words, “She is my wife, mither.” Had a thunderbolt from a clear sky unroofed the humble cot, it would not have created the consternation, the terror which those few words struck to those loving hearts. Mrs. Burns was the first to rally from the shock. “Your wife?” she repeated incredulously, looking from one to the other. With a cry of grief and pain Mary sank weak and trembling into a chair, like a deer wounded unto death. She gazed at them heart-brokenly, while her little hands nervously fluttered about her face. No, no, he could not mean it. They were only joking, surely. “Not that, Robbie, ye dinna mean that, dearie?” she gasped piteously, holding out a beseeching hand to him. His bowed head bent lower. “Do ye mean ye have legally married this lass?” asked Gilbert eagerly. Mary would be free then, he thought wildly. Free to be wooed and won. “We were married a few weeks ago,” answered Robert dully. “I had not the courage to tell ye before.”