"Because," said Wat, looking straight at her, "you never doubted these things even once. You knew me better, aye, even when you flouted me, set me back, treated me as a child, even when others spoke to you of my lightness, told you of my sins and wrong-doings. I defy you, Kate McGhie," he continued, his voice rising--"I defy you to say that there ever was a moment when you honestly doubted my love, when you ever dreamed that I could love any but you--so much as an instant when the thought that I might forget or be false to you had a lodgment in your heart. Kate, I leave it to yourself to say." This is the generous uncandor which touches good women to the heart. For Wat was not answering the real accusation she had brought against him--that he had not believed her, but had continued to doubt her in the face of her truest words and most speaking actions. "Ah, Wat," she said, surrendering at once, "forgive me. It is true. I did not ever doubt you." She smiled at him a moment through her tears. "I knew all too well that you loved me--silly lad," she said; "I saw in your eyes what you thought before you ever told me--and even now I have to prompt you to sweet speeches, dear Sir Snail!" At this encouragement Wat would gladly have drawn her closer to him, but the girl began to walk back towards their heather-grown shelter. "Yet I care not," she said. "After all, 'tis a great thing to get one's follies over in youth. And you are my folly, lad--a grievous one, it is true, but nevertheless one that now I could ill do without. Nay," she went on, seeing him at this point ready to encroach, "not that to-night, Wat. All is said that needs to be said. Let us return." And so they walked soberly and silently to the wide-halled chamber recessed in the ancient sea-cliff. Kate paused ere they entered, and held her face up with a world of sweet surrender in it for Wat to kiss at his will. "Dear love," she said, softly, "I beseech you do not distrust me any more. By this and by this, know that I am all your own. Once you made me say it. Now of mine own will I do it." She spoke the last words shyly; then swiftly, as one that takes great courage on the edge of flight: "Bend down your ear, laddie," she said, and paused while one might count a score. Wat listened keenly, afraid that his own heart should beat too loud for him to catch every precious word. "I love you so that I would gladly die to give you perfect happiness even for a day," she whispered. And she vanished within, without so much as bidding him good-night. CHAPTER XXXVIII MISFORTUNATE COLIN