"But wilt thou not even let me touch thee--when 'tis to help thee?" he begged. "For I'm sorry, Tibbott. And here's thy ring again. As soon as I knew, I ran back and found thee fainting. And I would not ha' done it, Tibbott, but indeed they were very like. So I thought thou hadst taken mine, and--and it meaneth much to me, more than I can tell thee, Tibbott. And I thought, there at King's Slynton, when the rebels searched me, they would find it and take it from me. So many times since I've dreamed 'twas taken from me and was lost! So when I woke and thought to see it in thy hands, so careless, I was angered. Tibbott, wilt thou not understand and--and not forgive me, perhaps, but let me help thee? For indeed they are so like! Look but upon them, Tibbott!" She thought that she must be very ill indeed, and that she was seeing things double. For there in Rupert's hand, as he held it out to her, lay two rings, wrought of dull old silver in the shape of two hearts entwined. She stared at them blankly, and Rupert, who thought from her silence that she was still angry, hid his face in his arms. But in that silence Merrylips began slowly to understand what had happened. She saw that Rupert, how or why she could not guess, had had a ring like hers and prized it dearly. No wonder, then, that when he had seen her handling such a ring he had thought her a little thief, until he had searched and found his own ring in its place. He was not wholly to blame, and until that hour he had been kind. How glad she was to feel that she could forgive him! "Rupert!" she whispered, but so softly that he did not heed. Then she dragged herself to him and put her two arms round his shoulders. "Rupert!" she said again, and bent and kissed him. He put his arms about her, and for a moment they clung to each other. "Thou art the strangest lad, Tibbott!" choked Rupert. "But thou dost not bear me ill will? Indeed thou dost not?" Merrylips nodded, as she settled herself beside him. She felt too weak to talk, but she was very happy. For a moment Rupert too was silent, while he busied himself in tying Merrylips' ring once more upon the broken cord. But presently he said, in a humble voice:-- "Wilt thou tell me, Tibbott--if 'tis not a secret--how thou ever camest by this ring which is like mine own?" "I had it of my godmother," Merrylips answered, and she was almost too faint to notice what she said. "My godmother, with whom I dwelt at Larkland--Lady Sybil Fernefould--she for whom I am named." Rupert let his hands fall from the cord with which he was fumbling. In blank surprise he looked at her, and suddenly from his face she knew what she had said. In her dismay she roused from her faintness. "Oh, Rupert!" she cried, and hid her hot face in her hands. "And I promised not to tell--and I have told!" It seemed to her a long time that she sat with her face hidden and grieved for her broken promise. Then she heard Rupert say in a puzzled voice, but quite gently:--