‘No, Cunnings, you shall not go,’ said Primrose brave and steadfast, like a pitying guardian angel this time. ‘You’ll stay and help me to undo all the wrong, and then your own fall may be forgiven and forgotten. You’ll trust to me and I’ll protect you from your fell weakness. I’ll speak to my aunt and cousin when they come back. I’ll tell them that you wanted to go. I’ll bear the blame of keeping you here. You were a faithful servant once; you’ll be faithful again, please God. It is never too late to repent and win back respect and confidence. Cunnings, you do not need a girl like me to tell you that.’ Cunnings hung her head more and more, and wept the few scalding tears of age; but she stopped her packing and submitted to Primrose Ramsay’s guidance when at the words of sympathy and encouragement, remorse was converted into repentance. Primrose had frequently and anxiously conned over the part she should play in her first meeting with Peggy. Miss Ramsay would approach the young mistress of Drumsheugh with studied deference and all the formal homage which was now Peggy’s due. But when Peggy, compelled to stand at bay for the second time in her life, after a hasty, ineffectual effort to arrange her dress properly and remove the traces of tears from her face, crept like a guilty culprit or a forlorn ghost into the room, Primrose forgot all her preconceived theories and studies and thought only of the fair young creature thus blighted in what should have been her pride of bloom. Instead of advancing in a stately fashion, curtseying and waiting for Peggy to offer her hand, Primrose went swiftly to the wife, clasped her in the girl’s kind arms and kissed the cold cheek, which began to blush warmly with amazement, doubting relief and trembling pleasure. ‘My cousin Peggy,’ said Primrose, in her clear, sweet voice, ‘I’m glad to know you. Will you forgive my intrusion? I’ve often heard of you and so must you have heard of me; and now we must make the hearing knowing, and become good friends as well as kinswomen, if you will let me stay as long as you can spare room for me at Drumsheugh.’ ‘Stay as long as you like,’ stammered Peggy. ‘There’s no want of room. Ony o’ Drumsheugh’s frien’s maun aye be welcome here. Oh! surely you ken that, though I canna say what I should,’ beginning to twist her fingers. ‘I ken,’ said Primrose gently, ‘and you say all you should. You’re very good to me, cousin Peggy--you’ll let me call you that in stead of Mrs. Ramsay, which I’ve been accustomed to say to my aunt, and you’ll call me cousin Primrose. You are very good to permit me to stay here when I’ve taken you by surprise.’ ‘_Me_ good! Permit _you_, Miss Ramsay! Oh! you’re laughing at me in your condescension,’ cried Peggy, aghast.