Bob heard the terms of her answer with as much amazement as she had experienced at his proposal, with consternation added to the amazement, and with the pain of a great disappointment in the crestfallen and wounded expression of his face. But at the last scornful words the man’s spirit kindled within him. He faced Jean, and replied to her with volleys of wrath: ‘Jean Kinloch, you may cast laith at me, you’ve ower gude richt, though I thocht--I was wrang--a’ the same I had a fulish notion it would be grander to forgi’e and forget, and that the lass I had lo’ed sae weel, when there was naebody to come atween us, micht be fit to play the grander part. But to cast laith at the silent dead for the wrong-doing of her youth, after she has paid the heavy cost--to cast laith, to my face, at my innocent bairns, my twa gude lasses and my stricken laddie, Jean Kinloch, you were na blate.’ ‘Na, Bob, I didna mean--’ began Jean hesitatingly, but he would not hear her. ‘You’ve done what I’ll stand frae no man or woman born, no frae the woman I aince lo’ed as I lo’ed my life, and whom even when I gaed her up, because I couldna say “na” either to mysel’ or to anither, I would hae focht ony mither’s son in braid Scotland who would have dared to say that she was not amaist worthy to be worshipped. I thocht you were ower gude for me, and it was a comfort in repenting o’ my folly, that you were weel rid o’ me. But I tell you where you stand glowering there, you’re not the woman I thocht you; you’re not gude enough for the gift o’ my bairns that you have spoken tantingly o’--Jean Kinloch, you’re a hard, cauld woman this day.’ This was turning the tables in truth, and an astounding effect followed. Bob Meffin’s words could hardly be called reasonable, and yet the utterance of them seemed to lift him above his fall and to lend a homely dignity to the sinner, as he walked away from the old love to whom he had not been true.