“Ungrateful!” exclaimed Ranald, impatiently. “What I did was nothing. Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you every day, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of any one else before for a day. Will you be thinking of me?” There was a movement in the kitchen, and they could hear the minister talking to Harry; and some one was moving toward the door. “Tell me, Maimie, quick,” said Ranald, and though his voice was intense and stern, there was appeal in it as well. She took a step nearer him, and looking up into his face, said, in a whisper, “Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you, and think of you.” Swiftly, almost fiercely, he threw his arms about her, and kissed her lips, then he stood back looking at her. “I could not help it,” he said, boldly. “You made me.” “Made you?” exclaimed Maimie, her face hot with blushes. “Yes, you made me. I could not help it,” he repeated. “And I do not care if you are angry. I am glad I did it.” “Glad?” echoed Maimie again, not knowing what to say. “Yes, glad,” he said, exultantly. “Are you?” She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She sank down upon the piano-stool and let her hands fall upon the keys. “Are you?” he demanded, ignoring the interruption. With her head low down, while she struck the chords of the hymn they had just sung, she said, hesitatingly, “I am not sorry.” “Sorry for what?” said Harry. “Oh, nothing,” said Maimie, lightly. “Nobody is, if he has got any sense.” Then Mrs. Murray came in. “Won't you stay for supper, Ranald? You must be hungry.” “No, thank you,” said Ranald. “I must go now.” He shook hands with an ease and freedom that the minister had never seen in him, and went out. “That young man is coming on,” said the minister. “I never saw any one change and develop as he has in the last few months. Let me see. He is only eighteen, isn't he, and he might be twenty-one.” The minister spoke as if he were not too well pleased with this precocity in Ranald. But little did Ranald care. That young man was striding homeward through the night, his head striking the stars. His path lay through the woods, and when he came to the “sugar camp” road, he stood still, and let the memories of the night when he had snatched Maimie from the fire troop through his mind. Suddenly he thought of Aleck McRae, and laughed aloud. “Poor Aleck,” he said. Aleck seemed so harmless to him now. And then he stood silent, motionless, looking straight toward the stars, but seeing them not. He was remembering Maimie's face when she said, “Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you and think of you”; and then the thought of what followed, sent the blood jumping through his veins. “She will not forget,” he said aloud, and went on his way. It was his happy night, the happiest of his life thus far, and he would always be happy. What difference could anything make? CHAPTER XV THE REVIVAL