So she threw down her work, and went quickly towards the
parlour door. And the brother and sister met, just on the threshold.
"John--John," she said, falteringly, "I must speak to you; I cannot
bear this any longer."
"Nor can I, Margaret."
Miss Greylston looked up in her brother's face; it was beaming with
love and tenderness. Then she knew the hour of reconciliation had
come, and with a quick, glad cry, she sprang into his arms and laid
her head down upon his shoulder.
"Can you ever forgive me, Madge?"
She made no reply--words had melted into tears, but they were
eloquent, and for a little while it was quite still in the parlour.
"You shall blame yourself no longer, Margaret. All along you have
behaved like a sweet Christian woman as you are, but I have been an
old fool, unreasonable and cross from the very beginning. Can you
really forgive me all those harsh words, for which I hated myself
not ten hours after they were said? Can you, indeed, forgive and
forget these? Tell me so again."
"John," she said, raising her tearful face from his shoulder, "I do
forgive you most completely, with my whole heart, and, O! I wanted
so to tell you this two days ago, but your coldness kept me back. I
was afraid your anger was not over, and that you would repel me."
"Ah, that coldness was but shame--deep and painful shame.
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