"Braelands," he said, when they were alone, "I have something to say which you must take into your consideration before you leave Scotland. It is about Marion."
"Nothing ill with Marion, I hope?"
"Nothing but what you can cure. She is suffering very much, socially, from the constant association of her name with yours."
"Sir?"
"Allow me to explain. At the time of your sweet little wife's death, Marion was constantly included in the blame laid to Madame Braelands. You know now how unjustly."
"I would rather not have that subject discussed."
"But, by Heaven, it must be discussed! I have, at Marion's desire, said nothing hitherto, because we both saw how much you were suffering; but, sir, if you are going away from Fife, you must remember before you go that the living have claims as well as the dead."
"If Marion has any claim on me, I am here, willing to redeem it."
"'If,' Braelands; it is not a question of 'if.' Marion's name has been injured by its connection with your name. You know the remedy. I expect you to behave like a gentleman in this matter."
"You expect me to marry Marion?"
"Precisely. There is no other effectual way to right her."
"I see Marion in the garden; I will go and speak to her."
"Do, my dear fellow. I should like this affair pleasantly settled."
Marion was sitting on the stone bench round the sun dial. She had a white silk parasol over her head, and her lap was full of apple-blossoms. A pensive air softened her handsome face, and as Archie approached, she looked up with a smile that was very attractive. He sat down at her side and began to finger the pink and white flowers. He was quite aware that he was tampering with his fate as well; but at his very worst, Archie had a certain chivalry about women that only needed to be stirred by a word or a look indicating injustice. He was not keen to perceive; but when once his eyes were opened, he was very keen to feel.
"Marion," he said kindly, taking her hand in his, "have you suffered much for my fault?"
"I have suffered, Archie."
"Why did you not tell me before?"
"You have been so full of trouble. How could I add to it?"
"You have been blamed?"
"Yes, very much."
"There is only one way to right you, Marion; I offer you my name and my hand. Will you take it?"
"A woman wants love. If I thought you could ever love me--"
"We are good friends. You have been my comforter in many miserable hours. I will make no foolish protestations; but you know whether you can trust me. And that we should come to love one another very sincerely is more than likely."