Fiction > Serialisations > London, 1893 - David Balfour

672
DAVID BALFOUR.
thought," I said, "as I supposed that you would
read them. I see no harm in any."
" I will be differently made," said she. " I
thank God I am differentl)' made. It was not a fit
letter to be shown me. It was not fit to be
written."
" I think you are speaking of your own friend,
Barbara Grant ? " said I.
" There will not be anything as bitter as to lose
a fancied friend," said she, quoting my own
expression.
" I think it is sometimes the friendship that was
fancied ! " I cried. " What kind of justice do you
call this, to blame me for some words that a tom-
fool of a madcap lass has written down upon a
piece of paper ? You know yourself with what
respect I have behaved — and would do always."
" Yet you would show me that same letter ! "
says she. " I want no such friends. I can be
doing very well, Mr. Balfour, without her — or you."
" This is your fine gratitude ! " says I.
" I am very much obliged to you," said she. " I
will be asking you to take away your — letters."
She seemed to choke upon the word, so that it
sounded like an oath
"You shall never ask me twice," said I ; picked
up that bundle, walked a little way forward and
cast them as far as possible into the sea. For a
very little more, I could have cast myself after them.
The rest of the day I walked up and down
raging. There were few names so ill but what I
gave her them in my own mind before the sun
went down. All that I ever heard of Highland
pride seemed quite outdone : that a girl (scarce
grown) should resent so trifling an allusion, and
that from her next friend, that she had near
wearied me with praising of! I had bitter, sharp,
hard thoughts of her, like an angry boy's. If I
had kissed her indeed (I thought), perhaps she
would have taken it very well ; and only because
it had been written down, and with a spice of
jocularity, up she must fuff in this ridiculous
passion. It seemed to me there was a want of
penetration in the female sex, to make angels weep
over the case of the poor men.
We were side by side again at supper, and what
a change was there ! She was like curdled milk to
me ; her face was like a wooden doll's ; I could
have indifferently smitten her or grovelled at her
feet, but she gave me not the least occasion to do
either. No sooner was the meal done than she be-
took herself to attend on Mrs. Gebbie, which I think
she had a little neglected heretofore. But she was
to make up for lost time, and in what remained of
the passage was extraordinary assiduous with the
old lady, and on deck began to make a great deal
more than I thought wise of Captain Sang. Not
but what the captain seemed a worthy, fatherly ,
man ; but I hated to behold her in the least \
familiarity with anyone except myself.
Altogether, she was so quick to avoid me, and
so constant to keep herself surrounded with others,
that I must watch a long while before I could find
my opportunity ; and after it was found, I made
not much of it, as you are now to hear.
" I have no guess how I have offended," said
I ; "it should scarce be beyond pardon, then. Oh, i
try if you can pardon me." '
" I have no pardon to give," said she ; and the
words seemed to come out of her throat like
marbles. " I will be very much obliged for all
your friendships." And she made me an eighth \
part of a curtsey. ;
But I had schooled myself beforehand to say i
more, and I was going to say it too. I
"There is one thing," said I. "If I have!
shocked your particularity by the showing of that
letter, it cannot touch Miss Grant. She wrote not
to you, but to a poor, common, ordinary lad, who
might have had more sense than show it. If you
are to blame me " i
" I will advise you to say no more about that 1
girl, at all events ! " said Catriona. " It is her I :
will never look the road of, not if she lay dying." •
She turned away from me, and suddenly back.
" \\'ill you swear you will have no more to deal !
with her ? she cried.
" Indeed, and I will never be so unjust then,"
said I ; " nor yet so ungrateful.
And now it was I that turned away.
CHAPTER XXII.
HELVOETSLUYS.
The weather in the end considerably worsened ;
the wind sang in the shrouds, the sea swelled
higher, and the ship began to labour and cry out
among the billows. The song of the leadsman in