Fiction > Serialisations > London, 1893 - David Balfour

DA VI D BALFO U R.
731
The concern in which I fell instantly on this
address, put me with the same swiftness on my
guard ; and we were no sooner in the chamber,
and the light made, than she beheld the old, dour,
stubborn countenance of the student of Heineccius.
Doubtless she was more than usually hurt, and I
knew for myself, I found it more than usually
difficult to maintain my strangeness. Even at the
meal, I durst scarce unbuckle and scarce lift my
eyes to her ; and it was no sooner over than I fell
again to my civilian, with more seeming abstraction
and less understanding than before. Methought,
as I read, I could hear my heart strike like an eight-
day clock. Hard as I feigned to study, there was
still some of my eyesight that spilled beyond the
book upon Catriona. She sat on the floor by the
side of my great mail, and the chimney lighted her
up, and shone and blinked upon her, and made her
glow and darken through a wonder of fine lines.
Now she would be gazing in the fire, and then
again at me ; and at that I would be plunged in a
terror of myself,- and turn the pages of Heineccius
like a man looking for the text in church.
Suddenly she called out aloud, " Oh, why does
not my father come ? " and fell at once into a
storm of tears.
I leaped up, flung Heineccius in the fire, ran
to her side, and cast an arm round her sobbing
body.
She put me from her sharply. " You do not
love your friend," says she. " I could be so happy
too, if you would let me ! " And then, " Oh,
what will I have done that you should hate me so?"
" Hate you ! " cries I, and held her firm. " You
blind lass, can you not see a little in my wretched
heart ? Do you think when I sit there, reading in
that fool-book that I have just burned, I take ever
the least thought of any stricken thing but just
yourself? Night after night I could have grat to
see you sitting there your lone. And what was I
to do? You are here under my honour ; would
you punish me for that? Is it for that that you
would spurn a loving servant ? "
At the word, with a small, sudden motion, she
clung near to me. I raised her face to mine, I
kissed it, and she bowed her brow upon my bosom,
clasping me tight. I sat in a mere whirl like a man
drunken ; then I heard her voice sound very small
and mufiled in my clothes:
" Did you kiss her truly ? " she asked.
There went through me so great a beam of
surprise that I was all shook with it.
" Miss Grant ! " I cried, all in a disorder. " Yes,
I asked her to kiss me good-bye, the which she
did."
" Ah, well ! " said she, " you have kissed me too
at all events."
At the strangeness and sweetness of that word,
I saw where we had fallen ; rose, and set her on
her feet.
" This will never do," said I. " This will never,
never do. O Catrine, Catrine ! " Then there
came a pause in which I was debarred from any
speaking. And then, "Go away to your bed,"
said I. " Go away to your bed and leave me."
She turned away to obey me like a little child,
and the next I knew of it, had stopped m the very
doorway.
" Good night, Davie ! " said she.
" And oh, good night, my love ! " I cried, with
a great outbreak of my soul, and caught her to me
again, so that it seemed I must have broken her.
The next moment I had thrust her from the room,
shut to the door even with violence, and stood
alone.
The milk was spilt now, the word was out and
the truth told. I had crept like an untrusty man
into the poor maid's affections ; she was in my
hand like any frail, innocent thing to make or mar ;
and what weapon of defence was left me? It
seemed like a symbol that Heineccius, my old
protection, was now burned. I repented, yet
could not find it in my heart to blame myself for
that great failure. It seemed not possible to have
resisted the boldness of her innocency or that last
temptation of her weeping. And all that I had to
excuse me but made my sin appear the greater — it
was upon a nature so defenceless, and with such
advantages of the position, that I seemed to have
practised.
What was to become of us now ? It seemed we
could no longer dwell in the one place. But where
was I to go ? or where she ? Without either
choice or fault of ours, life had conspired to wall us
together in that narrow place. I had a wild
thought of marrying out of hand ; and the next
moment put it from me with revolt. She was a
child, she could not tell her own heart ; I had
surprised her weakness, I must never go on to-
build on that surprisal ; I must keep her not only