. . . if it is not so much . .
. . Not that you will be caring! But I would not have you think of
me too hard. It was true what you said to me, that I was too young
to be advised, and I am hoping you will remember I was just a
child. I would not like to lose your friendship, at all events."
She began this very pale; but before she was done, the blood was in
her face like scarlet, so that not her words only, but her face and
the trembling of her very hands, besought me to be gentle. I saw,
for the first time, how very wrong I had done to place the child in
that position, where she had been entrapped into a moment's
weakness, and now stood before me like a person shamed.
"Miss Drummond," I said, and stuck, and made the same beginning
once again, "I wish you could see into my heart," I cried. "You
would read there that my respect is undiminished. If that were
possible, I should say it was increased. This is but the result of
the mistake we made; and had to come; and the less said of it now
the better. Of all of our life here, I promise you it shall never
pass my lips; I would like to promise you too that I would never
think of it, but it's a memory that will be always dear to me. And
as for a friend, you have one here that would die for you."
"I am thanking you," said she.
We stood awhile silent, and my sorrow for myself began to get the
upper hand; for here were all my dreams come to a sad tumble, and
my love lost, and myself alone again in the world as at the
beginning.
"Well," said I, "we shall be friends always, that's a certain
thing. But this is a kind of farewell, too: it's a kind of a
farewell after all; I shall always ken Miss Drummond, but this is a
farewell to my Catriona."
I looked at her; I could hardly say I saw her, but she seemed to
grow great and brighten in my eyes; and with that I suppose I must
have lost my head, for I called out her name again and made a step
at her with my hands reached forth.
She shrank back like a person struck, her face flamed; but the
blood sprang no faster up into her cheeks, than what it flowed back
upon my own heart, at sight of it, with penitence and concern. I
found no words to excuse myself, but bowed before her very deep,
and went my ways out of the house with death in my bosom.
I think it was about five days that followed without any change. I
saw her scarce ever but at meals, and then of course in the company
of James More. If we were alone even for a moment, I made it my
devoir to behave the more distantly and to multiply respectful
attentions, having always in my mind's eye that picture of the girl
shrinking and flaming in a blush, and in my heart more pity for her
than I could depict in words. I was sorry enough for myself, I
need not dwell on that, having fallen all my length and more than
all my height in a few seconds; but, indeed, I was near as sorry
for the girl, and sorry enough to be scarce angry with her save by
fits and starts. Her plea was good; she had been placed in an
unfair position; if she had deceived herself and me, it was no more
than was to have been looked for.
And for another thing she was now very much alone. Her father,
when he was by, was rather a caressing parent; but he was very easy
led away by his affairs and pleasures, neglected her without
compunction or remark, spent his nights in taverns when he had the
money, which was more often than I could at all account for; and
even in the course of these few days, failed once to come to a
meal, which Catriona and I were at last compelled to partake of
without him. It was the evening meal, and I left immediately that
I had eaten, observing I supposed she would prefer to be alone; to
which she agreed and (strange as it may seem) I quite believed her.
Indeed, I thought myself but an eyesore to the girl, and a reminder
of a moment's weakness that she now abhorred to think of.