I lit a taper and reviewed the rooms; in the first
there remained nothing so much as to awake a memory of those who
were gone; but in the second, in a corner of the floor, I spied a
little heap that brought my heart into my mouth. She had left
behind at her departure all that she had ever had of me. It was
the blow that I felt sorest, perhaps because it was the last; and I
fell upon that pile of clothing and behaved myself more foolish
than I care to tell of.
Late in the night, in a strict frost, and my teeth chattering, I
came again by some portion of my manhood and considered with
myself. The sight of these poor frocks and ribbons, and her
shifts, and the clocked stockings, was not to be endured; and if I
were to recover any constancy of mind, I saw I must be rid of them
ere the morning. It was my first thought to have made a fire and
burned them; but my disposition has always been opposed to wastery,
for one thing; and for another, to have burned these things that
she had worn so close upon her body seemed in the nature of a
cruelty. There was a corner cupboard in that chamber; there I
determined to bestow them. The which I did and made it a long
business, folding them with very little skill indeed but the more
care; and sometimes dropping them with my tears. All the heart was
gone out of me, I was weary as though I had run miles, and sore
like one beaten; when, as I was folding a kerchief that she wore
often at her neck, I observed there was a corner neatly cut from
it. It was a kerchief of a very pretty hue, on which I had
frequently remarked; and once that she had it on, I remembered
telling her (by way of a banter) that she wore my colours. There
came a glow of hope and like a tide of sweetness in my bosom; and
the next moment I was plunged back in a fresh despair. For there
was the corner crumpled in a knot and cast down by itself in
another part of the floor.
But when I argued with myself, I grew more hopeful. She had cut
that corner off in some childish freak that was manifestly tender;
that she had cast it away again was little to be wondered at; and I
was inclined to dwell more upon the first than upon the second, and
to be more pleased that she had ever conceived the idea of that
keepsake, than concerned because she had flung it from her in an
hour of natural resentment.
CHAPTER XXIX--WE MEET IN DUNKIRK.
Altogether, then, I was scare so miserable the next days but what I
had many hopeful and happy snatches; threw myself with a good deal
of constancy upon my studies; and made out to endure the time till
Alan should arrive, or I might hear word of Catriona by the means
of James More. I had altogether three letters in the time of our
separation. One was to announce their arrival in the town of
Dunkirk in France, from which place James shortly after started
alone upon a private mission. This was to England and to see Lord
Holderness; and it has always been a bitter thought that my good
money helped to pay the charges of the same. But he has need of a
long spoon who soups with the de'il, or James More either. During
this absence, the time was to fall due for another letter; and as
the letter was the condition of his stipend, he had been so careful
as to prepare it beforehand and leave it with Catriona to be
despatched. The fact of our correspondence aroused her suspicions,
and he was no sooner gone than she had burst the seal. What I
received began accordingly in the writing of James More:
"My dear Sir,--Your esteemed favour came to hand duly, and I have
to acknowledge the inclosure according to agreement. It shall be
all faithfully expended on my daughter, who is well, and desires to
be remembered to her dear friend. I find her in rather a
melancholy disposition, but trust in the mercy of God to see her
re-established. Our manner of life is very much alone, but we
solac