“If your memory be as good as you say, Harry,” said she, smiling, “can you recal the time papa’s yacht, the Meteor, anchored in the little bay at Arran?”
“I can. I remember it all.”
“And how you came on board in one of our boats?”
“Ay, and how you called me Robinson. Don’t get so red; I wasn’t offended then, and I’m sure I’m not now. You said it in a whisper to your father, but I overheard you; and I think I said I should like well to be Robinson Crusoe, and have an island all my own.”
“And so you have. Arran is yours.”
“No. Arran was mine, or ought to have been mine, but my father, believing me dead, left it to my cousin.”
“Oh, how I long to see her again,” cried Ada, passionately. “You know how we were brought up together.”
“Your father told me all about it; but I never well understood how or why she was sent away again. Were you disappointed in her?”
“Oh no, no. Nothing of the kind. She was cleverer, and more beautiful, and more attractive, than any one could have anticipated. The lesson that would take me days to learn, she had but to glance at and she knew it. The governess was in despair how to keep in advance of her. And then there was a charm in her manner that made the veriest trifle she did a sort of fascination.”
“And were these the traits to send back into hardship and barbarism?”