“What is your will wi' me?” said she, coldly.
“I—I—How pale you are!”
“I am no very weel.”
“She has been watching over muckle wi' Flucker,” said Jean.
Christie thanked her with a look.
“I hope it is not—not—”
“Nae fears, lad,” said she, briskly; “I dinna think that muckle o' ye.”
“And I think of nothing but you,” said he.
A deep flush crimsoned the young woman's brow, but she restrained herself, and said icily: “Thaat's very gude o' ye, I'm sure.”
Gatty felt all the contempt her manners and words expressed. He bit his lips. The tear started to his eye. “You will forget me,” said he. “I do not deserve to be remembered, but I shall never forget you. I leave for England. I leave Newhaven forever, where I have been so happy. I am going at three o'clock by the steamboat. Won't you bid me good-by?” He approached her timidly.