Catherine uttered a sigh that was almost a moan. “Blacker than I thought,” she muttered faintly.
“Giles and I went out at night to bid him be of good cheer. And there at the tower foot was a brave lass, quite strange to me I vow, on the same errand.”
“Lookee there now, Kate.”
“At first we did properly frighten one another, through the place his bad name, and our poor heads being so full o' divels, and we whitened a bit in moonshine. But next moment, quo' I, 'You are Margaret.' 'And you are Kate,' quo' she. Think on't!”
“Did one ever? 'Twas Gerard! He will have been talking backards and forrards of thee to her, and her to thee.”
In return for this, Kate bestowed on Catherine one of the prettiest presents in nature—the composite kiss, i.e., she imprinted on her cheek a single kiss, which said—
1. Quite correct.
2. Good, clever mother, for guessing so right and quick.
3. How sweet for us twain to be' of one mind again after
never having been otherwise.
4. Etc.
“Now then, speak thy mind, child, Gerard is not here. Alas, what am I saying? would to Heaven he were.”
“Well then, mother, she is comely, and wrongs her picture but little.”
“Eh, dear; hark to young folk! I am for good acts, not good looks. Loves she my boy as he did ought to be loved?”